Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The secret behind secrets
“You do not know how to keep a secret,” chided a close friend.
“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” I replied quoting Benjamin Franklin.
“Why did you tell William that Khan is visiting Dubai? Khan had specifically told me that his was a secret visit,” she fumed.
“I did not know that, sorry,” I pleaded.
“The other day I had told you not to tell anyone that I had bought a new car. But when I entered the office everyone asked about it. Now I will stop telling you anything meant to be a secret,” she went on.
Her argument went on like this: Secrets at times drag us to prosperity – we can decide, can open our heart to our own, without getting derailed by others’ comments. You never know where you are placed in one’s heart – friend or foe!!!!!
I am of the firm opinion that secrets kill debates. It is better to share views and exchange ideas.
Anyway, I was amazed by her ability to hold on to secrets.
“I wish I could keep secrets like you,” I replied.
She fell silent for a minute.
“I cannot keep secrets either,” she suddenly yelled.
Why?
“If I could have, I would not have uttered them to you.”
RR/Sept.30, 2008
“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” I replied quoting Benjamin Franklin.
“Why did you tell William that Khan is visiting Dubai? Khan had specifically told me that his was a secret visit,” she fumed.
“I did not know that, sorry,” I pleaded.
“The other day I had told you not to tell anyone that I had bought a new car. But when I entered the office everyone asked about it. Now I will stop telling you anything meant to be a secret,” she went on.
Her argument went on like this: Secrets at times drag us to prosperity – we can decide, can open our heart to our own, without getting derailed by others’ comments. You never know where you are placed in one’s heart – friend or foe!!!!!
I am of the firm opinion that secrets kill debates. It is better to share views and exchange ideas.
Anyway, I was amazed by her ability to hold on to secrets.
“I wish I could keep secrets like you,” I replied.
She fell silent for a minute.
“I cannot keep secrets either,” she suddenly yelled.
Why?
“If I could have, I would not have uttered them to you.”
RR/Sept.30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Quote of the day
This is one of the best quotations if you ask me;
****
If you want to be happy, be.
- Leo Tolstoy
****
If you want to be happy, be.
- Leo Tolstoy
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Two decades, sea change (TOI scene)
The Fourth Estate has witnessed a sea change in less than three decades. How? Well, I can speak about my experience with The Times of India (TOI), Mumbai, where I joined as a sub-editor in the early eighties. Noisy teleprinters, dusty files, torn newsprints, fuming chief-subs, ruffled reporters were the order of the day. Editors made VIP appearance. The chief-subs carried pencils, erasers and scales to measure the size of photographs and prepare dummies for page-making. No computers. Four typed lines made an inch as per our calculation.
The ground floor of the six-storey TOI building stood like a museum where passers by peeped through windows to have a glimpse of giant printing machines.
A little past midnight, at the printing press (2nd floor), chief subs hurling four-letter invectives at innocent and scared subs, was a common sight.
At those times, two veteran page-makers, Miranda and Anton, were a great source of consolation for the juniors. “Come on, take it easy, let’s make an “English page,” they would say, smiling. Until today, I haven’t been able to comprehend what they meant by “English page.”
And, I never realized then that those abuses from seniors were actually blessings.
After night duty, when the newspaper had been safely “put to bed,” (The GenNext may not know this term), some subs would be lucky to catch the last train from VT station and head back home. In my case, Mr Murphy, whose law is famous, saw to it that the train invariably puffed out of the station the moment I dashed in… panting.
And so was it that a group of subs will settle for a cup of tea (sold at 50 paise) at the 24-hour VT canteen or a “Pav baaji” from the roadside vendors, and return to office for a short sleep until the first train rolled out. And where did we sleep? Just clear the tables where we worked, put a few old newspapers or newsprints, and bingo, the bed’s ready. The teleprinter and fan noise would try to disrupt sleep, but fail miserably as the subs would have been so exhausted by that time. While chief sub CSPP had a splendid knack of dozing off in seconds, good-spirited chief sub SS could never get sleep before finding a listener for his sermon.
