Kadak...kadak

The hunt continues…

After experimenting with so many maids, we thought we should try out male cooks. We had observed, during our college days, men from Nepal made great cooks. They made titillating dishes as we watched drooling, the affluent gobble up such delicacies. We could neither afford to cook such wonderful meals (students of residential colleges suffer this fate) nor able to try out those yummy food. So, when it came to employing a male cook, we thought that would be a good idea. We were imagining a Nepali cook make hot, soft rotis and mouth-watering side dishes.

It was quite a bit of hunt to get a Nepali cook, I must admit. My better-half went to the extent of checking with watchmen who look like Nepalis to find out if they had their clan looking out for jobs as cooks. Luck (or was it really?!) struck us finally! We got a Nepali cook home and I was truly glad that we zeroed in on one.

He looked a typical Nepali, quite tall and fair-skinned. The initial conversations were pleasant. Anyway, what could be unpleasant about asking him his name and family details! He could speak some broken Hindi. We also tried asking in our disfigured Hindi as many details as possible. We made out that his family was in his hometown (now, don’t ask what/where that was…we could not understand). He had one wife (surprisingly) and 3 children! Boys were in big classes and the girl was small. He wants to earn for them. We had moist eyes on hearing how he managed to stay in a strange place to make this money to fend his family. Until the end of this conversation what we also did not understand was his name! After quite a struggle we got his name, Kadak! Yes. His name was Kadak. Difficult to digest…err..sorry…pronounce.

He said he will make rotis for dinner. My hubby and I were controlling our excitement to eat his fluffy, puffy rotis. So we said, “Ok! Go change your clothes and start work.” We gave him “his” place in our place. He arranged his things neatly. He had a shower. Then, to our surprise, did a pooja. The whole house smelled of the Agarbati fragrance. I was so happy that we not only got a Nepali cook but also a religious one at that. Wow!

He came out of his pooja in a weird shorts and T-shirt. And a handkerchief (which we did not realize was a multi-purpose cloth).  Then he rushed to the kitchen and started making rotis. We were quite impressed so far. Rotis also were not bad. So, we thought, we finally got our catch!

The next day morning he was up early. And my mother-in-law who cannot speak his language or understand what he says had to struggle explaining every detail of the morning chores. She tried hard but gave up. She said he could stand next to her and observe what she does. That way he will pick up. It was quite funny to see her yell at him. She called him “Kadai” in a typical Mallu accent. Did it matter? He would respond in his typical accent (like the mooing of a cow) “Maa”…

Day after day, we saw him stand next to her obediently, hands tied and watch what she was making. He enjoyed her preparations and told us how great a cook and a person she was! He would drink the sambar she makes even before idlis (at least a dozen of them) were served. He would eat like a glutton. He kept praising her sambar skills. We were amused. But still thought we will give him some time. May be one day he will make sambar as delicious as hers!

A week passed by…weekend approached…he was gearing up. We assumed he wanted to astonish us with his Nepali cuisine. Only on that day we had some time to talk to him after his first day. And to our surprise, the guy said he had never cooked a meal in his lifetime. He knew only to make rotis. We could almost hear our hearts break out of disappointment! Through the week we were assuming that we had a Sanjeev Kapoor in the making. We thought he was trying hard to get an understanding of our cuisine and taste buds!

On top of this, he said he had to have an afternoon siesta since he wakes up early.  We observed this trend anyway for a week. He used to go to bed earlier than us. He said he wanted to take one day off every weekend. He wanted to go out on Sat’day nights and said he will be back on Monday early mornings.

For about 2 months – about 8 weekends – we had different interesting episodes. He obviously knew neither the location nor the language. So, as expected, first weekend, we did not see him until Monday evening. One of the weekends, we insisted he returns by Sunday night. He did come, but was sloshed. And he slept outside our house. We found him the next morning snoring on the lawns.

