The Curious Case Of Crazy Chennai Characters

The Curious Case Of Crazy Chennai Characters!!
Part 1: The wobbly beginnings.

Back after an 18 day work trip to Chennai. I know it sounds worthy of a lot of blank looks, so here's’ a little on what’s happened:
Got a call from my company around the 23rd July stating they need someone in Chennai from Monday. Okay sure said I, interviews happened, and I got selected… blah blah… within 1.5 days. Friday, 4 o clock I got my offer letter. Tuesday morning I joined!! (In the middle days I went on a shopping spree for my new job, plus a trip to god knows where.)

The entry into the office was not-so-auspicious. Got stuck in the office elevator for 20 minutes. “Speed” movie’s opening sequence flashing thru in my head. And, I thot to meself to message my new office people I will be late. Either late time-wise, or late Meghna Singh!!!! Okay bad time to think of jokes, I thot to myself. Oh and btw, I was the only girl in the lift. So all the men were staring at me, waiting me to crumble under the pressure and break into tears. I didn’t. I was having a hard time hiding my smirk. Well done God! Got me fooled into that I got the company of my dreams and that I had made it! Okay, finally the gates opened. Alas! No Keanu Reaves. Anywhoooo, proceeded to my office, with very shaky knees now!!

Couple of hours into the day, I reminded them that they might need me in Chennai. I thot, and here is where I faltered, I thot they mite need me to fly out the next morning or something. Wrong. They need me to fly out in 3 hours. Frantic calls made to mum. Start packing. Not knowing where I would be made to stay, if I would have a laundry facility etc, mum packed me ready for a war. Everything a person might need for 3 weeks, were pushed into my bag.

3 weeks!!! Seemed enormous at the time. 3 weeks away from my family, at a place so far away where I cant guilt them into coming for a visit. Sad faces would be in order, but didn’t have time to do that. Had a flight to catch. Finally boarded the flight. Damn small aircrafts. They shake and whimper like a kitten during the takeoff. Bad weather, turbulence all the way, and bad reminisces of the fact that its all an elaborate plan of God to give it all to me and then in an instance take it away by- yes- killing me. Sneaky fellow, HIM!! Finally. 2 hours 35 minutes over. Landed in Chennai. Still alive. Yes, praise the lord.

It was around 8.30 pm, when I had finally overcome the language barrier and told the driver who had come to get me how to find me. Sitting in the car, I confirmed with him, “bhaiya, hotel pride?” the hotel that my company had made reservations for me at. Allegedly!!!

Bhaiya, rather, anna replied, “No madam, Hotel Taj Connemara”. Nahh, they wont put me up there, would they. They wouldn’t and they didn’t. I was to have dinner there and go. Oh, maybe there are more people from HR team there that I am supposed to meet. Little did I know. There was our COO, my boss, international guests, and around 50 odd employees!! All senior people!!

This I got to know only after I entered the conference hall dressed in a lycra kurta, jeans, sports shoes, bad, messy bed-hair and a big laptop bag. Oh damn. Yeah. But at this point of time I was so above such humanly emotions! I had been thrown into the deep end of the ocean long before. I was just realising that the ocean was made of quick sand, and there were meteors falling near my quick sand, and there were little blood sucking Egyptian cockroaches on my neck… You get the idea right!

Anyway. I sat motionless thru whatever presentations that were going on so as to ensure least bit of attention onto me. The presentations ended. Met my boss, met my team. Apologised profusely for my attire, ate the most uncomfortable dinner I have ever could have imagined. And then excused myself for the night and headed for my hotel. Ps. thank God, my boss is a nice lady!!!

Oh here the alleged reservation part comes in. I asked the reception desk person, “reservations for Meghna Singh?” No. Gave my company’s name, city. Nope, nothing on the system. Irritated, frustrated, on the brink of screaming my lungs out, called my saviour, Herbert sir. Apparently, as soon as I said, hello Herbert sir, the hotel desk guy was like, yeah yeah I know now! Idiot.

