To pee or not to pee

This week, I complete 3 years at my present job. Considering that the shelf life of an editor here is 2 years, I have seen a lot.

And I've done it all. At least that's what I used to think. Till yesterday. When I did something I had not done before.

I entered the guys' restroom!

Ok, the thing is, every year our company gives us 24 cans of orange juice as an early Christmas gift. It is not very pleasant in taste, and I only drink it if I am feeling very sleepy at work. And today, I had had one too many cans, without realising it. My bladder was in serious need of the restroom before I left for my dinner appointment with colleagues.

So when I got to the ladies' room, I groaned in dismay.

There was a small problem. Auntie's bright yellow "Toilet cleaning in progress" sign was blocking the doorway.

No post about the toilets in my company can be complete without talking a bit about Auntie first.

Auntie is Auntie. No one knows her real name. To one and all, she is just the terrifying toilet-cleaning Auntie. Everyone tries to avoid her gaze and run past her as fast as their legs will allow. Cos Auntie has a habit of bellowing at you, in languages that were last used by the stone age man.

Not to mention that she picks the oddest of hours to clean the toilets, not sympathising even once with bursting bladders.

But at least she warns us.

At 5:50 pm, 13 minutes before we close work for the day, Auntie turns around to face our cubicles and bellows.

"Aaaaachhhaiaaaattttthiaaaaaachaaaaaaaiiiiiiaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!"

That's what it sounds like to me. Till this date, I have not been able to figure out exactly what she says. It is loud, energetic, and threatening. Quite like a war cry. And I believe that just like me, many people don't even know whether it's in Chinese or Malay. I believe it is not English either.

But every one knows what that sound indicates.

"People, if you wanna use the toilet, do so NOW. I am gonna start cleaning it in five minutes and if you dare to come and use it once I have started cleaning, I will spank you with my toilet brush and flush you down the toilet."

And boy, is she serious.

So the moment the "Aaaaachhhaiaaaaattttthiaaaaaachaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!" phrase leaves her mouth, people leave their cubicles like darts to empty their bladders so that they won't walk funny on the way home.

So when Auntie almost left the company a coupla weeks ago, many people and bladders were relieved.

Auntie's resignation. That's another story.

At present, my company is going thru a crisis. Our competitor company is scouting all the top guys and many of them have already crossed over. So coupla weeks ago, when I heard that Auntie had tendered her resignation, I went "What??? They don't even spare our toilet cleaners?? Now they've head-hunted Auntie too???"

But strangely enough, Auntie was back and bellowing two days later. Which made me suspicious about my company funds. I wonder if she was the only employee my company could afford to head-hunt back into the company.

Anyway, going back to the beginning of the story, yes, today, I entered the guys' restroom.

(I believe the last time I did this was on a dare, when I entered the guys' toilet in university, smiled at a very visibly disturbed guy, and then coolly walked out. But that was more like a tourist visiting a 'not-so-interesting but famous nevertheless' monument in a foreign land.)

Anyway, so hearing my groan of dismay upon seeing Auntie's yellow board, one of the designers, K, suggested, "Sayesha, just use the guys' restroom lah!"

"What??? K, are you crazy??? I'm not gonna use the guys' restroom! They would be so startled to see a girl in there!"

(Visions of screaming guys running helter-skelter upon seeing me in there crossed my mind. But maybe only girls would do that if they spot a guy in the ladies'?!)

K said, "I've done it before! Do it! Otherwise you'll have to go to the toilet on another floor. Just go in lah, I will guard the entrance and not let any guys in till you come out."

Bless her, I rushed in and out, managing to freak out only one guy who was already inside.

What a way to celebrate the third anniversary in the company.

Now I think I've done it all.

I call the shots

I have a keloid on my arm.

It's a raised scar formed as an after effect of the BCG vaccine administered with neglect to a 5-year-old Sayesha by a rather incompetent nurse. And the after effects of this after effect continue to haunt me 20 years later.

The scar is like a small village uprising. Every once in a while, I have to take six-seven shots on the scar to keep it flat and under control. My doc tells me the shots I take are supposedly one of the most painful shots ever. Some day in the near future, I won't have to take them anymore. That will be a welcome day for me.

The shots hurt like hell, yes. And the scar stays sore for two whole days. Even touching it hurts. Today, after the shots, I met one of my best buddies for dinner and she happened to casually (and unknowingly, may I add) whack me on the spot of the scar.

Owwww owwww owww!

"Thanks a lot, girl. I already got seven jabs from Dr Ong. But thanks for the seven that I got from you just now."

But as she said, each one of the fourteen was profusely apologised for.

It's true. Every time she administers the shots, the doctor apologises to me. She pokes the needle into the scar from one direction, winces and says, "Oh dear, sorry!" and then from another direction and then "Oh dear, sorry! I know it really hurts." and proceeds to create six such diameters in my scar with the needle. I wince and bear the excruciating pain.

And yet, soon I am back at the doc's, ready for the next round.

In university, I would always go to my favourite doctor, the elderly Dr Yeo, for the shots. He was very fond of me, and would instruct his nurses to take good care of me while he prepared the injection. "She's the brave one." He'd say. The nurses would surround me to give me moral support. One of them, the one with very round eyes, would corner me and try to give what she thought was a 'pep talk'.

