Saturday, March 24, 2007

Mentor

More than six months ago, I decided to volunteer in a youth mentoring program, and contacted the Good Shepherd Organisation to join their ranks of mentors. A great organisation by the way, can't say enough goodness about it.

As part of the initial qualification process, I had to do two months of criminal background checks - and finally the records showed that indeed, I wasn't a registered paedophile. And then two months of reference checks - and Bobbis, Doobie and Jeet all extolled praise and virtue on my behalf. And then a battery of medical exams - the tuberculosis test, a chest x-ray, blood tests - and finally, finally, they declared me fit and ready to join the mentoring program.

As you can imagine, after six months of jumping hoops and hurdles, the anticipation and eagerness had built up in me like a puffer fish at bursting point. So finally when the coordinator called me one day at work to let me know they had found me a mentee, I couldn't help but whoop with joy.

"I have a Mini-Me!!!" I proclaimed excitedly.
"She'll probably be less mini than you," Delta pointed out.
"And you're not supposed to mould her to turn into you," Doobie pointed out.
Okay, so maybe not mini-me per se.

I was nervous the first day I met my mentee. Dressed a bit smarter than normal, unconsciously smoothed my hair all day, tried to think up teenage topics of conversation. Even bought a box of chocolates ("you can't buy her love, you know" MetroHom said unhelpfully).

I'd forgotten, even though its only been a few years, how much I'd changed since teenage-land. I took her to a healthfood store, and she made a beeline straight for the pizza.
One of the first things she asked me, when we met, was, "so, you much into R&B?"
"Er, heh heh, a little bit, you know, I er know some of the songs," I managed to splutter. Not that she was fooled, and I knew I'd have to earn my place by climbing back up in her ranks of coolness.

Mostly, I was just surprised by the maturity with which she approached the world. She knew she wanted to go to college. She knew what she wanted to study. She knew where she wanted to live, and that she wanted to adopt children, and the career she wanted to pursue for the rest of her life. I couldn't remember being quite that sure-footed when I was a senior in high school. I couldn't remember feeling that self-assuredness with which she faced the world.

Adolescent in her shyness, and yet adult beyond my years, in the way in which she'd learnt to deal with life. There's moments, (like the last time we met, when she said, "next week, why dont' you come over to my place and I'll cook you dinner,") when I actually find myself wondering who is indeed mentoring whom.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

St Patty's Day, hurray!

St. Patrick was a great ol' man
The most famous one from Ireland
It is unknown from whither he came
But in Ireland he made his name
Magically led all the snakes away
So let's all drink to St. Patty's Day!

Little Shamrock so fresh and green
Of Ireland's mascots quite the queen
Its four-leaf cousin gets all the glory
If only the world knew the real story
The evil spirits it wards away
So let's all drink to St Patty's Day!*

*Our thanks to Milo Minderbinder for his astute lyrical contributions

Sarah & Ilajna

the Vish and me


Milo & Doobie


Doobie, Ilajna and me

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Growth is a figurative thing

Delta and I went to the Natural History Museum over the weekend, to gush and haw nerdily over the 'Origins of Man' exhibit. Riveting information for the most part, and there I was, trying to take it all in like a human sponge.

Then I saw the prototype of ol' Australopithecus Africanus. Ran and plonked myself right beside it. "Look, Delta!" I exclaimed proudly, "finally someone I'm taller than!".

I was quite tickled by my own wit.

So I kept on rushing to all the other ones (only the shorter ones) to exhibit my tallerness. Homo Habilis. Homo Ergaster. Homo Erectus. Homo Heidelbergensis.

And then as we passed the next one (a Cro Magnon display, I tried to slink by, I was not taller than them), Delta paused. "Look this is you're height. You fit right in!"

Dammit. Have I fallen into an evolutionary glitch?



Monday, March 05, 2007

Borscht, anyone?

"Wanna go to Budapest next week?" Delta asked. I beamed.

Which means, darn life, that I had to apply for a visa. Getting a visa is all about being street smart and country wise.