To add salt to the wound, he picked up quarrels with my maid as well. She was fuming seeing this guy who did nothing but eat 3 courses of meals and 2 to 3 huge glasses of “chai”, had every weekend off and on top of it earned a handsome! She used  to scoff at him and keep abusing him in the local language. Thankfully he did not understand. He used to give that dumb smile (or maybe an intelligent one) which none of us understood and mumble something in Nepali.

At the end of the eighth week, we did not see even an iota of progress with Kadak. With our bubble burst big time, we decided to throw him out! End of Kadak…no more Nepali…no more men cooking. Enough was enough! Kadak taught us how “kadak” it was to employ men in household chores.

Now, was that not enough of a Kadak, kadak?

The rodent hunt...

Have you ever been part of a “rat hunt”? I mean, not in any jungle or deep forests. In your own house? Have you tried chasing a rodent away? A big fat one at that? I have witnessed this in my house when I was in class VIII. My father was the protagonist.

It was around 10:00 PM and we had done with our dinner. My siblings and I were sorting our books for the next day school and my father was finishing up with his office work. Unusually, my mom had hit the bed early that night. Both my siblings, my father and I were in the living room of the small but beautiful house in Chennai. My mom was in the bedroom. Suddenly, we saw a creature cross the hall in between my sister’s legs jumping across my brother’s books. When we realized what it was, the screams and the mini-marathons started. My sis climbed up on the sofa; my brother on the dining chair. I was prancing around frantically not knowing where to land. My father got up from the chair and the first thing that he did was - latched the 2 bedrooms and opened the front door. All this he did jumping across the mess of books on the floor, making sure he does not stomp on the poor rat. The sight was hilarious, to say the least. Me being the brat of the house, kept giggling at this sight. I guess that must have irritated my father more.

He took a long, fine stick (an antique asset in the house) and started attacking the rat. I think he first wanted to chase it away via the front door. The rat was going in circles. It would go near the exit and immediately take diversion into the hall again. This happened for about 30 full minutes. Whether the rat was tired or not, my father was absolutely exhausted. Then an idea struck him. He asked me to get the insecticide which is used to kill insects and roaches. I promptly fetched that for him. My siblings were still atop their perch. My father hit the spray fierce fully on the rat. It started moving slowly now but did not give up the race. My father, who had followed non-violence until that night, switched to violence in that one hour. He started poking the rat whenever it went to a corner of the room in its dizziness. In fact, he kept stating “you die, you die…I will kill you…you stupid beast”. All this, made the 3 of us laugh more hysterically. Do you think the rat died? No way!

At this point, the night watchman who does his rounds around this time saw that the lights were on in our house and it was so noisy at that hour. He stepped in to give some unsolicited advice. Very casually, he said “Why don’t you pour water on the rat? Usually rats faint when water is poured on them.” We also like dumb-fools, immediately cleared the floor of our books and brought in buckets of water and splashed on the rat in those odd hours. Whatever little dizziness, the rat had due to the spray, the water-treatment cured that and the rat started running more energetically now.

Finally, after about one and a half hours of violent chase, my father managed to send it out of our house! Phew!! Wait – all was not over! Throughout, there was this soul from the bedroom, which kept asking us what was wrong and why she was locked up. We just said that there is a huge rat and we are chasing it. That was all! When we opened the bedroom at about 11:30 PM…guess what we saw?! There my mom was… shivering and standing on the cot, lest the rat would enter her room!!! That was the best hilarious sight I have seen till this date!

Anyone asking what can a rat do? It can cause a rio(a)t!

Surprises...sky is the limit!

Have you had surprises in life? No. Not the nasty ones. I guess we all have our own quota of those. I am referring to the pleasant surprises. You know what the word “surprise” means? Astonishment? Revelation? And all the positive synonyms of the word rush to my mind when I think of the one that I received for my birthday last, as a gift from… none less than my darling hubby.