"You know? There is another girl. From PRC. Same problem as yours. Same shots too. Every two months. And you know? She faints. Every single time. The shots are THAT painful. She actually faints." She would exclaim, and her eyes would become bigger and rounder.

"Gee, thanks a lot." I would mutter between clenched teeth.

"But you're so brave! You have not fainted. Not even once!" She exclaimed proudly. And they would all give me the "congrats, you have not fainted" looks.

And they would surround me and watch me wince as the doctor administered the injection. I have a feeling they had bets on the side to see when I would finally faint. But I wouldn't.

And that amazed me. Because years ago, this girl would have fainted and screamed and thrown a fit, just to escape a shot. Yes, I was absolutely terrified of shots. Every time I had to take one, I would scream the place down. I would cry and plead till everyone else around me cried too. And I knew it was not just a childhood thing. They were one of my deepest fears when I was young.

And I worried that I would carry this fear with me all my life.

But things turned out different. I don't know what exactly happened, but one fine day I woke up and suddenly, I wasn't scared of shots anymore. I wasn't scared of a lot of things anymore.

I started doing things I used to be really scared of.

In the Bio lab, dissection of guinea pigs became easy. I could do it with a straight face, while the guys winced and looked away. In fact, when we were studying blood cells, the Bio teacher would ask, "All right, who wants to go first?" And everyone would step back, and push me to the front. I would calmly prick my finger and the dark red drop would pop out, ready to be smeared on to a glass slide. And the guys would come to me and ask me for donations. "Sayesha, since you have already pricked your finger... hehehe... see, the blood's gonna go to waste otherwise... hehehe... it's just one drop yaar! Please yaar! Friends should help each other yaar!" And I'd be forced to squeeze my finger and donate a drop to each of their slides. (Perhaps that's why I am anaemic today! Those guys better chukao the khoon ka karz man!) And these were the guys who did not have the guts to prick their own fingers but had no qualms about cutting off the tails of dead guinea pigs and pinning them all on one of the wax beds to make it look like one pig had five tails.

Sigh... guys...

But I digress.

The point of the post is this. Today, as I took the shots for the umpteenth time, I realised that even after taking them so many times, they did not hurt any less. In fact, they were still very very painful.

I have not managed to get used to them or get rid of the pain.

But what I have managed to get rid of is the fear. I am not afraid of shots anymore.

The fear of fearing something your entire life is indeed a great one. And we do harbour some fears our entire life.

I am just thankful I got over one of mine.
However small it may be.

What's your formula?

I'm often amazed at how amazingly different people are from each other.

The way they think, the way they behave, the way they react to situations, the friends they make, the values they have, the priorities they have, the way they treat other people, even the way they treat themselves. The way they live their life.

How does a person decide how to live his/her life? Is there a formula to it?

Perhaps there really is a formula. Each one of us has a formula by which we live our lives. A formula derived over the years by umpteen observations, experiences and experimentations, umpteen mistakes and umpteen lessons learnt from these mistakes. And the most amazing part is -- this formula keeps changing as the years go by. And no two people have the exact same formula.

It's a continuous process of improvisation. We add certain ingredients, remove some, some work out, some result in explosions, and then finally we come up with a suitable formula. Suitable for our life at that particular moment. Because come tomorrow, it may change. Heck, it will change.

Here are a few ingredients that go into the present formula of my life, that I remind myself of, now and then:

• Never forget that the most important people in your life are your parents.
• If you love and trust, do so completely.
• Accept people for who they are.
• A smile goes a long way. When you smile, do so from the heart.
• Take your job seriously. Some day you will want to look back at it and be proud.
• Play hard.
• Be nice to guys. They won't always understand you. Understand that.
• Do not neglect your health. It should be right at the top of your list along with dignity and self-respect.
• There may be certain people who dislike you and piss you off, but for each of them, you have ten others who love you.
• You can't possibly love everyone on the planet. It's okay to not like some people.
  
• It's okay to be angry, hurt, jealous and negative at times.
• Invest in your friendships. They are precious. And you have to work at them to make them work.
• Travel more. There's a lot to be seen, and there isn't enough time.
  
• Money is important. Save some of it.
• Be polite.
  
• Take time out for your hobbies. They are an important part of you. If you neglect them, you lose a bit of yourself.
  
• If you are in a position to help someone in need, don't think. Just do it. You have no idea how fortunate you are just to be able to help.
  
• Love people around you, but be prepared to steer your ship alone in a storm.
• Regretting is a waste of time. Every day is a new beginning.
• Don't sit and complain. Do something about the problem instead.
• Don't hold grudges. They will only fill you with negativity.
• Never lose your sense of humour.
• Be tough in the face of adversity. Remember "Tough times don't last, tough people do."
  
• Take time to dress up. Pamper yourself now and then.
• Look good to feel good.
  
• Feel good to look good.
• Never miss an opportunity to surprise a loved one.
  
• Don't let anyone hurt you without your explicit permission.
  