Then I proceeded to a pretty lavish room, considering my post, and tenure with the company. But I guess it pays to be a girl. You are taken care of. Called my parents. Was on the brink of breaking down over the phone. They sensed it too. Couldn’t help it. Was damn tired, in a foreign city. So far away from them. Didn’t know what the heck was going on. Had no free wi-fi thing. Just a very very expensive LAN connection. Did connect to it. Spoke to my other saviour. AD. Who convinced me not to cry my eyes out that night. But I still did. That is Meghna Singh at her best!!!
Next morning had to wake up at around 5.45 am (YEAH, I know!!!) to reach Taj at around 7. Little did I know that for the next 18 days I was the only person to be anywhere on time, and will be the first one to reach anything/where. Arrgh!!!

> End Of Part 1 <

To be continued…

Special mention to my Chennai sweethearts here. Kavitha: She didn’t know me much, but didn’t rag me at all. Me being a newbie and all. She was all like, you can come a little late. We all are coming around 7.30. come aaram se!! And all of that.
Taj boys: made our live easier, funner, and most importantly filled with choclate cookies. Cant wait to yell out my version of STELLA again. The boys were sugu, Arun,Thiru, M.O.N.E.Y, Karthik among others. And then there was the devil!!!

The IBM squirrels: I don’t know where to start!!! May and Grace. Truly international, but contributed to some good unadulterated Indian fun for the last 3 weeks!!
More on these characters to come later on!!! Actually am sure rest of the blog will be mostly about them, their antics, and the fact that they became my family in Chennai. Yep, we had mummy, my twin sister, my friends, my buddies, my crushes, and of course the- guy-that-we-all-liked-but-no-one-owned-up-to-it!!

About me

Well, I was finally out of things to write in the "about me" section and hence I concocted this little rap/ rhyme whatever. (This is the extended version :D)

















Yo, Yo, Yo,

let me tell u a story, but it aint gonna be pretty,
cos its about me, not exactly a perfect young lady,

Here it goes, Yo!
*Chorus: give it up, give it up,for the lady,
Meghna Singh,come shake your booty*

quite a contradiction, she is an addiction,
too much of her can seem like an affliction,

*give it up, give it up,for the lady,
Meghna Singh,come shake your booty*

wears her heart on her sleeve, falls love so swiftly,
does the chase and gets bored with everything so quickly,
oh she loves them boys, oh them cutie pies,
loves 'em even more if they sindhi, have names ending with a "NI"
even the hollywood superstar sweetheart gotta be CLOO-NEY!!


*give it up, give it up,for the lady,
Meghna Singh,come shake your booty*

loves her soul sisters, her friends,
a sweet little group called the tamarinds,
its nothing less than the ya-ya sisters,
and their motto, "sisters before misters",

*give it up, give it up,for the lady,
Meghna Singh,come shake your booty*

Now, I am tired of sounding so concieted,
I'll get back to this rhyme, once i m well rested!!

*giving it up... giving it up..*

Everyone join me in this now.

Me: God, m so vella. *U SING*
Everyone: God, u r so vella,
Me: Hey, m so vella,
Everyone: you are so vella!! You are so vella.. You are so vella...

*everyone keeps on chanting: You are so vella... You are so vella...*


Peace y'all!!!

Thank You, New Delhi... I love you!!!

“I wanna be a STAR”

I had an epiphany recently.

(which was... read on...)

I had always thought I was a romantic, the kind that pines for love, the kind of kindred spirit that searches for its other half… you know all your regular starry eyed movie stuff. And it has always eluded me. It was always a glance away, a few steps ahead of me; it’s always been a tease. Exasperating isn’t it? Or at least sounds so. And this got me to thinking, there has to be a rational explanation why this irrational feeling called love dodges me.
But really it doesn’t really evade me always. There have been a couple of times that I had come very close to having it, to having someone special in my life… and I did a 180 degree turn and walked away. Every time. I walked away from love. Not many in this world dare to this. And I would convince myself that the person isn’t right for me, or isn’t a perfect match. In a way, now I know, it was the right thing to do because I wasn’t looking for love.