Usually, we have the midnight 12 O’clock birthday surprises where I get loads of gifts ranging from tangibles to intangibles…varying from dresses to jewelries to cakes to cards…This past birthday was different! Also, when the day dawns I look forward to my mom’s wishes first. I always think that I owe every birthday of mine to her and am quite sentimental about that.

My last birthday…I waited with bated breath for 12 midnight. The excitement was too much! I was assuming there are gifts tucked around every corner of the new villa we moved into recently. To my dismay, there were no wishes, no cards, no gifts, no messages, no mails…I was so troubled. I slept to hide my disgruntlement. Next morning, while still in bed, I was wondering why my mom did not call, my hubby did not wish, my relatives did not bother…As I was pondering, there was a knock on my door…

Now you should know some background to follow the rest of the story. I have been brought up in a very orthodox culture and my hubby, just the opposite of it. He hated any of our rites and rituals. He discourages religious sentiments, beliefs, practices and the “must-do”, “must-follow” culture. He is more of a free thinker and does not even believe in idol worship. We have these mini-wars waged at home all the time. Though I have been brought up in an orthodox culture, I am very tolerant and strongly feel one should not be fanatic about anything. Hence the wars at home used to reach some heights when both forces oppose strongly on some contention!

And since ours was a love marriage, we always used to support the spouse within our own families though we fight with each other for little, trivial stuff ourselves! That is love, you see! J

Back to my last birthday…I was pondering deep on why the whole world pretended to have forgotten that I was born on that day! The knock at the door stopped my thoughts. And who enters my room at 7 AM in the morning you think? It was my MOM! I could not believe my eyes. I instantly started weeping. Just as I tried controlling my tears of joy, my brother was behind her! Then my sis-in-law with both their kids!! My tears were rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably now!! Then enters my sister, her hubby and her 2 children. Now all this happened in less than 10 minutes. I went crazy crying. The photos could tell you stories. There I was crying and all my near and dears laughing their hearts out!

Wait! That is not all. We had just moved in to our new house and we were waiting to do the house-warming with some rituals as I insisted that I wanted it that way. My hubby was not for it but he was contemplating if he should really please me.

My mom asked me to peep outside the balcony. And, I saw that there was a huge canopy put up outside our house! She ordered me to stop crying now (maybe they were tired?) and go and have a bath. And so I did!

Once I came out dressed, she asked me to step out to see what arrangements were made. My heart almost stopped beating when I saw what was getting ready in my own house. I did not even dream that this would happen. Yes. The entire setting was changed to reflect a typical orthodox house and the ceremony was about to begin with flames of fire being invoked to start the holy rituals. Not an exaggeration…but I could not breathe!

On top of this, he had made secret arrangements and flew my friend down from the neighboring state. She is the one and only CLOSE friend that I confide in. And there she was smilingly waiting to see the surprised look on my face.

The rest of the day went by in smaller and larger surprises. Nothing to beat this birthday of mine and nothing to challenge the depth of surprises that I received that day! I think I will remember this day until the end of my life…

Now whenever I fight with this darling devil of mine, the whole house goes (I am in a joint family)…”don’t forget your last birthday…don’t forget how your hubby has ‘adjusted’ his policies to arrange for all those things he never believes in just to surprise/please you…don’t forget….” It goes on…

I am stumped by his love for me! And also by the kind of things he can do without my knowledge!! I better watch over, yeah?! J

Mothers' second innings

As far as my observation goes, usually in middle-class families if the mother is educated, whether she was a star at school or a cipher, she ends up doing her education all over again along with her child. The number of times she goes through the education system is directly proportional to the number of “not-so-good-academically” kids that she bears.

In my own experience, I have been an above-average student at school. I have however, teased my brethren who could not perform as much as I could those days. Now I repent. You know, this is Kaliyuga. What you sow is what you will reap. I have a challenge now to handle. These were the thoughts that crossed my mind when my child did not show much academic inclination. Only to later discover, that whether one has mocked others for bad performance in studies or not, every mother who is educated, will have to go through this trauma of educating her children.