Telegram delivery guys used to wake us up in the wee hours but I mischievously redirected them towards other subs. In the morning, I would pick up my bag to move on, only to see a telegram or two strewn on the face of one colleague or the other.
I have actually seen bandicoots, not rats, crawling above the bundles of newspapers strewn around.
BTW, do I sound like an elderly man? Mind you, I am just in my forties. Does not life begin at 40? Quite a few pretty girls wink at me and I return the gesture (But let’s keep it a secret, buddy).
Pranks? Wow, do not remind me about them. TOI editorial staff in the eighties had a great sense of humour. Will talk about it in the next posting.
R.Ramesh/ Sept 27, 2008
The ground floor of the six-storey TOI building stood like a museum where passers by peeped through windows to have a glimpse of giant printing machines.
A little past midnight, at the printing press (2nd floor), chief subs hurling four-letter invectives at innocent and scared subs, was a common sight.
At those times, two veteran page-makers, Miranda and Anton, were a great source of consolation for the juniors. “Come on, take it easy, let’s make an “English page,” they would say, smiling. Until today, I haven’t been able to comprehend what they meant by “English page.”
And, I never realized then that those abuses from seniors were actually blessings.
After night duty, when the newspaper had been safely “put to bed,” (The GenNext may not know this term), some subs would be lucky to catch the last train from VT station and head back home. In my case, Mr Murphy, whose law is famous, saw to it that the train invariably puffed out of the station the moment I dashed in… panting.
And so was it that a group of subs will settle for a cup of tea (sold at 50 paise) at the 24-hour VT canteen or a “Pav baaji” from the roadside vendors, and return to office for a short sleep until the first train rolled out. And where did we sleep? Just clear the tables where we worked, put a few old newspapers or newsprints, and bingo, the bed’s ready. The teleprinter and fan noise would try to disrupt sleep, but fail miserably as the subs would have been so exhausted by that time. While chief sub CSPP had a splendid knack of dozing off in seconds, good-spirited chief sub SS could never get sleep before finding a listener for his sermon.
Telegram delivery guys used to wake us up in the wee hours but I mischievously redirected them towards other subs. In the morning, I would pick up my bag to move on, only to see a telegram or two strewn on the face of one colleague or the other.
I have actually seen bandicoots, not rats, crawling above the bundles of newspapers strewn around.
BTW, do I sound like an elderly man? Mind you, I am just in my forties. Does not life begin at 40? Quite a few pretty girls wink at me and I return the gesture (But let’s keep it a secret, buddy).
Pranks? Wow, do not remind me about them. TOI editorial staff in the eighties had a great sense of humour. Will talk about it in the next posting.
R.Ramesh/ Sept 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Better to zip lip
A masters in English literature, my friend never tires of using idioms at the drop of a hat.
After a heated debate last week, he hit back at me saying: “You are bent on creating a storm in a teacup.”
“I am not,” I replied.
“Fine words butter no parsnips,” he replied. I had to check out from Google that it actually meant talking is easy, but talking is not action.
“Why are you angry? In a debate, you have to listen to the other person’s point of view,” I tried to pacify him.
“Don’t judge a book by the cover. Look deeper,” he said.
Fed up of his idiomatic jargon, I bid adieu promising to meet him in a day or two. And meet I did. Only this time, I saw a punch mark on his face.
What happened?
“It’s that stupid Joe,” he replied. “During an argument I told him ‘beggars cannot be choosers,’ and he assaulted me.”
Why?
“He thought I was calling him a beggar.”
RR/Sept.24, 2008
After a heated debate last week, he hit back at me saying: “You are bent on creating a storm in a teacup.”
“I am not,” I replied.
“Fine words butter no parsnips,” he replied. I had to check out from Google that it actually meant talking is easy, but talking is not action.
“Why are you angry? In a debate, you have to listen to the other person’s point of view,” I tried to pacify him.
“Don’t judge a book by the cover. Look deeper,” he said.
Fed up of his idiomatic jargon, I bid adieu promising to meet him in a day or two. And meet I did. Only this time, I saw a punch mark on his face.
What happened?
“It’s that stupid Joe,” he replied. “During an argument I told him ‘beggars cannot be choosers,’ and he assaulted me.”