• Don't ever forget how special you are.
• Life is short. Live it up.
  

It's true, no one has yet discovered the one magic formula that would be applicable to everyone to live that 'perfect life'. Perhaps because there is no such thing as a perfect life. Perhaps because we need to create from scratch, our own little perfect lives, with our own little imperfections.

So this is my formula. At the moment.

Would you like to share yours?

The wrong song

Some things happen by accident. And they trigger us to think.

I had heard the title song of the movie 'Dus' on TV and had been craving to get the full song. I managed to get my hands on a file titled Dus_title_song.mp3.

Ten seconds of playing time and I realised that it wasn't the song I'd been looking for.

Something went beep in my head.

*Alert. Wrong file downloaded. Sayesha, run for your life!*

I wasn't over-reacting. The last time something like this had happened was in my first year at university when, craving for a dose of F.R.I.E.N.D.S to accompany a solitary lunch, I downloaded a file called Friends_new.avi. Well, it turned so that the file did have friends, but… errr… let's just say that the friends in that file were getting a bit more than 'friendly'. Needless to say, I immediately proceeded to lose both my appetite and my song-downloading software.

Ever since, I have been paranoid of the 'wrong-file-name' syndrome.

So when Dus_title_song.mp3 started playing, and did not sound like what I had bargained for, I had to stop it immediately.

I SO did not want the audio version of Friends_new.avi!!!!

By the time I made a dash to stop the song, it was already about ten seconds into the song. And the lyrics went thus:

Who's daaat gurlll… the one that's got it goin' on
Who's daaat gurlll… I really gotta know I really need to know
Who's daaat gurlll… who dat girl who dat girl, where's she from
Who's daaat gurlll… na na na seen her, I gotta meet her!

Yikes.

I was almost about to dismiss it as another nonsensical remix of an oldie with some English words thrown in as garnish, and extended my hand to pause the song, when Sonu Nigam's voice rang through…

Dil kuchh kehta hai, lab kuchh kehte hain…
Behke behke se hum hote hain…
Jo kehna chahe woh keh bhi jaaye...
Aise lamhe toh kam hote hain...

So I paused my pausing action, and listened on.

Pyaar mein koi nayi baat nahin yeh, aisa jo ho jaaye...
Dhoonde nigaahein jab har pal usko, apna dil kho jaaye...

Aankhon mein jo chehra uska thoda sa dhundhlaaye re...
Chham se woh aa jaaye, chham se aa jaaye...
Chham se woh aa jaaye, man pe chhaa jaaye...

(The gist of the song being "Every time the image of her face in my eyes starts to fade, she suddenly turns up at my doorstep!")

"Hmmm… not too bad", I thought.

After having listened to it a few times, the song started growing on me. The fact that my Shaan sang the later part just made it even easier on the ears.

I played it at least thirteen times on loop that night.

'Cos the wrongly downloaded song had forced me to think.

It often happens to me -- if I really really like someone, I often find myself unable to remember how they look like! I have difficulty describing their faces to others, and worse, to myself! And I would wish they could suddenly appear before me, so I could remember how they look like.

So here was a very interesting thought. What if what they said in the song could really happen? What if when we missed someone, they really did turn up suddenly?

Don't we all crave for those moments? When all we want is that person we miss, to be right next to us, even if it is for a very brief moment? It's okay if they have to go away afterwards, we just want to live those special moments with them.

And in the same way, perhaps someone somewhere is craving for our company, craving for us to travel across the miles at the speed of light, and be there with them in a flash. Because they are thinking of us.

What if we really could get there "chham se" when they miss us and we miss them?

Aankhon mein chehra uska thoda sa dhundhlaaye re...
Chham se woh aa jaaye, chham se aa jaaye...

(Of course, guys may wanna refrain from using the sound effect when they turn up. The very thought of a guy turning up "chham se" is extremely disturbing.)

I couldn't stop thinking about it, and how I would react if every time I missed a friend, they just turned up! Or if I turned up at their doorstep when they thought of me.

Sometimes, we just can't suddenly be there, even if the person misses us badly and we miss the person badly. The timing is all wrong, or the distances are just too great, or there are other reasons holding us back.

We just can't, can we?

But what if we could?

Shut up, Sayesha. That's not your daughter!

23rd November was the birthday of someone very very special to me.

There was a time when this person used to bring a lot of joy and laughter to my life. But then I had to let go.

So today, her ex-tutor (moi) and current tutor (CT) took the little girl (LG) to Swensens for a belated birthday treat. CT and I are colleagues, so we left the office together after work. He was in super panic mode.

"You know she has never stepped out into the city on her own? I hope she doesn't get lost. "

"She won't get lost, CT. Her sister is accompanying her to the train station, and we will pick her up there. The sister will stay with her till we reach. And later, her mother will pick her up."

"Yes, but I'm very nervous. It's a big responsibility to take someone's child out, you know. You have to even careful of what you say to them."

And suddenly it struck me how right he was. And how unprepared I was.

Gosh, now I had to think before I spoke to her? Although she and I used to be very informal with each other when I was teaching her, most of our jokes were related to what I taught her. So now, without the books and the desk and the stationary, I had to strike a conversation with her that did not involve chlorophyll and photosynthesis and xylem and arteries!

