Sunday, July 31, 2005

A Friend-ful Day

Saturday was an adventure-ful day, and a friend-ful day.

JC and I went to a friend's non-wedding held beautiful mansion grounds in Washington Heights. Basically, it was a wedding without the religion, tradition or convention. Basically, it just a shared and intimate celebration of love.

A large white marquis had been set up on the lawn, with all the tables inside. A gentle, cooling breeze wafted through the grounds, and the quiet peace of the area was a soothing escape from the normal bustle of the city. The breeze gently ruffled the grass, carrying with it a pleasant scent of fresh grass and earth. The suburban peacefulness and fresh air filled me with a sense of contentment. There were victuals and conversation in plentiful, and before we knew it we had cracked through the white. And the red. And the Cava. By the time we left, the sunset was at the heights of its splendour, and had tinged everything with a warm pinky glow.

The evening was in sharp contrast to the quiet peacefulness of the day. JC and I were supposed to join a friend's party at a trendy rooftop bar called Bed New York. It was almost twelve by the time we reached there, only to find throngs of hopeful entrants crowding (not queueing) by the doors. The security guards had had to erect barricades to contain the crowds, and were shouting at people to stay off the roads. Our initial assessment of the scenario revealed that (a) we would have to wait at least 2 hrs to get to the door; and (b) that even if we made it to the door in all likelihood they would turn us away (yes they do that in NY!) because we weren't dressed up enough.

Most of the people entering looked like models, the girls were over six feet tall, extremely lanky and wearing handkerchief-style clothes. The hair, the makeup the clothes, the jewellry, the stillettos - it was like nothing I'd seen in other clubs before. JC and I were mesmerized by the catwalk of people parading in front of us (every few minutes I had to reach over and shut his dropped jaw for him).

Shortly afterwards Ilajna and Paul joined us, and we escaped gratefully to a small, cosy wine-and-beer bar in the Village. We ambled down the quiet streets with vine-fronted townhouses ("Can we live here one day?" I asked JC), together for the last time before JC's move to Europe.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Dinner with Friends

JC's sister and her fiance, P&P, came over for dinner yesterday. Since both JC and I love to cook, it's always fun to have guests to eat our food. I rushed to the supermarket after work to pick up all the necessary makings of a penne vodka. Also picked up a crusty italian loaf for a touch of the authentic. Rushed to JC's apartment laden with bags, and Nixon and I quickly got down to the business of chopping vegetables. A bit hastily cobbled together (and almost forgot to add the peas), but it tasted fine in the end. P&P both helped themselves to seconds, which made me particularly happy.

P&P are about to get married in Germany this September, and we commiserated about the difficulties of planning a wedding long-distance. Nixon is going to start her MA in Journalism in Columbia, and we talked about the university, and journalism as an career. JC has just finished his Bar exam, and recounted anecdotal horror stories about taking the Bar. I told them about my decision to go into consultancy, and we discussed the vices and virtues of the consulting industry.

Since JC is moving to Europe on Monday, he gave away a lot of his old stuff to P&P. They left looking a motely crew, with chair and lamp and kettle in hand.

It was a cool and peaceful evening, and the weather invited a stroll through the university campus. So Nixon, JC and I bought ourselves refreshing fruit smoothies and sat on the Columbia steps under the star-spangled, ink-black skies. We stayed out there into the evening, beneath the grandeur and history of the university buildings, contemplating the changes to come in each of our lives.

Primary Emotions (revisited)

Much debate ensued after my previous post on primary emotions. I was asked lots of questions about defining primary emotions and the distinction between primary and secondary emotions. Which felt good because I was glad people reading the blog were engaged. But on the other hand, I didn't have the answer to any of the questions, mostly because it is such a nebulous area of research.

Ultimately, the best explanation was on a site Macklaine found:
http://www.personalityresearch.org/basicemotions/plutchik.html

I'm lucky to have friends like Macklaine who can teach me about what I'm talking about.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Primary Emotions

I was speaking to a senior HR manager at HSBC yesterday.