That’s when I had my epiphany. It was not love I was after, it was something similar yet so very different I was after, which I had confused with love. I was after “stardom”. It is totally opposite of love is all about: being the alone with someone special, living for them and only them and not caring for the rest of the world. But they are the similar too: when you are in love you are the star for the other person. I am enamoured with this feeling, of being the only important thing in someone’s life. And obviously like love, stardom is addictive to the extent of being destructive. But the most important reason I confused my search for stardom with love was because when you are in love, you promise the other person to be a witness for their lives. To be there to celebrate everything about them, and ensure the world wouldn’t forget about them. And that’s what I want. I didn’t want a life which would go unnoticed except by a few people. I want don’t want to be forgotten, I don’t want to feel invisible. I guess that’s why I want stardom, the attention of all. It’s almost stifling for me to think that I would live my entire life just being Meghna Singh: a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a friend. And nothing more. Not a great leader or an Oscar winning actor or business empire builder in league with Bill Gates and Donald Trumps of the world. Just another one of the millions of “people”.

I guess, this is one of the reason I actually like Paris Hilton. Because she refused to go down in history just as a “Hilton empire heiress” and actually made something of herself- and I am not here to discuss her methods. But what I am do admire about her, is that she is an entity in herself now. And not just a mere carrier of the Hilton genes.

It shouldn’t be too surprising for the people who know me to understand. I have always, always thrived in attention.

Anyhow, I guess the realisation was the easy part. The hard part is the “coming through”. I somehow have to find a way to be this star. Till I do achieve that… Good night and good luck. Yes, another George Clooney (or should I say cloo-ni!!!!) movie.

The scrubs-isation of my life.

“Change begets change” said the janitor in the season finale of Season 8 of ‘Scrubs’. And as I peered into the screen, into his wrinkled and yet sparkly blue eyes (yes, I do kind of have a crush on the janitor, no thanks to a certain raunchy profs definition of a janitor. "Janitor, yes he is guy above all in an organisation. He is above all the lawyers and the partners. He knows all information even before the CEO does!!” said the prof with all earnesty!! And you wonder why we still don’t have jobs. We were taught all too well!!)

Anyway, the point I am pushing here, is that everything is changing, and not for the good. Read on…

So, they have packed their bags and they are out of here. Its so hard writing about it, because it makes me sick to my stomach, thinking vini n karu are not here with me right now glaring into the laptop and asking repeatedly, “what you writing?? chal neeche, pandeyji par…” They are in Mumbai, in fact, starting their professional careers. And I am still stuck in Delhi, as usual. Too much is changing here. Divya had a baby boy, and as soon as I learnt of that I just couldn’t help but imagine how different our worlds are now. I even hesitated calling her, because I didn’t know what, how to talk to her- a mother.

Same story all over again here. I have been hesitating sms-ing them, or mailing them leave alone calling them and asking how is it going, and that I miss them so much already. I don’t know if its worse, because I don’t have something- A JOB- to look forward to. Maybe that is why I yearn for the good old times.
And that’s not even the worst part. I think the tamarinds had to disband before we could reach epic heights! In Scrubs talk, I wish had more time with my Turk (s). Yep I get to be J.D., the main character.

And if all this change wasn’t enough, the season finale of ‘Scrubs’ was so damn emo-gutted that it would make even Vini cry. And I am an amateur cry-er. I hate sitcoms getting over more than I hate my friends leaving n moving on. Sitcoms and their kind are supposed to be long running, utopic places, where friends never lose touch and people like osama bin laden don’t exist.

Ironically, the soundtrack of Scrubs is totally appropriate for me tho…

Well, I know what I've been told,
You got to work to feed the soul
But I can't do this all on my own
No, I know, I'm no Superman
I'm no Superman

Aaarrgghh… I am too emotionally wasted to write this further… peace out!!

PS. Some scrubs lingo I have picked up and should be effectively whacked out of me:
1. I'll holla mah brotha!!
2. Angry, self destructive talk.
3. Calling everyone, boys, girls, dogs, SALLY/ JINA/BRITNEY/ LISA and other girl names!!!
4. Repeatedly answering with a MM-HMM, and jesus is watching you!!
and the list goes on n on n on... u get where i am going with this arent u margaret??

Oh, THAT kid!!!

