Ringing in 2010!

Half an hour to midnight. I am at home.Alone.
I would have liked to say with some candles and roasted lamb and wine to keep me company. But no. I could not be bothered.

It’s the harsh white light and Letterman yattering on the TV.
But I do have something planned for the stroke of midnight.

Thescarletrealm is going public. After months of writing in the shadows I am finally removing the access restriction. And no, it’s not a grand reveal.
I do not have a book of short stories on there. The few bits I have written and deleted few times are finally on show.

What has changed, is that I no longer care about who reads or does not read my blogs. There was only one opinion I cared for. And as that is now distant...I am abandoning control. I hope to write more next year. Less seriously. Less self-consciously. Who cares!

Happy New Year.


_

After you, Ma'am

When was the last time you used the word chivalry ? Were you lamenting about its death or indignant that it is still expected in these days of gender equality. The chances are high that your usage was based on a popular and modern interpretation of a word with such beautiful etymology.

Borrowing from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chivalry), chivalry in the medieval ages was classified into three.
Duties to countrymen and fellow Christians , duties to God and duties to women

The third connotation is the strongest survivor but it is struggling to find patrons to the doctrine. A rare few have it ingrained, but most guys I know don't know and don't care about holding doors open for women.
There are some guys who hold chivalry in reserve for the hot chicks and some who know it oh-so-well but rebel against it.


And who can blame them? It’s all so confusing. Let me explain.

All of us grew up in families where the father was head of the family. We have seen men in the roles of providers and protectors. So somewhere in the sub-conscience we have accepted the man as the boss. But our educated sensibilities try to promote equality towards women , accept them in those very same roles. Realize that they can be independent and capable of taking care of themselves.

Now throw in some expectations of chivalry in the equation and then you will understand the conflict. Why should a man be expected to drop-off a lady colleague first on a late cab ride back home? The same lady whom, his HR tells him, is to be respected and not differentiated against.

It’s unfair you guys say. Probably. Speaking for myself and other women who feel the same way - If you are going to take a shot at women's lib each time before you stretch your hand out to help a lady over a high step, then don't do it.
It is not chivalry if you have any hesitation in doing it.


Having said that, if you are the kind of guy to whom these social graces come easily, my deepest respects to you. I know you don’t have to do it and precisely for that reason, I feel grateful each time a guy waits for me to step out of the lift. It's a tiny gesture and I salute the sublimity that empowers you to make that gesture.

No more sab chalta hai

Today, I was proud to be an Indian. In a teeny tiny way - the typical manner of inconsequential nothings, a glow crept into my heart for the land I call home and the achievements of the people I call my fellowmen. It was not the stomping, chest-thumping pride of Pokhran or Chandrayaan or the glee of the first Olympic gold. In fact, a good many people will roll their eyes to see me make such a big deal of an ostensibly routine event. Well.. I'll let you judege for yourself.


I have always hated going to the bank. I can trace the origins of the associated butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, way back to when I was nine years old and had a kiddies account in Andhra Bank. I remember dragging my feet on monthly visits to the bank to pull apart my piggy bank and rain down a small heap of 10 and 20 ps coins in front of the amused staff. And then , while they fixed their mock serious stares on me , I sat squirming in a large wooden chair, sorting and counting my precious stash . It all sounds very cute now, I know. But when you are nine , the feeling is the same as meeting your in-laws for the first time.

Anyway, things didn't get much better over the years. I continued to remain in awe and partial fear of the stern faces behind counters . I cowered at the snappy irritation and dreaded the high stacks of forms.

So imagine my pure delight, when I started working and came across my very first debit/atm Citibank Suvidha card. True to its name, this little piece of blue plastic was my ticket out of long queues and token counters and paperwork. I embraced the new age banking and its hassle-free style with glee.

An older ,wiser me today, I have come to learn and accept the benefits of banking with a nationalized bank . It’s still not my favourite thing, but I have made my peace. And so I walked in SBI's swanky new branch on Cecil Street during the lunch hour.

Expecting a convoluted circuit of shuttling between multiple counters - I was prepared. Armed with two copies of the form (one filled out), two copies of passport and EP, three photographs, two copies of the phone bill, I approached the reception desk bravely and asked to open an account.

And there began the magic. In a twinkling of an eye appeared a brisk and pleasant lady who rifled through my massive trove of documents. Nimbly, she extracted the form and passport/EP and with a smile waved me to a comfortable alcove. I was flabbergasted! What? No demand for rental agreement? No corrections in red to my form ? And that’s just not it. There was a bigger surprise in store for me.

Let me spend a quick minute on some comparative analysis here. The last time I opened an account , it was with dbs. Singapore's largest and most prestigious retail bank. I waited for 15 minutes to get a token number. And then another forty until I had an audience with the cust service rep. I was able to open my account, but had to wait for 3 days for the atm card (with name embossed) and another week for the internet banking account. In the end, for all the red carpet ambience, the experience left me a bit weary.

So, ten minutes later, when Ms Deepti Sethi walked in with my atm card , internet rsa token and a receipt for the deposit of 500$ that was yet to hand over -
I fell in love with her. With her, and every cog behind that steel facade of sbi Cecil Street branch that made the operation so smooth.

Yes, I agree it’s an unfair comparison. Any other local bank is servicing an infinitely larger customer base. But if this is the face of Indian nationalized banks today, then I welcome the change and am proud of it.