He asked me, in complete deviation from anything I expected, to name the primary human emotions which can hamper personal growth.

I hate it when HR people start talking wishy-washy. But right then, he was the manager and I was the job seeker (a.k.a sycophant), so I adopted the 'grin-and-bear-it' strategy.

Primary emotions that can hamper personal growth. Hmmm.

"Anger. Fear. Sadness." I shot off pretty rapidly.
"Correct on all counts," he said. "But there's five. Can you think of the other two?"
"Errr.... uhmmm... Confusion? Pity? Worry?" I was getting desperate.
Patronising smile.
Nope, I guess not.
There was an embarrassing silence.
"Love and Shame," he finally completed. We both seemed surprised that I hadn't thought of Love on my own. It seemed so obvious. I guess I had been focusing on negative emotions.

I might have failed his little personality test, but he very kindly offered me his help by way of a network of recruitment agencies, for which I am incredibly grateful.

"Why not Pride?" I asked him at the end, just as I was leaving.
"Hmm, I'm going to have to think about that one," he said. "You might have a point there".

Is pride a primary emotion? I'm not sure. It might be a complex or secondary emotion. But I'm glad I gave him something to think about.

From across the Pond

My dear friend Nixon just moved to New York from London. So it was a lovely evening of old tales repeated and new adventures shared, and I just couldn't get enough information on how everyone back in London was doing. I questionned her impatiently: "How's Burr doing? What has she been up to? And Vinda's little kid, has he grown a lot? And AP, how has she been doing? And how did Nish enjoy her holiday?" However much she told me, it wasn't enough.

Then at some point Nixon interrupted herself to object to my barrage of questions: "But Dipti, everything I tell you, you seem to know it all already!" It made me realise how closely I am in touch with my friends, and how, despite the distance, I still feel involved in their lives. It filled me with a warm-fuzzy-pinky-orangey-glowy feeling, somewhere between nostalgia and happiness.

I took Nixon for a tour of the area, feeling like an old New York pro. She pointed out that I had become all Americanised: I called things "ridic" rather than "ridiculous".

She told me she had accidentally checked in her I-2o form (student visa) in her suitcase on her flight over. "So how did you get passed immigration??" I asked, appalled. She shrugged.
"It wasn't easy", she admitted. "It was a lot of talking to a lot of officials, but here I am."

I'm glad my friend Nixon is here. I look forward to some fun adventures together in the time to come.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

At the Edge of a Precipice and Looking Down

It's been an arduous two months of job-hunting. Finding the right recruitment agents, combing through the job-search sites, finding contacts in the right firms, interviewing interviewing, interviewing. And more than anything else, just the stress and tension!

And all this, to realise in the last legs of the process, that I actually want to go down a different route. I've decided to give the consulting industry a try. Am I sure? Do I know exactly what it entails? Am I prepared for the lifestyle commitment? Do I really know what I'm getting into? That's how most people react. And to be honest, my answer is no. No I'm not sure what it'll be like. I'm not sure I'll love it. It's just that right now, it feels right. It might not be a forever decision, but at this point, my gut tells me its the correct step. And if I'm going to make the switch, if I'm going to take the leap, it's got to be now.

I didn't feel quite that brave this afternoon, when I had to turn down a priceless offer from one of my top firms. It made me cringe and quiver, but that's what following a dream is about. Isn't it? Right now, I'm turning my back on what I know to be fun and good and comfortable and secure, and taking a deep breath and plunging with a blind leap of faith.

Right now, it feels like I'm at the edge of a precipice and looking down.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Comfort

JC's freaking out about the bar tomorrow. It's so obvious to me that he will pass it with ease. I know it's an incredibly, incredibly difficult exam. But I also have faith in how naturally intelligent he is, and how hard he has worked towards this.