Now I was going into panic mode.

We met LG at the station. She had grown very tall from when I'd last seen her. And she looked different from the LG I was used to seeing, the one in old pyjamas, with hair all wet (she used to take a bath just before tuition), sitting on the chair in front of me, waiting for us to finish the lesson so she could tumble into bed.

And now, she was all dressed up like a doll!

I opened my mouth to exclaim something jumpy and typical of me, but suddenly remembered CT's words. Gosh, it was very difficult for me to control the way I spoke and my choice of words.

What I almost said: "Whoa LG, you're almost a babe!"
What I actually said: "Hi LG, you look nice. And you've grown taller!"

We chatted on the way to Swensens.

"So it's school holidays now! You have the whole of December before school starts again, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes!" She grinned happily.

"But I've spoken to her mother. We'll resume tuition for Primary 6 soon. LG, shall we start on Tuesday?" CT said.

I looked aghast. LG looked aghast.

What I almost said: "Are you kidding me?? The poor thing just finished Primary 5. Let her chill for a while, will you?"
What I acually said: "Yes, maybe it's a good idea to start studying for Primary 6 early so you get a headstart. Make use of the holidays. Don't spend all of it playing, okay?"

A voice in my head said, "Bah!"

Then she started telling us about her exam results.

"My Chinese quite good. My Maths and Science also okay. But my English marks not very good leh! I very scared about English in my PSLE (Primary School Leaving Exam) next year! I don't know what to do!" She said.

"Well, first of all, LG, you should stop speaking in Singlish." I said.

"Yeah, Sayesha's right. Start speaking in proper English, LG." said CT. "Anyhow cannot speak like that, you know."

What I almost said: "CT, WHAT THE...??!!"
What I actually said: "Errr... yeah, what he means is that you should avoid speaking in Singlish, okay?"

"Yes, you must top your class in the PSLE next year. Soon you will be in secondary school, then JC and then university! So what do you want to become when you grow up?" CT asked.

"My mother wants me to become a doctor. But I don't want!"

"What do you want then?"

"I don't know! That's the problem. I don't know!"

What I almost said: "Haha! That's hardly a problem, girl. I did not know what I wanted to become even at the age of eighteen. Just chill, you'll figure out sooner or later."
What I actually said: "Hmmm... it's good to have a goal in life. You should think about what you want to be in future."

The voice in my head spoke up again, "Bah!"

We had reached Swensens. The staff seemed incredibly amused to see this very odd trio. I think they concluded that it was an inter-racial family. Though I'm sure they must have wondered why the 'daughter' did not look anything at all like the 'mother'.

After we ordered the main courses, we resumed the conversation. It was mostly us asking her questions.

"So what have you been upto? Are you going on a holiday this year?"

"No plans yet. But I want to go to Genting ." She said.

What I almost said: "Oh Genting! Maybe you'll come back a millionaire! Haha!"
What I actually said: "Oh Genting! Yeah, they have a lot of fun rides, you will enjoy yourself."

After dinner, it was time for dessert. LG simply loves ice-cream.

"So what ice-cream do you want?" I asked her.

"Oh, let's order the Earthquake for her!" CT exclaimed.

I was aghast. The Earthquake is a giant 8-scoop ice-cream.

"No no, I don't think I can finish it." She said.

"Of course you can! You're young, you can eat all you like, you can't get fat."

What I almost said: "What nonsense! Of course she can get fat!"
What I actually said: "CT, don't force her now. LG, why don't you order what you think you can finish?"

It was just so different. I had to think so much before I said anything. And that person making those 'heat & eat' idealistic statements, was so not me! Aaarghhh! At many points during the evening, I felt like such a hypocrite. But I reminded myself again and again, "Shut up, Sayesha. That's not your daughter!"

And I couldn't help but wonder -- a mere change of settings can change so much.

I never thought LG could look different from how I remembered her.

I never thought I'd have to think and rephrase my thoughts before I spoke to her.

I never thought I'd run out of things to say to her.

I never thought I'd have to be an adult when talking to her.

Who's your angel?

A brown leaf floated about in the air and slowly landed on Sayesha's head.

Nope, it wasn't autumn.

It was a half-rotten leaf that had just detached itself from its tree and decided to use Sayesha's head as its helipad.

Sayesha looked up and just about missed something white falling from the sky.

No, it wasn't the first snowflake.

It was the first evening offerings of the bird sitting high up on the tree, looking down and grinning at her. (I know birds don't have any grinning apparatus, but apparently they can.)

So where was I?

Remember the company course that was cancelled due to hilarious reasons? Well, they finally held it today. It ended at five and I had a full three hours to myself before I met my friends for dinner. So I decided to go on a date. With myself. To Orchard Road. Not just for some girly shopping. I had been really curious about the tacky Christmas decorations Banana had described in her blog, and wanted to go check them out.

It was all that she had written and more! The decor was horrendous. Huge, ugly, tacky, loud.

In other words, my dil went yikes!