Everytime you need a visa, the first thing to do is check whether, with your citizenship, you're exempt from needing a visa. Right? Except when you're Indian, and then you should assume you DO need a visa. But still, as a testament to my tenacity (naiivete?), I always check, my heart brimming with hope. Pore over the list of nationalities exempt. Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Israel,... no, not India. Glared at Brunei. How'd they get on the list anyway. Sigh.

After having once experienced queues of 500+ people for a Spanish visa, I've learnt to outsmart the crowds. Must get there early. Must get there early. So I reached the embassy half an hour before it opened, enthusiastic young whippersnapper that I am, determined to be the first in line. And I was. First in line, I mean. There was no one else around. I double-checked the address, yep, I'd got it right. Looked left and right up the street, nobody around at all.

To go for a coffee? I was dying to go for a coffee. But I knew, I knew, if I went for that cup, that's exactly when the crowds would come. So I whipped out my novel, planted my feet firmly by the embassy door, and took my spot in line. Minutes ticked by. Slowly. S-l-o-w-l-y. S-l-l-o-o-w-w-l-l-y-y. Nobody else joined the line. But I maintained my reign at the lead. Stuck to my guns.

I guess I was the only one who wanted a visa to Hungary that day. So I waited in line for half an hour for a visa application process which took less than two minutes.

But now, I'm off! :)

Almost Famous

Tomorrow, the moment arrives for my fifteen seconds of fame.

Well, vicariously, anyway.

I mean, I'll be near someone famous.

Well okay, if we get down to the crux of it, maybe not even interact with him. Only just watch him. Not so different from just sitting at home watching the telly really.

So Delta and I have tickets to the live filming of the Jon Stewart show (yes, that's right, whoop away in envious excitement). There's many layers of excitement that come with this:
a) Jon's a pretty funny chap
b) I get to miss a sliver of the work day, because taping starts in the afternoon
c) The taping ends early, so it gives us time to relive the entire afternoon over dinner. Just like Groundhog Day.

"What if, what if, what if..." I exclaimed excitedly to MetroHom.
"What if what?"
"What if the camera comes on me, and I crack a joke, and it's funnier than any of Jon's!" And my daydreams started running away with me.
"Erm, no. You seriously don't need to worry about that happening."
Thanks a lot, BuzzKill.

All the same, it's the Jon Stewart show, and I'm getting to see it live! If you have the misfortune of not knowing the show, check this out (also where you can order tickets from): http://www.comedycentral.com/shows/the_daily_show/index.jhtml

Sunday, March 04, 2007

A Quick Up-to-Speeding

Much to blog about, and I haven't had the time in the past couple of weeks. Correction - I haven't made the time. Not sure that I can differentiate really, at this rather frenzied point in my life.

At work, there's the gargantuan project that I've been immersed in for the past month or so. But that's about to come to a head shortly, so (unless everything goes pear-shaped, as things are indeed sometimes wont to do), I should technically find myself with more time on my hands in another week or so. We had to do a finale presentation to a panel of Big Bosses the other day. They sat like Greek gods atop Olympus, while we squeaked and squawked tremulously through the slides. The court jestors. We survived the presentations. We endured the inquisition that followed. We studiously noted the suggestions for improvement. But all of that is somewhat of a blur in my memory. The only part I distinctly remember is when the Head Honcho said he loved it. (Believe it or not, that's what he said.)

I'm quite enjoying how memory can be deliciously selective in what it chooses to retain.

And then, there was the weekend of frenzied painting. You'd have thought I was Da Vinci, the way I succumbed to my surge of inspiration, literally ran to buy the art supplies, commandeered the entire dining room and didn't talk to any of the girls all day, drawn into the vortex of my own inner creativity. So it was a bit of an anticlimax, the actual painted canvases that resulted. If one cocked one's head slightly to the side, and if one were feeling momentarily predisposed towards leniency, and with a slight stretch of the imagination, I suppose one could potentially misconstrue them as art. But what does it matter, I'm quite revelling in process of creation (since I can't actually revel in the product itself).

I wonder if this is how Gawd felt after creating man.