I hold his hand and tell him not to worry. I try and calm him telepathically. I try and convince him through the look in my eyes.

But I know he won't believe me until after the event. Possibly not even until the results come out in November. I wish, somehow, I could make the stress go away.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Being a regular

It feels nice to be a regular somewhere - to be recognised and greeted and welcomed like one of the family. That's how I feel about my jogging route. There's the woman with the poodle, and the man with the two german shepherds, and the man with the Siberian husky. I feel a sense of kinship with them, although I rarely even as much as make eye contact. I wonder if they recognise me too, I think surely they must.

And then there's the porter to the building on 116th and Riverside Drive. He marks the point at which I stop walking to where I want to jog, and actually start doing the jogging. He always gives me a friendly wave as I pass by, and I return the greeting with a smile and a nod. Its a fixed routine and we both take comfort from it. But I haven't seen him this pass week. I've looked out for him everytime I passed the building, but he hasn't been there.

The other day, JC (as he wants to be called) read in the papers about a porter of an upper west side building on Riverside who saved enough money over the years that he could buy an apartment in the building itself.

I wonder if it was my man. I hope it was my man.

Instant Karma

I'm normally a glass-half-full sort of person. It just doesn't occur to me perceive a person or situation in negative light. And I rarely criticise people, even at the point when they roundly deserve it - to the extent that my friends often accuse me of being naiive in my outlook to life.

So I quite took myself by surprise when out of the blue I commented to Jeet the other day: "You know, there was this guy in my highschool class who used to have such a terrible acne problem. It was just awful." I don't know what brought the comment on, or even why I would care at this stage, so many years later. But I said it. And I knew it was mean and snide, but mostly I just said it with gratitude for how I had never had a problem with my facial skin. Jeet just rolled her eyes and warned me I should watch what I say.

And wouldn't you know it. The next morning I woke up with pimples. PimpleS in plural. Gone was the smooth facial skin I used to take for granted - instead I had to make an emergency run to the local pharmacy for a pimple blitzer. Now ofcourse I'm en guard with my Tea Tree oil and anti-acne gel, just in case adolescence is suddenly catching up with me late.

And then yesterday I was laughing at Buppo's (a.k.a. Juan Carlos) laptop, telling him how crap it was. Well, I maintain that any laptop that shuts down arbitrarily and frequently of its own accord merits a "crap" title. But then all of a sudden my laptop shut down and had problems rebooting and said there were complications in the c:/ drive. Oh god oh god oh god I haven't made copies of anything like I always said I'd get around to.

Now I'm not normally very fatalistic, but this retribution is a bit too immediate for my liking. I wonder how much of it is willed by my own sense of guilt, in a cyclical turn of events. Well eitherway, now I know - I've been cursed with instant karma, I'm never going to be mean again.

PS - How great is the new Harry Potter?!! I 've just re-emerged to the surface of reality after two days of being deeply submerged in its darkest depths.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Time to hide under the blanket

Oh dear. I absolutely BOMBED my interview on Friday. Four interviews back-to-back, and I bombed two of them. Doesn't bode well for my job prospects, does it?

Have you ever had a conversation where you just could not connect at all with the person you were speaking to? That's what my the first interview was like. She'd ask a question, and before I'd barely begun to answer, she'd look bored or distracted or impatient. Maybe it was a ruse to put me on the defensive and test me in awkward situations. But that would be crediting the game with undue sophistication. No - I think she was genuinely a disinterested interviewer, and I could not bridge the chasm and build a bond. No smile of encouragement or nod of affirmation, no "un huh" to show she was listening, infact no helpful feedback at all from her. The correct stance, of course, would have been to have more confidence in myself and plough through regardless. But inevitably, I felt myself getting nervous, and could hear my answers getting shorter and shorter until we were both speaking in bullet points.
Interviewer: "So can you tell me about a project you've worked on?"
Me: "Well, I worked independently on the roll out of a mentoring progr - "
Interviewer: (gazing out through the glass door and waving at a passerby)
Me: "The program took three months to implement and I was responsible for the entire project from its inception to the final implementation and evaluation."
Interviewer: "Oh okay that's it? Well why don't you tell me about a time when..."
And that was what the conversation was reduced to.