And as I walked along the road amidst the very distasteful Christmas decorations, threading my way through the busy crowd of people, all in a hurry, suddenly I felt a sudden rush of joy inside me. It was Christmas! And the gaudy decor , the rotten leaf, the bird-shit, could not do anything to dampen my spirits. My spirits were high, and it wasn't because of the orange juice I'd had in the afternoon. And I realised something -- the spirit of Christmas, more than around us, is in us.

The lady I bought a necklace from, said, "So how come you're here in Orchard Road on a Monday night?" I told her that I wanted to see the Christmas decor, and also because it gets so crowded during the weekend, that I figured the best day to come here would be a Monday night.

"Oh, you celebrate Christmas?" She looked amused.

"Yeah, I do..." I grinned back at her.

I do.

I'm not a Christian. And I don't really follow a religion. The only place where my religion shows up is when I have to tick that little box while filling forms. Other than that, I am not a religious person. I don't pray and I don't preach. (Perhaps it's because I don't like the idea of praying only when I need something and not praying otherwise.)

However, I do believe in celebrating. And I celebrate every freakin' thing that there is to be celebrated.

My earliest memories of Christmas go way back in time. When I was a little girl, my sis and I would hang stockings on the cords of the mosquito net on Christmas eve. After we had gone to sleep, Dad would fill our stockings with potatoes and onions (every year!!) and put them on top of the mosquito net. Sis and I would get up in the morning, all excited to see the stockings filled to the brim. We would turn them upside down and scream in indignation. My sis would go, "Dad, not this year too! It's not even funny anymore!" And I would start bawling. Dad would be grinning and Mom would watch the whole scene with a "I've given up on this guy" expression. And finally, the real Christmas gifts would come out. Every year.

And I would make a little Christmas tree with shiny green paper, and decorate it with all kinds of shimmery stuff. And there would be an angel at the top.

The Christmas angel. The one who would make all my wishes come true. The one who would spread the spirit of joy and love.

I am 25 years old now. There is no Santa. There is no Christmas angel.

Or is there?

In Kal Ho Na Ho, Jenny tells her kids, "Whenever we're in trouble, God will send an angel for us, who will take away all our tears and fill our lives with joy." And the kids prayed and waited. And then Shah Rukh turned up. Just another human being, just a neighbour. But an angel for that troubled family. (Now now, I am not praising the movie here, we all know SRK sucked in that movie, I'm only looking at the basic script of the story.)

It set me thinking. Is an angel really going to turn up one day to take away all our tears and fill our lives with joy? Or are we waiting in vain? What's the angel like?

Who is an angel really? If it's just another human being, could it really be that neighbour? Or perhaps that friend of ours? And most importantly, why do we need to wait for our angels? Why can't we be our own angels? Why can't we be each others' angels? We certainly have the ability to take a few tears away, and the ability to bring some joy into the lives of those around us.

And if we're all angels, then whom are we waiting for?

Christmas is almost here. I can feel it in my bones. It's the season of loving and giving and sharing. (Gosh I'd better stop, I'm starting to sound like Joey Tribbiani now!) It's the season of love and showing it to those you love. It's time for yet another celebration.

A celebration that I needed real bad in my life right now.

Sayesha is happy today. Really really happy.

To all the angels I have in my life, I want to send a big kiss and a hug, and I want to thank you for being the angel and taking away some of my tears and bringing me joy.

Our wait is over. We are Santa. We are the Christmas angel.

What's your movie like?

Today I was missing a friend rather badly.

And when I miss my friends, I listen to their favourite songs on loop. Even if I don't like the songs myself. It makes me feel close to them.

So I played this song from the movie 'Dil Hai Ki Maanta Nahin':

Tu pyaar hai kisi aur ka
Tujhe chahta koi aur hai
Tu pasand hai kisi aur ki
Tujhe maangta koi aur hai

Loosely translated:

"You are someone else's love
Someone else wants you.
You're someone else's choice
Someone else asks for you."

After I had heard the song like ten times, I remembered its picturisation. It's a party scene. Aamir Khan is singing this song of lost love for Pooja Bhatt who's dancing in the arms of some random guy. And I started thinking of them one by one.

About what the movie means to each of the three characters in the song.

Aamir Khan - "This story is about me. I am the leading man. I am in love with this girl Pooja. I am trying to fight off random guy and win my lady love."

Pooja Bhatt - "This story is about me. I am the leading lady. I am in love with this guy Aamir. I am marrying random guy but I don't want to. I want to marry Aamir."

Random guy - "This story is about me. I am the leading man. I am in love with this girl Pooja. Random guy Aamir Khan is trying to take my lady love away from me."

That set me thinking.

Each of our lives is a movie. We write it ourselves, we set the direction, we pick the lighting, costumes, songs. We choose the characters we want in our movies, we choose how much screen time we want to give these characters. Along the way, we may even change the screenplay, and realise the potential of some of the actors and give them better roles. We may even 'kill off' some characters whom we don't want in the movie of our life. Some of them may magically come back into our movie if we want. Sometimes we even look around at other movies, and get inspiration from award-winning movie-makers, and turn the course of our own movies. The shooting of this movie goes on forever, and changes at every step.