Mothers who do not go to work and those who are ‘smart’ have it easy. They can meet the teacher fraternity post school hours, do some apple-polishing, get the syllabus much ahead of time, stay in tune with whatever happened in school. Whereas these poor working mothers… they end up remotely managing the child after their school hours. By the time they reach home in the evenings after work, all the time is gone. End of the day, when the child is also as worn out as the mother, what could be the productivity?

She has to keep track of her children’s exams, timetable, schedules of other activities and everything else under the sky for her children. If she does not do all these, guilt will kill her live and early. Though it is believed that children of working mothers are far more independent, that is turning out to be a myth. Mothers’ guilt pampers the children so much that these children get the best of all the worlds!

In fact, many times I have come across working mothers discussing what their next exam is and when? I overheard one mother ask another, “Did your son have his Social Studies Cycle Test this week?”. For which the other mother said, “No, no. That is only next week. This week we studied Science. All about ‘Metals and non-Metals’ and ‘How Living Things work’ ”. She sported that proud grin on her face. “How is your daughter in studies now?” questions the second one. The first one replies, “She has improved but still a long way to go…” with that sad expression on her face as though the whole world is sinking.

These are not only lunch time conversations. We can hear these ramblings and ‘healthy’ transactions in every place where more than one mother meets the rest of her breed.

Again on keen observation the following facts come to light:

1) Fathers of these kids are all ‘angry’ men. If they are asked to handle these kids on their homework or exams, all hell breaks loose. The poor child gets beaten up and the father (if he is above 30) gets a BP rise! Damage control costs more for the mother now!

2) Most of these kids are boys. Usually, looks like girls are far more organized. Again there are exceptions everywhere.

3) Mothers expect their children to be “the best” in their class. So if he/she is a B grader, the expectation is clear…he/she should aim for an O+…

4) Last but not the least, the child in question never seems to realize or worry about why this entire struggle. With that innocent and captivating expression that only they can bring on their faces the apologies they ask for non-performance can melt any steel heart. What can mothers do but melt?

As a mother of one such child, sometimes sets me thinking, is all this trouble worth its salt?

Japanese Hospitality

Have any of you been through “Japanese hospitality”? And that too, in India? Those were the days when US was considered not just an ‘on-site’ but as an almost ‘out-of-reach’ for many. I had in all about 3 years work experience. I was nominated as a “Lead” for a Japanese project. Then, in those days (about a decade back), Japan was also considered a cool, on-site! I was excited to be the lead and I would only call myself a ‘Project Coordinator’ for the fear of losing my peers’ friendship!

The project involved translating a particular MRP software from Japanese to English. The systems were not on any network. We had to “laplink” data from one machine to another. It was grueling, to say the least. We had to translate some 500 odd forms to English with the help of some Japanese translators who worked round the clock with us, the technical team.

The last stage of wrapping up and the client was here in India to see the close of the project. Her name was ‘Makato Miyachi’, a Filipino. She looked like a doll and used to be clad in business formals (skirt). She looked very smart. In those days, the craving to get noticed by or talk to ‘fair-skinned’ people was more! :-D I was introduced to her as the ‘Lead’. My pride knew no bounds!

She gifted me with a box carefully wrapped in silver color paper. All my peers were gazing at me and were all green! I took the box and secretively hid it with my belongings. Evening, I left early that day. I took this box home with all the pride in my face as though I have won the Oscars! I did not let my siblings touch it. After my Pa came from work, I showed this to him and started unwrapping.