And then there was a case study. In my defence, I made a valiant effort to answer the questions as best I could. In the offense, my best effort just wasn't good enough. And ofcourse, as soon as I left the room, I could think of another thousand things I should have said. I should have covered the points on communication. I should have structured my answers better. I should have said the most important things in the beginning, rather than slipping them in the end. I should have...

Oh dear. Its a slippery slope of thought. Why should we be made to get nervous because of other people's styles? Why is it so easy for someone else's over-confidence to throw my confidence off the track? Why did I have to get the coldest and briskest interviewers from the lot? Why couldn't I answer the case study questions well enough?

If I'm honest with myself, I've exaggerated the ogre-liness of the interviewers and the questions because this is the first time I've ever come out of an interview feeling so inadequate. It's the first time I've ever felt like I could not provide satisfactory answers to the questions, and that I could not make any sort of human connection with the interviewers - and I just don't know how to deal with it myself. It makes me realise how I've always taken for granted my ability to rise to the occasion and perform under pressure. And now, suddenly, I have to deal with this sense of failure and inadequacy. I think I'm going to hide for a bit.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

In competition with the Bar

Bups is currently studying for the New York Bar. He reads it he reads, writes, speaks, lives and breathes law at the moment.

I have to compete with American law for some time and attention. What's a gal got to do to get some attention nowadays. We make it a point to eat dinner together everyday. Between my work and his studies, I'm afraid its alternating between Chinese takeaway, pizza and paninis at the moment. Between bites of salubrious dinner, he recites random laws.

I now know, for instance, one partner's inability to have sex is legitimate grounds to ask for a divorce in New York. And that owning a building could also include owning some of the air surrounding the building. Scintillating.

Boy, I have some tough competition, thank god the bar's in five days.


Job Hunting

For those of you who are currently working - cling on to your jobs like there's no tomorrow, I say! Because job hunting is a thankless task.

I've been at it for two months now. First the endless amount of meetings with recruitment agents who subsequently don't have any jobs for you. Then the interminable list of online job applications which disappear into a black hole in the universe. And then the interview process and the emotional rollercoaster that rides on: happy excited oh yessss got an interview nervous stressed must prepare must look impeccable oh dear have to buy new stockings oh god oh god must remember to stress these key points oh excitement interview went well they were all smiling must be a good sign... isn't it? But why haven't they called back, its been a week. Oh. I was great but someone else was greater.

Actually, I can't complain, I'm in the privileged position of having a temporary job at the moment. Ironically, it's as a recruiter. So suddenly I'm living both sides of the coin. Being the interviewee and being the interviewer. Suddenly, I find myself in the position of having to turn down other applicants, and it breaks my heart to shatter their hopes, knowing how disheartening the process can be. I try to convey my sincere good luck wishes through my eyes. I wonder if they pick up on it.

This week's been a week of interviews. Had three of them, all final round. I'm hoping fervently that something comes out of at least one of them. It was also my birthday this week, maybe that will bring me luck.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Balanced Brain

AP (my housemate in London) once joked that I give directions 'like a man'. She's training to be a psychotherapist, and these statements have a lot of weight when coming from a psychotherapist.

"How's that?" I asked.

She explained that when a woman gives directions, it normally sounds something like: "Walk straight for a while till you see a Banana Republic on your right, then turn right into that street and continue walking straight down it till you see a pretty church on your left. Its just a couple of blocks after the church, by a jewelry shop with a bright blue door."

Whereas if man gave the same directions, it would sound like: "Walk straight about 5 blocks, turn right onto Jones Street and continue down the street for a further 5 blocks. It'll be on the left hand side of the street, number 575."