Why?
“He thought I was calling him a beggar.”
RR/Sept.24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Wow, she made it again
Good Britney is bouncing back.. You are indeed "stronger than yesterday." Keep it up, Britney..
Whisper and thunder
There are some who talk too loudly almost bursting the ear drums of the listener, while there others who speak too softly to be audible.
The other day, a close friend of mine wanted to share a secret. She “whispered” in my ears. Some other colleagues sitting nearby laughed as they could hear her.
It is just that when she whispers, it looks like a normal chat, and when she talks, it sounds like she’s shouting. When she actually shouts, often people misunderstand it as thunder. No wonder, colleagues find the silence killing when this sportive person is not around.
More tormenting than those with a loud voice are the ones who keep their volumes too low. I picked up the phone last week to hear someone murmuring a few words.
What’s your name please?
“Zzz….”
I thought a bee was interrupting the line. After repeated attempts and effective execution of my journalistic skills, I managed to find out that she was a PR executive wanting to send some press release.
But is it not true that variety is what shapes the beauty of the world?
RR/ Sept.22, 2008
The other day, a close friend of mine wanted to share a secret. She “whispered” in my ears. Some other colleagues sitting nearby laughed as they could hear her.
It is just that when she whispers, it looks like a normal chat, and when she talks, it sounds like she’s shouting. When she actually shouts, often people misunderstand it as thunder. No wonder, colleagues find the silence killing when this sportive person is not around.
More tormenting than those with a loud voice are the ones who keep their volumes too low. I picked up the phone last week to hear someone murmuring a few words.
What’s your name please?
“Zzz….”
I thought a bee was interrupting the line. After repeated attempts and effective execution of my journalistic skills, I managed to find out that she was a PR executive wanting to send some press release.
But is it not true that variety is what shapes the beauty of the world?
RR/ Sept.22, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I went, I bought, I cried
Customer is the king/queen, they often say. Is it true?
There are quite a few occasions when I felt more like a victim than a king.
Just a few samples: I bought a branded T-shirt at an international airport, wore it for a day and found that the pocket was almost peeling off thanks to poor stitching. I took it to a roadside tailor and suggested he sew it up. Sew it up he did, but he also did something he could have easily avoided. He tried to iron the shirt and in the process burnt it, leaving a big hole. As if the rising prices have not left enough hole in the pocket already…
During a recent visit to the Meena Bazaar area of Dubai, I bought an expensive (no, I am not joking) branded cellphone. Within weeks, the display went off. “It must be a virus. We cannot do anything,” declared the shopkeeper. I approached another shopkeeper who blamed it on “LCD problem.” Needless to say, I shelled out quite a few bucks on getting the LCD replaced.
Recently at a shopping mall, I chided my wife for picking up tomatoes at random. “Go for the packed one. See how inexpensive it is,” I suggested. She protested initially, but fell for the bait. When we went home, her face went red as the tomatoes, as we found that almost half of them were damaged ones.
RR/ Sept20, 2008.
There are quite a few occasions when I felt more like a victim than a king.
Just a few samples: I bought a branded T-shirt at an international airport, wore it for a day and found that the pocket was almost peeling off thanks to poor stitching. I took it to a roadside tailor and suggested he sew it up. Sew it up he did, but he also did something he could have easily avoided. He tried to iron the shirt and in the process burnt it, leaving a big hole. As if the rising prices have not left enough hole in the pocket already…
During a recent visit to the Meena Bazaar area of Dubai, I bought an expensive (no, I am not joking) branded cellphone. Within weeks, the display went off. “It must be a virus. We cannot do anything,” declared the shopkeeper. I approached another shopkeeper who blamed it on “LCD problem.” Needless to say, I shelled out quite a few bucks on getting the LCD replaced.
Recently at a shopping mall, I chided my wife for picking up tomatoes at random. “Go for the packed one. See how inexpensive it is,” I suggested. She protested initially, but fell for the bait. When we went home, her face went red as the tomatoes, as we found that almost half of them were damaged ones.
RR/ Sept20, 2008.
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