It was a chocolate-brown box full of…Japanese biscuits! They looked yummy!! But being the strict orthodox veggies at home, my father frowned and left it to us! May be he expected some thing else inside? May be not any eatable?? Anyway, I was busy inspecting which one to taste first. Since it was ‘mine’, I said I had the rights to taste this first. Then, I took one biscuit and put it in my mouth. My face went pale. It is ok to have tasteless stuff but how do people manage to eat this raw-smelling/tasting thing and call it a biscuit! I was so disappointed about the ‘foreign’ biscuit. My brother was smart. Seeing my reaction, he said, “after all you have worked for it, please have this for all 3 courses of the days to come”. I then gracefully said that I must share it with my team mates as they all have slogged it with me! And, I closed the box!!

The next day, I called upon my peers to have this. Though they all teased me for taking it home the previous day, no one denied taking the biscuits. But the first bite, each one went back to their places :-)

Then our Makato Miyachi asked me how I liked the biscuits. I had to say they were “out of the world” though I wanted to say “out of the window”. Then she offered me the same biscuits during tea. I refused saying she has given me enough. :-( She would not listen. She forced it in my hand. I pretended to eat that junk and dropped it on the floor (as though by mistake) and said “Oh God! I dropped it”. She immediately said, “Do not worry! I have enough. Here, please take a few more!” I admired her hospitality but for heaven's sake she could have spared me...if only I could have run away, I would have done that. I almost cried as I ate the second one and my whole team was standing around the cubicle, peeking at me and giggling!! :-(

From that day on, I started referring to Makato Miyachi as “makku dhan Meenatchi” (meaning Meenakshi is dumb). :-)

Don’t ask me what happened to the project… it is better left unsaid….

If only we had these cross-cultural trainings then, I would have done better with this customer. Huh!

Theatre accident

Yet another college episode…

Theatre accidents are common during rehearsals…but what would happen if the accident happens as the play is going on and live audience watching (rather hearing) it?? Read on…

This was a Tamil play for 2.5 hrs!

The story was about how a guy goes behind wealth and ditches the girl he eloped with. The girl is helpless and finally finds refuge with one of the neighborhood sincere fella with the help of her ex-boyfriend’s friend! We were well-rehearsed and pretty professional by any amateur standards.

The stage used to be made by us, students. The raw stage would have partitions displaying a rich house on one side and the other side had an elevation to show a middle-class house with the ground floor occupied by the owner (ex-boyfriend’s friend) and the elevated first floor by the tenant (neighborhood sincere fella).

The stage was beautifully set up. The elevation was given by placing cots on top of each other. We had given a 5 cot level elevation. The height would measure up to some 15 feet above stage level!!!

Climax…the owner of the house (ex-boyfriend’s friend) to help this ditched, desolate girl tries to convince his sincere, single tenant guy to give her life by marrying her. My friend and co-actor, Dhaaru, did an exemplary job of displaying an array of emotions in convincing the other actor, KG. Once done, he was supposed to come down running, to let me (I was the lady-cast) know that his tenant has agreed to marry me.

The staircase runs behind the stage from the elevation, to the stage level. I was expecting Dhaaru next to me anytime and was all set to display an emotional outbreak. But all I heard was (and the audience too!) a huge ‘THUD’ sound! Dhaaru had fallen from the 15 feet level!. Instead of climbing down the stairs he had landed straight on the stage behind the curtains!! I was so shocked & nervous but could not show that. The play had gone on well so far. I was hoping nothing untoward had happened! I could hear the audience whisper, “hey, Dhaaru has fallen off the elevation”…there was so much silence in the auditorium!

Then appeared our fallen hero…panting, huffing, puffing, limping and leaping…to complete his dialogues! The play went on well till completion.

After the play, we heard him narrate what had happened. He said “Thankfully, my rotund body helped land safely!” What a sport!! And…thank God!

Nothing is impossible! But…Calculus?!

Most of us would have dealt with this dreary subject called ‘Calculus’. We at college did so too! In life, one can fight only against one’s equal oppositions. You should not fight if you are stronger than the opposition. And…you should not try fighting if you know your opposition is stronger. This is my understanding of the ‘Uddha Dharma’. Yet, for me, Calculus was stronger and I was forced to fight itL. No Dharma could work here!