Basically, a right-brain left-brain argument. I'm not one for gender stereotypes of any kind, and everyday there's increasing evidence of borders merging and stereotypes breaking down. And as social roles evolve, so naturally does the way in which we think, as we move towards a more equal balance.

It especially doesn't make sense in this instance, where we live in a world in which schools place increasing emphasis on all students to become more left-brained (logical/rational) in their approach to life. But it did set me wondering about myself.

So I did a left-brain right-brain test:
http://www.angelfire.com/wi/2brains/

And I came out exactly equal.

And while it doesn't matter one way or another, I'm kind of happy to be equal.

Grey-Blue Sunday

Today is a grey-blue Sunday.
A snuggle-on-the-couch-and-watch-a-movie day.
A read-in-a-cafe-and-watch-the-rain -trickle-down-window-panes day.

I love the summer rain. It transports me back to all my London days. And the tropical monsoons of my childhood. Rainy days are legitimately nostalgic days.

During a brief hiatus between showers, I went out for a quick jog. Everything smelt fresh and earthy - the grass was a bright, almost unnatural shade of green, the flowers, laiden with raindrops, looked fresh and rejuvenated. Even the buildings looked cleaner, the rain has washed the dust away and given Manhattan a new face. I took in deep breaths, and absorbed the feeling of being connected to the Earth. The air was charged with an electric current that filled me with a trill of anticipation.

And the new Harry Potter has just come out, so I'm excited about some fun reading. I'm not as involved in Harry Potter as I used to be when the books first came out - but still, I'm connected enough that I want to continue reading them. Personally, I prefer The Northern Lights Trilogy, by Philip Pullman. I've never read story that drew me into its world like this did.

But for the moment, I'm looking forward to curling up in bed with some HP.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

The Placebo Effect

I woke up this morning sneezing away. I often sneeze in the mornings - I think its a dust thing - but it usually takes care of itself by mid-morning. But today I just sneezed and sneezed all the way through the day, and when by the afternoon my nose was sore and my eyes were a bit runny and I was generally feeling under the weather, I decided it was time to pick up some NyQuil*.

And right after I stepped back out of the pharmacy armed with the bottle, my cold mysteriously cleared up. Totally gone, no sign of it ever having bothered me. Boy, there's something to be said for psychosomatic cures.

* DayQuil does not stop runny noses, only NyQuil does. Because the chemical that stops a runny nose also happens to make you drowsy. So if its the weekend and you can afford to sleep it off, you should take NyQuil even in the day. And I know this because a kind pharmacist offered to help me out when he noticed me gazing blankly at the gadzillian medications in the 'colds and coughs' aisle of the pharmacy. Gosh, pharmacists are such a repository of fascinating information.

Crocodile hide

Being Saturday, today is officially Errands Day. So I finished my morning rounds - to the bank , to the laundry, to the dry cleaners, to the pharmacy, to the supermarket. And as a result I've been told to "Have a Good Day!!" at least 5 times and its not even noon yet. New York is unique in that respect. People have mastered the art of wishing (barking) customers to have a good day with the most sullen expressions I have ever seen. And for some reason, I always expect the wish to be sincere, and am slightly hurt when its proffered in the form of a sulky muttering.

Of course that's nothing compared to the Scary People working for the NY subway. The other day I got shouted at for swiping my metrocard the wrong way in the turnstile. Literally shouted at. Like I've never been before, not even in grade school. I might have said something back, but the person was a few times my height and width, so I thought the better of it. And many a time I've seen poor unsuspecting tourists being screamed at for asking basic directional guidance. I've thought about intervening to help out, but always realised I value my life too much. I'm afraid if someone asked me to name my fears, the NY Metro staff would have to be pretty high on the list.

But now I know. From tomorrow I'm going to put on my New York Tough Skin before leaving home.

And in the beginning...