But the most important thing that does not change is that each movie-maker picks himself/herself to play the lead in his/her movie. No matter what the genre is, no matter what the story is, no matter how the movie begins and ends, we are the focal points around which our movies revolve. Sometimes it may not seem so, but in the end, it is always about us.

There may be random guys in our story like the one in the song above. Spot boys. Extras. Make-up artists. And because we play the lead, they are insignificant. See that spot boy over that? He's there somewhere in your movie. He doesn't make much of a difference, and his work can be done by any of the millions of other spot boys you have. Random guy actually.

However, in his story, the spot boy is probably you. Or you could be the extra. Or the junior make-up artist. Basically, you are 'the random guy'. Because he chose you to be so. And there's nothing you can do about it, you can't ask for the lead role.

It's his movie, you see.

Sometimes, our movies overlap, the characters overlap. They cross paths, but they are all playing different roles in each of the movies at the same time. Playing the leading guy in their own, and playing the random guy in others'.

So that kinda balances everything out, doesn't it? You can make your movie as great as you want, and pick the best to play the roles you want them to play, but your role in others' movies is confined to what they want you to play.

But the best part is -- no matter what the box-office results say, no matter how heartless the critics are, no matter how bad the reviews are, no matter how much you think your movie sucks, someone somewhere, is watching it.

:) and yet :(

So I had some good news at work. Brilliant news, in fact.

It was a proud moment for me. I was very happy.

I think.

But every now and then, my heart would sink. As if something was wrong somewhere and I could not figure it out. What was it that was not letting me fully celebrate my moment of glory? What was that odd feeling that was gnawing at a corner of my heart, causing such ups and downs? Why were my eyes teary, why was my heart breaking? One moment I would be so elated, and the very next, I would come crashing down. Something was not right still. What was missing? What was it?

It just didn't make sense. It was supposed to be all happy. Sayesha, happy happy happy. Happy!

But why was I sad?

And then I remembered the little girl.

The one on the red bicycle, rushing home from school after the annual day, almost tumbling off her bicycle in her excitement to get home, not even parking it properly, but just pushing it against the wall of the house, tearing through the door, "Mummy!!! See, I won I won! Your daughter is first!" And she ran and put the medals around her mother's neck, and placed the trophies in her arms. Her mother beamed with excitement, while her father quietly looked on with a smile on his face, not wanting to be part of the almost embarrassing mother-daughter drama, but proud nevertheless.

How tacky. Sounds like a chocolate ad, doesn't it?

But this scene is straight from my childhood.

And that's when I realised. That's what was missing.

Phone calls... emails... naah! Nothing quite beats family being there on the spot, physically present, to see our moment, to share it, to live it with us.

Perhaps that's why I was sad in spite of my happy news.

Because somewhere inside me, that little girl still lives, and just like the old days, she wants to dash through the door, show mom her report card and say, "Mummy! See, I won I won! Your daughter is senior editor!"

But she can't.

Damn these long distance relationships...

Just bossing around

It all started with a missing intern.

Yesterday my intern disappeared without a trace. Poof! No call, no sms, no email. Fearing for the deadlines first and her well-being later, my managing editor and I managed to get her mobile number from the other intern at work, and called her. She told me she wasn't feeling well.

"You should call in sick in the morning so I am kept aware of your whereabouts." I told her.

"Uhh.. yeah. Sorry."

I forgot about the incident soon after. I was ready to let it go. She's a kid after all and she’s too new to the publishing industry. She probably did not realise that if you miss a single deadline here, half the world comes crashing down on you.

Later, my managing editor sent me an email advising me that I should "keep a closer eye on my staff".

Ouch.

Of course he had a valid point. And he meant it in a good way. But, ouch.

I thought I was doing well. I usually don't like to micro-manage my staff. My working style is very typical – if you have a good attitude, are eager to learn the multitude of things I am eager to teach you, give me good-quality work, are willing to use your creativity, show initiative, are not lazy, don't miss deadlines, I won't breathe down your neck.

So far, I have had the good fortune of having a brilliant team of editors. Fast learners, excited about things, and the best part is -- they have a sense of humour (without which, one would die in the pressure cooker environment of this industry.)

Apart from the occasional reminder about punctuality (I am a sucker for punctuality and believe that even ridiculous work hours such as 8:15 to 6:03 pm should be respected), I don't run a very tight ship with my team. In fact, I have often been accused by other colleagues of spoiling my editors.

During the peak season for textbook publishing, things can get crazy, and editors often have to stay back at work after midnight. My team usually leaves work on time. And I encourage that. In spite of the odd looks that other teams give us. I wish I could tell them -- leaving on time does not mean that my team has a very light workload. It just means that my team is efficient.

If we should not let our personal lives affect our work lives, well, it's only fair that we should not let our work lives affect our personal lives too. That is my motto. And our personal lives starts at 6:03 pm. So I say, come in on time and leave on time. Unless of course you have a deadline.

And things seem to be going fine for me and my editors. But yesterday's incident made me go "ouch." For the first time in three years.

