Where lies that fine, fine line between precociousness and being a downright brat?

In what seems like a blink of an eye, the cute three-year old who knew all the words to Rihanna's songs and was 'so smart, we're not sure where she came from', is now the spoiled brat who can't shut up and has no manners.

The next time I see a munchkin singing Umbrella, I'll know what's coming a few years down the line.
And I'm going to make a run for it to get as far, far away as possible.

Chinese Whispers

It doesn't seem to matter how many times we've been proved wrong. Most of us continue to persist with our endeavours to make two plus two equal 22. Or even 50, for the more creative among us.

I've always found that age-old rhyme of 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me' to be quite untrue. It's often words that are the undoing of so many relationships, well-built reputations, and even the most resilient of self-confident armours.

What is it that compels us to pass on useless information that is almost always unfounded, most likely to be untrue, but almost certain to cause harm? And before someone thinks this me waxing eloquent while sitting on my high horse, it really isn't. In hindsight, I find that I've been just as guilty of gossiping like an old woman about things that have nothing to do with my life, and are absolutely none of my business.

The thing is though, I haven't been able to figure out why I do it. Or why any of us do it. Can it simply be that we are just bored? Or that there's a nasty streak running through us all that loves to see someone fail? Worst of all, it might be that the easiest way for us to feel better about ourselves is to trample over someone else, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I'm not sure if I'll ever have the answer. But after observing two completely undeserving people be talked about like they were trash, for no other reason than 'it just happened', I'm going to try my best to do the only thing I can when the next bit of juicy news comes along.

Keep my mouth shut. 

Note to Prissy HR People

Get a little perspective. You're a cog in the giant corporate wheel. And while I'm sure you do a great job and are worth every penny they shell out for your services, you're not running the Universe.

Now that we've established you're not God, start acting like it. 

Obsession with Man Hours

If you’ve ever been watched by several pairs of eyes as you left the office on the dot of the official closing time, you will know exactly how I feel on most days at work. Admittedly, I only have to go in to the office for two days of the week, and after meeting several of these stares with a ‘Yes? Is there something you’d like to say to me?’ look, things have been marginally less confrontational.  But after spending almost two years at a company where ‘official’ hours were a joke and you were expected to work on weekends, national holidays, and pretty much any other time the client needed you, my patience with those who obsess over man-hours runs thin.

Here’s my rationale. I’m paid to do a job, and as long as I do the work, do it well, and don’t get any complaints from my boss, I have little or no interest in sticking to a clock just to please anyone else.  And really, let’s be honest –there is absolutely no guarantee that someone who is pinned to his/her seat for 12 hours of the day is actually spending all that time doing actual work instead of looking up movie timings for the late show.

‘Work to live, not live to work’ is the theory I’ve been subscribing to for some time now. Not as a cop out for doing a shoddy job, but for having some balance between what’s important, and how you can afford to have it. And while I’m not sure if this is more an Indian trait or if clock-watchers are spread far and wide across the globe, I really, really hope that this obsession with how many hours each person spends at work will stop. Right about now would be a good time actually. 

Anew

To borrow a line from Dorianne Laux, 'I've traveled this far on the back of every mistake', and God knows I've made enough of those to fill volumes. But in the grand scheme of things, as another year ended, I've had another year alive. As morbid as that may sound, it is something that I am truly grateful for. Three years ago, I would have been, to put it mildly, quite pissed off if my life had come to a standstill. So many things not achieved, so many dreams unfulfilled, and a whole bucket list still unwritten, never mind lived out. But facing an uncertain future was possibly the best thing to ever happen to me, and 2011 was a testament to that. I found a job I loved, travelled to places I'd only ever made vague plans to visit, spent an amazing amount of time with family and friends, realized that the end of a relationship doesn't make the love any less real and true, and the clincher - had my hair grow long enough to braid down my back.

It's been a time of extraordinary happiness, contentment, and calm. And should 2012 not bring more of the same, it has still been one hell of a ride that I wouldn't trade a single minute of.

My wishes for the next 12 months - no more 'project' men, more converts to letter-writing, more friends who kick their cigarette addiction, and the guts and craziness to finally sign up for a sky dive. Tall orders on all counts, no doubt, but I've still got 364 days to go.  

Blank Slate

The art of forgetting requires great craftsmanship;
the careful peeling of sacred memories,
and an iron will to scatter them to the winds.

It is not for the fainthearted,
or those of weak mind.

The art of forgetting,
my friend,
is for you and me
who had the strength
to just let go.

This movie is amazing and by the way, I earn an embarrassing amount of money

Is it just me or are more and more people dropping how much they earn into completely unrelated conversations?

I can understand it as a response when I ask you how much you earn.
And if I don't know you well enough, please response by saying it's none of my business.

But in a conversation about movies, random travel, birds, and all manner of arbitrary things...not so much. Then you're just the weirdo that tells people how much he/she makes because clearly, you're in desperate need of validation.