I've never done a blog before. And I don't know how one's supposed to start one. I feel kind of obliged to talk about the purpose of this blog.

Problem is, there isn't really a purpose. Other than that I feel like writing. And, if I am to be honest, something about writing on the web, to a black hole of potentially none to infinite audiences, thrills me.

I'm not planning to share this weblink with anyone. At least not in the beginning, during my first tentative, teetering, tottering steps into the World of Weblog.

The title of this blog has no deep significance - its just a tribute to seahorses, who I don't think get enough attention in this world. Have you ever paused in an aquarium, to spend some time gazing at the seahorses? They're fascinating creatures - real, and yet somehow dreamlike in a unicornian sense. Friendly, and yet incredibly shy. I went to the London Aquarium, a few months ago, to look at the seahorses. And everytime someone approached their tank, they'd all hide behind little strands of seaweed, and peep out at their audience shyly. Something about this little gesture tugged at my heartstrings, and has remained with me since.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Here is my story

For the purpose of this blog, I go by the persona of Ficali McDelta (nee McPipe). I’m not quite sure why I settled upon using a pseudonym – it’s not like fame (or infamy) compel me to conceal my identity. All the same, over time I have learnt a benefit of this second persona. While Ficali is very much me, she is at the same time also an identity in her own right. By being more detached from the happenings in my life, she is able to see the humour in situations, where I may not. And she has the poetic license (and penchant) for exaggeration, so while everything written here is true-ish, that’s about the best you should be expecting.

I live in New York City, and my rather nuclear life tends to circle around my hubster (Delta), my three close friends (Doobie, Ilajna and Bobbis), and feline compatriot/arch nemesis (Queen Jaffa). As such, intertwined as our lives are, this blog has ended up being as much about them as myself.

I used to live with my three roommates (Ilajna, Doobie and Bobbis) in one of those infamous shoe-box apartments in Manhattan. And then, in July '08, Delta and I made the huge decision that confronts many of us at some point or another, and we decided to get married. In a life fraught with follies and foibles, it was the singularly bestest decision I ever made.

Ficali, and this blog, were born in New York, in July 2005. I, on the other hand, was actually born a considerable 25 years before that, in Mumbai (India). After an early childhood in Mumbai, I proceeded to complete high school in an international boarding school in rural India. I link to it precisely because I want to help raise its profile and publicity – I couldn’t recommend a place more. It was, after all, where learnt useful life skills like Ouija boards, baking cakes in a fire oven, and how to lay on the grass on your back for 4 hrs at a stretch without getting bored.

I moved to London (UK) to spend another 6 years wading through my formational years of college and early career. London itself developed a grip on me I can’t explain or capture adequately in words. It’s difficult to express, other than that the city has a life, vibrancy and personality in it’s own right, it isn’t just a place to live. The one thing I learnt from studying at a top college, and then working in an investment bank, is that competitive environments are just not made for me. I like to work hard, I love to challenge myself, but whoa, nothing turns me off like the stench of self-centricity in an institution all about the money.

From there, having bored myself out of my own life, I needed a change, and it was only a short hop and step to New York, where started the newest (and current) phase of my life. Shortly after moving to New York, I set up abode with my roommates, and then met Delta in our local pub where we used to spend a disproportionate amount of our time. There was no way to know, at the time, that our relationship would grow into the oneness that we have today.

If I had to use one word to describe the sensory overload which is New York, it would be ‘idiosyncratic’. Seriously. Every day, just walking on the streets, there’s a novel adventure and drama to be witnessed if you’re only open to it. ‘New York Moments’, Delta calls them. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking frustratedly, omg this city is full of nutters!! And then I come home, and start thinking through the haps in the day as I write my blog, and more often than not, I realize, gosh, maybe the nutter is me. So that’s what this blog is about – a collection of my very own New York Moments. As as you might have seen in The History Boys, it's "just one fahkin thing after another."