A year ago, I was happily skipping along like a little lamb when I bumped into a promotion. And suddenly, my work wasn’t just my own stuff anymore. There were so many other things to think about. Training my staff, motivation, workflow, fighting for my editors’ rights at the update meetings, making sure they are not given subjects they don’t want to work on, arguing with other departments, especially Marketing that threw impossible demands at us with amazing regularity.

I freaked out a bit.

"You mean I will be mutilating other people's work like you mutilate mine?" I asked my senior editor.

"Haha! Yeah. We feel you're ready to do it." She said.

"Gosh! And I'll be rejecting people's work and asking for redrafts? And what about the editors who are older than me? Will they listen to me? Will they respect me? Will they abide by my instructions? Will they really even listen to me?" I had a million and one doubts.

My boss gave me a little talk to ease my fears about leading a team of editors. “It's all about knowledge and experience. Your age does not matter.” She said. “And you have both, so you already have the authority. Don't worry.”

As I stepped into my new position, I realised how difficult a supervisory role is. You have to not only set the right examples, you have to hide your prejudices so the morale of your team does not get affected. You have to be the bridge between upper management and your team so that everybody is happy and productive.

Some time ago, someone remarked that most working bloggers are either planning to eat rat poison or feed it to their bosses. Now here's why I wouldn't do it. We can crib all we want about our bosses, but it’s only when we step into their shoes do we realise that they're also going thru as much shit as we are. Possibly more.

I think I only had the rat poison situation at Company #1. In my present company, I have had the good fortune of having bosses, each of whom has taught me something important. Each of them had a different style and I learnt a bit from each, put it together and got myself a working style.

Today, I am reminded of all the bosses I have worked under and learnt stuff from. They’ve been of all kinds.

Now book publishing presents very unique problems. We have too many ‘freak-out’ incidents. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.

Here are just a few of the freak-out incidents:

• WHAT? The Ministry of Education wants the conceptual framework in two weeks?? But we don't even have an author yet!!
• WHAT?? The colour printer broke down? But the proofs are due for submission this afternoon!!
• WHAT?? The artwork is delayed? But the first proofs were supposed to be in yesterday!!
• WHAT?? The website link given in our book has transformed into ahem ahem… something not so suitable for kids anymore??
• WHAT?? Another designer quit??
• WHAT?? Three editors quit??
• WHAT?? Colleague X joined the competitors?? But I had discussed all the plans for next year with him/her!!
• WHAT?? The cover got rejected by the publisher?? But it was supposed to go to print today!!
• WHAT????? What do you mean the soft copy of the book got corrupted???
• WHAT?? The magazine is two weeks late? But it must reach the schools before the holidays start!
• WHAT?? What do you mean the author used the wrong syllabus?? She's written practically half the book!
  
• WHAT?? The freelance illustrator took off on a sudden vacation without completing his work??
• WHAT?? What do you mean the author got arrested? We're launching his book next week!!
  

And every time, surprise, surprise, there’s a new problem. And sometimes, it's so unexpected and unprecedented, you just don’t know what to do with it. So you go to your boss with the problem.

Here’s what happened to me when I did that with each of the bosses. I want to document all this so I can revisit and remember why I do what I do.

Boss 1
The first senior editor I worked under was this fierce lady who had an incredible amount of experience, and an incredibly short fuse to match. She knew her stuff all right, but she was absolutely terrifying. Diplomacy was something she probably did not believe in. In fact, one of the male editors told me in my first week itself, "Beware! Every female editor who has worked under Boss 1 has cried at least once." I was determined to not join the group of the crying editors. But boy, was it tough.

I dreaded meetings with her where she would go through pages and pages of my work that she had mutilated with her infamous pencil. Going to her with a problem was like entering a lion's den with raw-meat-cologne sprayed all over yourself. I was so freakin’ scared of her that it actually made me more thorough and diligent with my work just because I did not want her to find any flaw in my work and scream the place down. Also, I wanted to prove to her that it wasn’t true that engineers were no good as editors. And one fine day, when one of my editorials came back from her, not only untouched by that infamous pencil, but with a 'good!' written on it, my joy knew no bounds. I had finally cracked the wall.

Boss 2
Boss 2 was a sweetheart. She adored me to death, and had such immense faith in my creativity and project-management skills that it was almost embarrassing. “Oh Sayesha, I am sure you must have already thought of a solution. I have faith in you.” So there was no choice for this over-rated Sayesha to think up a solution and execute it. “See, I told you, you’d handle it fine!” She’d say. She made me believe in myself.

Boss 3
Boss 3 was funny, funny, funny. It was amazing how she saw the humour in even the scariest of problems. I learnt from her that work should be fun. That a boss does not have to be a hard-nut ass-kicking slave-driver. She taught me that happy editors are productive editors.

Boss 4
Now Boss 4 was strict. Ooooh, very strict. But more diplomatic than Boss 1. But she expected me to be very very independent. She did not want me to go to her with problems, she wanted me to go to her with solutions. “So? What is your plan of action to counter these problems?” My thought bubble, “My plan of action? Errr... I thought you could advise me... you're the boss..” But she would look at me in the eye till I came up with a plan of action on the spot. So the next time I went to her with any problem, I always remembered to take a plan of action along with me. And a back-up. And that attitude is such a big help today.