Another satisfying read, by one of my.. err um… our favourite blog author. I say ours because it is Ronald’s favourite too, infact it is her who introduced me to this weird world of south Indian chutney. Tho I doubt she genuinely likes the author, or her writing style, or what she writes. She seems only to be interested/ enamoured by authors who are younger than her. (I swear tis true, in the past she had introduced me to two more blogs, one of a 17 something girl from Mumbai, and one of an engineering college guy, who was in love with one of his professors. And offcourse there is this one, CC, who is just 20) I think she pings me (and/or whoever else is online) to tell me about them, so that she can hear herself say those precious words. “Can you believe s/he is younger than us” smartly avoiding saying me, and says us!

And I love the way Ronald pings me to tell me about her great finds! She thinks she is some 50 year old scout who found the next Sachin Tendulkar on the streets of the internet. She would with great wisdom in her voice say, “and can you believe this kid is just ”, she says savouring the last sentence with great pleasure. “I mean I couldn’t even pronounce my name properly when I was their age”. I don’t think she still can.

You can’t blame poor Ronald, she has always been the youngling everywhere. But then again, her “feet stomping, holding her breath till she turns blue” protesting every time we call her a child, doesn’t do much for her maturity argument. :D

I think she and I are called/ named/ pointed out as the embodiment of Tom and Jerry (as purported by karishma n roops), but I think we are more of Dr. Cox and JD! Me the gorgeous, rolling-on-the-floor funny and brilliant torturer and she the awkward wide-eyed newbie!

In case you were wondering Ron, whether my torturing you would stop once you run off to Rajasthan, I guess you gots yours answers sir!

Meghna Singh, in and as “Jog Fu HR Panda”

Disclaimer: I still do maintain that writing heart wrenching; melancholy stuff is way more beautiful and harder than writing this seemingly mindless rambling about burps and farts that I wish to now tread.

My father has now taken up the role of Seiko, in my life’s adaptation/ rendition of the Kung Fu Panda! Not only does he help me answer and understand the usual questions about life like every father has to, must and does; he is also been my mentor in the field I have taken up as my choice of career- HR. He is by the way the best mentor ever. He gives hugs, dresses up as Santa on Christmas eve (still!) and also lets you rest on his tummy while you watch movies.

Now he has added another dimension to it. To reform this Phoo Phoo Panda, into a Kung Fuing HR Panda. Now the questions/ quizzing on ID Act are followed by a 75 minute jog in the nearby park. *silent sigh. He was the parent I used to look upto in the “eating and not caring” department. (I also look upto him in the “loves shopping and not telling mummy what I recently bought” department). Mom was always too “bird like eater” to be liked. But dad, he was Homer Simpson, the nonchalant burp-er (told ya this post was about burps and farts :D ). He was super cool, till a few years ago. Then the exercising bug got to him. Now mother (emphasises on the world to ensure coldness) had to physically stop him from stretching himself. He was eating right, exercising, and dolling out advice to me and the leprechaun. With great pain in my heart, I had accepted that aliens had abducted my dad and sent in this make-shift, cheap, not eating, jogging maniac replica daddy.

Readers legit query: Why would the aliens kidnap my dad in the first place? They don’t need him for his HR expertise. Their punishment and punishment strategy has done them good all these years.
Me: Well a) how the hell do you know what has done them good all these years. *raises eyebrow. Whispers to self “It does look one of them”.
And b) they kidnapped him cos of his innate awesomeness. Did I not mention the cute pregnant belly bit?

I had accepted this dad, and learnt to also ignore the advices given to us, the regiment he implored us to follow. Well the regiment had one great chink in its armour of applicability. It needed moa to wake up at 7 in the morning. No can do imitation-of-daddy-alien-person!

Anyway, as me and brother mastered the art of ignoring father, like normal children must at some part of their lives, he dropped this biggie of an antler on me. Utilize your unemployed month and get some exercise. Well he had a point there. I was unemployed still, and eating out his pocket in this recession hit time. So exercising would lead to my intake of pocket-hallowing food being lessened, and also I had a moral obligation to do so, since he did mention my unemployed ass was getting bigger and bigger by the day. *rolls eyes.
So I thought the father-daughter duo could use some bonding, and agreed to go jogging with him every evening. (Should have just weaselled my way out like the lawyer did. God, he is intelligent!)
So, me gets ready for a time that will inspire movies, the great bond between a father and daughter strengthened while their calf muscles also got strengthened. Boy was I wrong. Some facts about my jogger father:
a. He doesn’t like to talk (in general. Thought to kick you off with a no brainer fact about father-ly person of mine)
b. He carries his cell phone n head set, which means as soon as he steps into those jogging shoes of his, he cant hear a word you are saying.
c. If you do need to say something to him, it better be said while he is changing radio channels.
d. If you aren’t jogging 33% of the time, he will refuse to acknowledge you in the park.
e. He has given nicknames to all the ladies who come to the jogging park. They are pretty cute ones too! Like the headlight lady, who always uses her mobile phone’s lighted screen as headlights to manoeuvre her way when it gets dark. You get the idea.