This happened in my college again. Though we had this subject as part of our 11th and 12th classes, the choice system helped me escape this subject. Ignorance was bliss only until 12th class. The very first semester, Calculus was one full fledged course for us in college! Readers can imagine my plight!

Even before I could understand the system of cycle tests and comprehensive examinations, surprise quizzes and the grading that followed, I was into a maze…totally lost! The first ‘surprise’ quiz in Calculus was such a ‘surprise’ to me (and some of my other class mates). The biggest surprise was yet to come! The quiz had negative marking. I was in oblivion and did not bother to know any of these. I attempted ALL the questions with such sincerity. When the marks came by, it beat all records in my college. It was -2 on 10!!!! I was for the very first time (and until now the last) negatively marked for my performance. L

Then as the semester went by I tried my best to crack at least one cycle test in Cal (that’s how we called it). But to my dismay, I could really not break through. It was time for our “Comprehensive” examinations. This was for 40 marks. Which means, we had already finished the 60 marks over the quizzes and tests over the semester. I knew what my mark(s) were (was?) on 60! Yet, I went to check the ‘pre-com’ scores on the notice board. There was a huge group of students that crowded around the notice board to check their scores. May be they found it difficult to sum up their scores in all the tests/quizzes in Cal., I wondered in awe! I should appreciate my guts. I was also there with them. One guy exclaimed, “Hey, look at this! Someone has scored just 1 on 60!!” I thanked my stars that names were not displayed on the NB. The marks were put up against our Student Ids.

I slowly traced my steps back and was filled with remorse. Now, if I did not roll up my sleeves and crack the final exam, I would have to do a summer term and clear this subject. I dreaded that thought. I put all my efforts (and my smart friends had to put twice that to drill the concepts into my dull-head) and prepared for the finals.

As luck would have it, the climax was good and glorious! J I actually got emotional seeing my score… I had cleared the paper with a solid 10 marks on 40!!! I thanked the CGPA system. Had it been our usual system of grading & ranking…may be I would still be in college trying to clear the demon ‘Calculus’…

Are you Masculine or Feminine?

For a long time now, I have been thinking that I should patent this idea. Do share your views on whether the idea I am proposing is worth the trouble.

A child is born on this earth as a Male or a Female. We, otherwise, say the baby’s gender is a ‘M’ or an ‘F’. The baby grows into a boy or a girl then becomes a man or a woman. Now, where does this topic of ‘masculinity’ or ‘feminity’ come into picture? Every human being has some qualities of the other gender. Some men possess more feminine qualities and some women, masculine. There is nothing right or wrong about this. It is only natural.

There is nothing to feel proud if a woman has masculine qualities and nothing to laugh about if a man behaves like a lady at times.But I have come across some women teasing other women if they are too ‘boyish’ or ‘masculine’. And vice versa…I strongly think we should stop this. What say?

Why I thought of patenting this idea may be a question on your minds. Recently, I attended a NASSCOM training for Women in IT. The trainers were talking about Masculine work and Feminine work in the context of Time Management. I thought I should at least let a few people know that I have thought in these lines already. Just in case this concept becomes popular, you would know that there was this soul which researched on this subject!!!

BTW, what are you? Man or a woman? Masculine or Feminine? J

Kabir Bedi OR Kiran Bedi?

Those were my initial days in DSQ. Just out of college…I hardly had any industry exposure or experience. But I used to be a bundle of energy (even now I sometimes feel, I am more energetic than some college fresh grads!). I knew nothing on IT or Computers! But was radiating with confidence…had a lot of guts to question anything and everything under the sky…truly I was in a state of what you call (ignorance is) bliss!

