Tall Claims

I am no longer going to be able to say that I have seen the world's tallest building. Or ridden in the fastest lift. Few years back I was swept up the 300 odd meters of Taipei 101 to sweeping views of the cityscape. (Not that I do) But I could have bragged about it until yesterday.

Yesterday, when the magnificent 828 m Burj Dubai was inaugurated. And with this new tower (renamed Burj Khalifa today) comes a whole new set of records.

Tallest, most floors, highest swimming pool and so on... I am not going to spend more time glorifying it. Enough is being said and written and googled. The official website is seeing so many hits; the page is not even accessible any more.

Well, so what if they built a taller building. I'll still have these under my belt.
World largest fountain (Suntec Singapore. Yes that huge ring with holes is the fountain)
Southernmost tip of Asia (Sentosa. Errm.. Atlas anyone? )
Worlds largest man-made waterfall ( ha-ha you guessed it, Sgp again!)

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.

Then and Now

These are strange times we live in.

And when I say we, I mean us - the generation X of the 90s.

We, who never owned mobiles in colleges and thought denim was the pinnacle of hip. We, who as teenagers scrimped on pocket money only to blow it all up in Archies gifts gallery. Yes, us, who thought Fido Dido , the backstreet boys and coke in a can was 'cool'.
If you have sailed through the last few lines going - huh? then thats probably going to be your reaction to the rest of this blog. But if not, then you know what I am talking of. It all comes back in a flash , doesn't it? Those days of audio cassettes ,Sabatini posters and break dance .

Fast forward a few years into the age that the IT sector catapults urban India into ; where a good many of us enjoy a plush pay packet. So we don't worry these days about spending on insipid frappucinos or the OST of bachna ae haseno just to listen to khuda jaane.

So, whats so strange about that ?
Nothing much.

Just that, given the disparity of spending patterns we have witnessed in a short span of ten years and the ease with which we have slipped into 'yuppiehood', do you feel the incongruity every once in a while?

For example shopping. What a vast difference there is when you compare the mom and pop stores of yore to any uptown boutique. Even calling it a 'shop' is so crass these days. I miss shopping for clothes in those simpler times. All you had to do was walk in and leave the rest to the trusty 'salesman'. This kindly gentleman, now a relic of the past, would size you up, quietly proffer his advice to steer you and quickly proceed to empty the shelves and pile it all up in front of you - all with minimum fuss. So what if a good bit of the stuff bordered on tacky, at least it was not as stressful as shopping in one of today's upscale malls.

Now , I am not a big fan of these new age lifestyle stores. Don't get me wrong, I like pretty things as much as the next gal but the arcane code of conduct in these places just throws me off. What is the point of having a shopping attendant tag me like a shadow as long as I am interested in the five pieces of wares carried by her brand, but looks askance the moment I step out of her zone.

One can learn to make peace with the in-your-face sales or ignore the perfume spritzing but standing up to the eyebrow-arching dragons prowling the halls needs some gumption. You know the distinguished silver-haired gentlemen near the Cartier cufflinks who is exceedingly polite as he surreptiously takes in your handbag sans the LV insignia. His tone has just the right inflection to make you realize your mistake and scurry back to the familiar holds of more sensible and not-so-exclusive goods.

But I am not complaining. In a fairer world, we might have only community stores and set of stamps or ration cards , eh comrade?