Readers legit query: don’t you have lights in the park?
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. NO!!! We do have an open septic tank- more like a pool- there for the kids to play around, in… whatever.

Some of the facts about his Panda like daughter:
a. Only goes to the park to check out boys. They do look lovely running and all!! *flashes a toothy grin.
b. Gets royally ticked off if someone overtakes her in the park. Will try to tailgate them and push them off balance.
c. If ever she outruns her dad, will stop and quickly retrieve to a 5 step radius of her dad, like most 1 year olds do in the park.
d. Cant get it quite right: how do you keep the earphones from falling off your greasy sweaty ears whilst you run?

Readers legit query: was this bit on you needed??
Me: $*%^&.. its my blog init?

Anyway, it sounds not that bad eh? How bad can it be to have Santa Claus as a jogging mate? Well REAL bad. I do call him Seiko for a reason. I suppose he has had an encounter with the Tylon (lawyer) of the family. No wonder the Seiko like insatiable standards. :-| Poor Phoo Phoo Panda!! Also wondering when will he begin his food as incentive training.

Anywho, I cant believe this blog has actually turned out to be this long.
Now an unrelated blabber, courtesy dysfunctional brain activity in me head:
You know what I hate the most about the liberties boys have. Its not the fact that they can wear shorts anywhere anytime, or that they don’t have to be afraid of being teased as they walk out of their door or that they are given preferential treatment in families. What my bone of contention with boys is that they can publish, put up their mobile numbers as their profile names on orkut, as their status messages on gtalk and the like without fear or inhibition. Life aint fair.

My experiments with blog writing.

12:03 am by the clock

<< Back from a successful midnight snack hunt, satiated and still wide awake, ready to write. Whoever said artists need to starve to create great stuff, sure din have my fridge to savour on. Or maybe he just meant those Paris painter artists. Because almost every writer I have known seems well fed, and some what of a gourmand! Makes mental note: read more into the dietary habits of well known writers. >>


I have decided to demarcate my blogs into the funnier ones on Meggs.. and the more sentimental ones, and of course the more in numbers also on Something… avid reader (yes reader not readers) of my blog have certainly appreciated this. maybe the melancholy got to them. Of course there are other readers who just don’t care… but hey, Kotler never said that your target group can’t be just one individual.

<< Another of those sleepless nights it is, thanks to the training MBA has given me. I still don’t know what the heck a HR person is supposed to do, but sure can give chaukidar bhaiya 101 tips on how to pass the night without nodding off!!

Movement outside bedroom door. Bhaiaya’s room opens, and he treads towards the loo. One of the many trips the brother sister duo makes through the night. And if we were to ever cross each others path in the pursuit of this, we would pass each other unacknowledged. This wasn’t my idea, m sure. I am the more hello-er and hugger kind of a person. He is the unhappy leprechaun! Also, being the older one, his word is the rule here. Must have been his idea when we were kids to play agents-operating-on-the-enemy-soil-don’t-recognise-each-other strategy. God knows, maybe he is one of those people who cant pee if he knows someone knows he is peeing. GAWD, talk about being self consumed. Anywhoo…
Pursuit for words to write.. think think thi…
Corner of my eye notices movement… Lizard alert, lizard alert!!
Head spins into action.
Brain cell no. A 4359, “This is dispatch, we have a code 0889”
Brain cell no. M 188, “aha, lizard alert. Follow protocol.”
A 4359,”Yes sir”. Types in the big head central computer thingie. “All senses alert, code 0889, follow protocol”.
So, now that my head has acknowledged the thread and sanctioned me to follow protocol I will. Oh and if you were wondering what Protocol is for code 0889: “Commence staring the lizard, follow every move, no sudden moments except those of the eye. See where it is going, and make a mental note of its habitat. Also, keep throat salivated, in case you need to scream”
So, the staring game begins. Wait, the lizard is staring too. Brain cells feverously type, and retype strategies. We will continue staring in hope to win the staring competition and force the enemy to back down.
Staring, hard, harder, harder….
10 seconds up… almost 15 up… eyes watering. The lizard, still cool as a cucumber, still staring.
Don’t blink Meghna, don’t blink…make the lizard blink first. Wait a minute, does the lizard even have eyelids?
This strange conclusion makes me raise and eyebrow, seeing which the lizard retreats!!
Ah, the sweet taste of victory. I smile, as I picture my brain cells hi-five-ing each other, and opening little champagne bottles! Well done my friends!
Now what, oh yes, the writing. >>

