18 till I die...

My earliest memories of her date back to the “bhoomi pooja” (or the customary ceremony that is performed to inaugurate the construction on a new site) that we performed. During the later months, I remember accompanying my grandmother and parents many a times to monitor the construction progress throughout its various stages. As we completed the planned ground floor of the house, dad with his penchant for space and luxury, infused more money into her and very soon the little wonder grew up to be a three-storeyed one. It was like a vision taking form. A east-facing house in a quaint locality in Bangalore’s desirous Indiranagar was like a dream-come-true to all of us. The house when completed, was every neighbour’s envy and of course was the owners’ gigantic pride.

Fondly christened as “Meenakshi” after Muthi’s name, this house soon became a very integral part of our growing up years. I remember how Muthi, with her green hands, painstakingly build her garden with over a 100 pots of plants on the ample balcony space; the varied flowers that flourish on the pots there and Muthi plucking them out everyday for adorning the Gods’ pictures inside; the diverse vegetables like brinjal, drumstick, pickle-lemon, avarekkai etc that she used to grow in her garden making it quite a sumptuous meal for us all the time; how the wide terrace area provided abundant room for over 15 dogs that we used to nurture and rear; the warm summer nights that I used to like spending on the terrace under the jeweled sky; the numerous hide-and-seek games that we used to play inside the house with the cousins who used to visit us often; the street wearing a bright golden-yellow hue with the Tabebuia blossoms every year with the onset of spring; the house illuminated each year with diyas during Diwali and Karthika festivals; the bright illumines with lights and decorations with coconut leaf pandals & flowers on mine and the sibling's wedding eves... the memories remain vivid in my mind as I sit down and reminisce

It was on 22nd August 1991 that we conducted our “Grihapravesham” and commenced living there. Every year on this day, we used to visit the nearby temple to thank the Almighty for blessing us with her. Tomorrow is 22nd August 2009 and the house that grew old with all of us completes 18 years of proud subsistence. She was sold 2 weeks ago to someone else and I know that we wouldn’t have another anniversary to celebrate her existence in our lives. This person who has bought her from us may continue to live there or pull her down to erect a new one in her place but I can only look back at the days by-gone and silently thank her for being there with us..for us all along. Although I have melancholic feelings inside me, I know that, albeit with forlorn hearts, Muthi, Dad, Mom and our 2 year old lab puppy Achhu are moving to newer grounds, newer lives and newer experiences.

Of Abject reporting lines.

Life is definitely a series of experiences. While most of them are good, there are a few distasteful ones that can’t be avoided. Repugnant catastrophes like the person who I am about to write about here exist only to give us a taste of such experiences.

Let’s refer her here with her initials PC. (I am yet to decide if I need to write out her entire name on this and ensure this write-up is thrown on all the searches that anyone makes on this person!).

A 47 year old hag; All of 3 feet tall...er...short; Has a first name that sounds like the bark of a dog and the surname is a human body part; Must have attained menopause but behaves like she’s constantly on PMS!; Her laugh is so shrill and loud that it can curdle milk!. This is a little description of the Malaysian @#&$% I report to at work here. Did you just say I sound malicious...wait till you read further.

She is single which comes as no surprise since we really understand the guy who must have committed the gravest mistake of getting involved with this thing, but unlike us, managed to escape (hopefully alive!) and is living happily some place else. The constant smirk pasted on her face that looks like a weird extension of some body-part, anti-friendly behavior, rude remarks, breathing-down-your-neck fetish, inept at handling business pressure and petty conduct make her the “manic depressive” person that one can come across. She is the most expensive employee in the centre and gets billed onto an engagement with the lowest business margins. Five people across various levels have already become “casualties” of her wretched behavior and I, or for that matter, a lot of others would have been fine if there was even an iota of benefit that arose from retaining her in that role.

I knew I was always jinxed when it came to working with female bosses. But this time around I had vouched to not lay low. I escalated the last show-down we had, this time over my food preferences!. Someone who ate only Chicken from among the meat delicacies that this country dishes out did not “whet her appetite”. She expected me to eat Goose and Duck meat too! The Centre Director and the Head of HR were notified on this and they had to set right this behavior now.

Set right they did. I was moved out from her reporting line to now report directly to the Centre Director. Is this how a behavior issue at work is addressed did you wonder? I am wondering too.