Whatever I have learnt today, I have done so by watching my bosses, by analysing how they deal with situations. And that kinda puts the pressure on me today when I deal with those situations.

Sometimes I tell myself, "Be a good boss. You have to keep your composure, show little emotion, not freak out, cos your editors are watching you. They are learning from you. Don't make them freak out too!"

But at times I can't help it, and I don't stop myself from freaking out. Right in front of them.

I guess it just makes me a more human boss I suppose?

Now would you please excuse me while I go and sort out another freak-out situation.

WHAT?? What do you mean the pregnant author’s hormones are kicking in and she refuses to complete the book??

From bloggers-not-so-anonymous to MACs

Dammit. Today I wanted to blog about the very interesting case of the missing intern, but looking at the hoo-haa on Munnu's blog, I feel that this post is more called for. So at the risk of inviting more unwanted MACs to Sayeshaz, here's what I have to say.

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Dear Mean Anonymous Commentator (MAC),

Thank you for anonymously subscribing to our newsletter. Welcome to your third consecutive year in Commenting 101. We hope you will enjoy these lessons as much as we at bloggers-not-so-anonymous have enjoyed putting them together for you. And we hope you will finally graduate this year.

Before we proceed to delve deep into the subject, let us give you a refresher course on blogs, since you seem to forget it every now and then.

1. A blog is a web log. It belongs to an individual. It does not belong to you. Is that clear? Underline that. It does not belong to you.

2. If point 1 is clear, you would realise that since it does not belong to you, it belongs to someone else. Someone else, okay? Now that's a whole other person. And no, it's not you.

3. Since the blog belongs to a whole other person, that whole other person has the right to write whatever he/she wants to write on his/her blog. We know we keep harping on this, but we have to, because some of our more intellectually challenged students just don't seem to get it. If you're so keen on dictating content on a blog, get one yourself. It's easy. And free. (unlike these very expensive lessons you're having to attend).

4. We bloggers do not ask for praise. Neither do we ask you to agree with us on every point. We write because we want to write. Hell, half the time we write nonsense. And we know it. But a blog is for our thoughts. If there is nonsense in our thoughts, there will be nonsense in the blog. You cannot control it. We repeat, you cannot control our thoughts. (Hell, even we can't!)

5. You're not tied to a chair with your eyelids pinned open and the blog in front of you. You have the choice to close your eyes. You have the choice to close the window. You have the choice to shut down the computer. You have the choice to run away from the 'evil blog that insults your intelligence'.

6. Be clear about what constructive criticism is. What you are doing, is not. There are plenty of intelligent commentators here who give us constructive criticism. Learn from them.

7. Before you judge us, look at yourself. We bloggers are mere mortals with all our flaws. And we display them on our blogs. Not for you to take the high-horse attitude. If you are so perfect yourself, why don't you spread some love around, instead of spreading malice and possibly ruining someone's day? Most of us bloggers don't care about your comments, but some do, and the rest of us will stand up for those. Bloggers are people too. Treat them as you would treat people whom you talk to in person. The mask of anonymity does not give you special meanness privileges.

8. You are not forking out your hard-earned money to read anyone's blog. It's purely your own choice. So do not complain about QC.

9. We bloggers are open to criticism and disagreement, but only if it is mature and leads to an intelligent debate. Statements like "What crap!" or "You write nonsense." or "You're so pathetic." are of no use to either you or us. It may boost your ego for a while, but think of how pathetic you are if your ego is boosted by thoughts of how pathetic you think we are.

10. Think about your comment after you comment. Remember, everyone makes mistakes. Just that blogger gives you the option of going back and deleting your mistakes. Use it. Be a good guest. Don't let your host clean up after you.

11. Why do you post as anonymous? What are you scared of? Most MACs have blog accounts. Use it. Sign in and then post. Let us see you just as you see us.

12. If you do not have a blog account, get one and walk a mile in our shoes. Think of how sad it is that you are criticising someone's online thoughts, when you don't have any yourself.

13. Trust us when we say that none of us bloggers wants to block anonymous comments, many of which are incredibly insightful. Some of them are our friends and we respect their right to not have a blog in order to comment on our blogs. Just as we have the right to put ourselves on blogger, they have the right not to. So do not let your deeds give a bad name to all non-bloggers.

14. Face it. Most of the time you post mean anonymous comments due to a personal grudge. The same post by a friend of yours triggers a "Haha, you're crazy, man!" comment from you, but if someone you dislike writes it, your comment magically transforms to "How much crap do you write? I'm disgusted at your blog." Personal grudges are not good for your well-being. Get rid of them. (This, coming from us, who don't even care so much about your well-being!)

15. Do not make it your duty to do internet policing and criticising content on the net that is not upto your 'high' standards. Think about how much value your juvenile comments are adding to the 'high-standard' stuff.

That's all for the day. Because we fear it may be too much knowledge for you to digest. We hope this lesson has been enlightening for you in some way.

We know you may not change your ways just by reading this.

But maybe you will. Who knows.

Yours truly,
Sayesha
On behalf of
Bloggers-not-so-anonymous