For the first time in years, I don’t think I am in love. And hence the lovey-dovey part of my writing has taken a break. And so I am struggling. With words, with inspiration, with searching a topic to write of.

<< Bored already, tunes into the radio. Hears some lady saying most happening music over and over again. Oh yes, its Saturday night. All the radio stations play good foot tapping number off some “99 back to back party hits” album. It is their attempt to make those of us young and unlucky enough not to be out partying like the rest of the town feel worse. Imagine this: all of the people you know are at some brilliant little pub or lounge, having cocktails and partying, while you are at home rummaging through leftovers to make a decent midnight snack in your “daddy’s little girl” jammies. Then as the sadness of your existence dawns upon you, you tune into the radio, trying to zone yourself out. Only to hear those stupid tracks go on and on making sure the fact gets resonated that you in fact have no life! worse, you have a zindagi. Yes my dear pals, that’s the dainik jagran reading, himmesh reshamiya listening, ZINDAGI!!! Lets out a silent sigh>>

20 minutes later…

<< Nothing, not a word!! Why god why? I struggle to find where the screen of the laptop is, because my vision has been temporarily blocked by what I call ‘medusa’s little wormy snakes’ (!!) better known as my hair. Its that time of the year again. Its hot, the fan is at its highest, makes me want to go bald because of the hair flying everywhere. And if you let it rest somewhere, like make a braid or something, that part of the head just heats up. And then we start losing brain cells. That’s how A 4359 lost his wife. May her .. err… do brain cells have souls? If they get one, I want one too!!
Anywhoo, and the worst part is when people (read Ronald and its kind) meet me and say “wow such lovely hair, why do you curse them all this while? They are so good! And look so manageable.”

Well Ma’am looks are deceptive! They are like pairs and pairs of twins, like octapulates. I know how you feel octa-mom! They seem all cute and cuddly when they are all well fed, and bathed and dressed and out in the park. But try keeping them for a day. The combing and the washing and the cleaning and the straightening of these babies!! I could spend half a day just combing through them.
Now what… brain zones out… muscle memory settles in and takes charge, and begins to systematically crackle every of them 206 bones in my body. I once did count how many of my bones I make chatkao. There was the phalanges, the spine, the neck, the knees, the shoulder… you get the idea!>>

The dearth of words and the inability to find them has made me ask a very important question to myself: was this all there was? Was I like the one-hit wonders, or that scent-making master in the movie ‘perfume’ who made a famous scent when he was young and that’s all there was to his genius? Am I over, am I all written out, all consumed nothing else left in me? If so, am I right in writing myself off? Maybe I was the one hit wonder, the one-love wonder. Makes me wonder more, and more of his importance in my life, was he the only one capable to inspire me to write so?

<< Smiles at self, intelligent piece that, writing myself off! Now what, more procrastination? No, or Ronald would call me the queen of melancholy and melodrama once again. And I don’t want everyone reading that AGAIN.
Also, wonders if I have been mentioning Ronald too much here? Well, no one else seems to care. :-|
GENIUS I am, with the discovery of the holy grail of emo-cons |
Movinggg on…. Almost 2 it is. Need sleep! >>

Dozes off. And oh, if you are thinking whether I finised the blog for something-so-anything, well you will have to go and see it there!! :D Good moro!