Readers please note that right from the time I started talking as a kid till this date, I have this disease of ‘verbal’ diarrhea. No medication works. Even the strongest medication was tried (my hubby’s rude advice and criticism which ended up in ‘Mouna vrat’ for a few days… I mean he refused to speak to me). Nothing works! L

One of our senior VPs, who was impressed with my articulation of thoughts and (a few) ideas, called me to meet him one-on-one. May be he liked my energy?! I am still wondering what made him call me because I am sure he repents it till today J

He was asking me what my aim in life was and what ambitions I had. I was so excited that such a senior person was talking to me. He asked me what I wanted to become. I was (in full-flow) telling him very animatedly all the people I admire. I said I liked Jayalalitha’s courage in dealing with issues. So far, so good! Then, I said, I wanted to become like ‘Kabir Bedi’….

See, now, don’t laugh at me! I told you I was excited. Least, did I think that growing a beard would be a challenge! I just spurt it out but realized I made some mistake somewhere. My VP had a twitched brow, a face full of question marks and very hesitantly, he asked “You mean, er, hm, Kiran Bedi?”. Knowing girls of this age, may be he was unsure if I really wanted a gender change or I had made a mistake. I was magnanimous enough to admit that it was just a slip of the tongue (it was a slide, not a slip!). I retorted “Yes, yes, the same Bedi!” with a very ‘matter-of-fact’ look on my face. He then breathed a sigh of relief… He then quickly concluded the conversation and let me go.

The next I heard about him was when he had quit DSQ in a week’s time after that. Now, don’t blame me for it! I am innocent…

My first interview…a debacle!

Last semester in the college; lots of campus interview schedules were posted on the notice boards. Friends had all of a sudden turned competitors in life. Everything looked challenging and strange. A whole host of Aptitude Tests, GDs (no, not my name…I meant the Group Discussions), Tech Interviews and Personal Interviews were happening all around. There were shouts of joy and ramblings of disappointments…

I was nervous. I had to attend interviews too. But I had stumbling blocks in the Aptis and GDs (you see, GDs in any form is a pain!). There was this company (anonymity maintained, so that my reputation is saved!) who had called for an interview first. So there I was in my first interview without having to undergo (and fail) any of the tests and discussions.

At the appointed hour, I presented myself, in front of the interview panel. It was a 4 member team. The job was for a ‘Marketing’ position. I have always been proud of my gift of the gab! So I was sure to talk my way through.

After the initial round of introductions and background stories (in which I gave an exemplary performance), one of the interviewers asked me (straight in my eye): “What would you propose as a marketing strategy for marketing product x in India?” I am not joking but I could kind of feel my head spin. I thought, and thought and thought…then I said. “Look, I have a mental block. I am unable to answer this question.”

I guess the interviewer empathized with me. He asked me to sip the water from the glass kept there and asked me some other ‘general’ questions about our campus-life and degree and all that. I was so bright in answering all these questions. Then after a few minutes, another guy shot the second question “What are the various marketing techniques that you have come across?” Once again, I went blank… Once again, I had the same feeling of my head-spinning…Once again, I thought, and thought and thought…Once again, I said (a little bit apologetically), “See, I have a mental block. Can I answer this question after sometime?” The panel members looked at each other. I felt like killing myself as I knew very well that look meant “What the hell is she here for?”

They were growing impatient with my ‘mental block’. So again a couple of other light-weight questions/discussions. By now, the third interviewer asked me “Now, let me give you a case study. Let us say, your area is not yielding results in marketing product y. How will you approach this problem and meet your targets?” Needless to say, I said the same words again, shamelessly.

The panel now became silent. Now they asked me if I had any questions. If I had had the experience that I have today, I would have understood what that meant. But so gullible that I was, that I asked them “Do I stand a chance to be offered an appointment in your esteemed organization?”

The look that the interviewers gave me now, conveyed that my ‘mental block’ was transferred to them… if only they had had the power to bring me down to ashes, I am sure they would have done that. Thankfully, I escaped!!!