Reflections of a restless eccentric

Inspired by a phone conversation.Dedicated to Sowmya.Fellow workaholic,best friend and soul sister:) Work life balance is arguably the most-often (mis)used term in corporate jargon.Companies promise you this in every presentation they make,as if it could make up for everything else that they lack.Candidates unfailingly ask the HR this question with dreams in their eyes.And then,two years later,disillusioned,they cite the lack of the same thing as the primary reason for quitting their previous job.And so the vicious cycle goes on. Let's dissect this magical combination of words.As an etymology enthusiast,I obviously tried to trace the origins of the phrase.Wikipedia says it was first used in the 70s in UK,but there seems to be no actual document proving this.The second place it was used was in a publication in the United States dated 1986. This phrase promises you three things:work,life and balance between the two.By work,I presume the author is referring to sat

Book review #1 Wasn't it just a couple of weeks ago that I said I'd never get around to reading non-fiction? I think life loves making us contradict our own selves.Here I am,having read my first non-fiction book and even choosing this as a starting point for my reviews.Ironic! Word of advice:Take my reviews with a pinch of salt.My attitude towards books is more or less similar to my attitude towards people--I always look for the good in them.It strikes me that this will make me a very bad critic,for I can never bring myself to say something negative about a book.Yet,I don't think that's a bad outlook to have.Because writing of all things,is very very subjective.One man's meat is another's poison.I might love something and you might hate it.Or vice-versa.Another point is that any piece of writing is a piece of the author's soul--the writing is as much alive as the person writing it.By passing judgement on the book,do we not also pass judgement on the per

I have to keep this short,because I have an exam tomorrow. :| Nevertheless,I prefer my articles straight from the oven --therefore I shall give voice to my thoughts before I trudge back to the paper I was reading. While all of us have been haunted by the innumerable what-ifs that we come across in life,I have particularly wondered about this one. What if I wasn't an introvert? Don't get me wrong:I'm not saying that I want to be an extrovert.I'm very happy with being an introvert--I wouldn't have it any other way.Yet,I've been increasingly wondering about what the other side of the mountain looks like. This is primarily because of my twin,I'm guessing.Clarification:I'm not talking about a biological twin here.It's just a name I've jokingly bestowed on my friend because we share the same birthday(date,month and year),the same blood group and a million other things.(More about this later.It'll be too long to fit in here) Where we funda

I'm on a writing spree today.I just can't stop.The last article was supposed to be the prelude to what I'm going to write now.I don't know how,but it turned out longer than I'd envisioned and I decided to make it a separate article.I'm not really a fan of long articles--brevity is something that I very much value.Therefore,pardon me if most of the ideas of this piece overlap with the previous,it was meant to be that way originally before I split them up:) Like I just said,one of the first things people ask when they meet you is this: Where are you from?  If your answer matches theirs,you'll most likely hit it off.This is a no-brainer,You obviously have a lot of things in common.What,in my humble opinion,you should not do is this: When the answer does not match,you immediately conclude that this person will not make a good friend and move on.Sadly,I've seen this happen a lot in the recent past that I decided to write about it. The environment you

When I was in primary school,I hated the questions, "Which is your mother tongue?Which is your native place?"  I never had a good enough answer to either. My teachers told me that my native place was the one to which my parents belonged and that my mother tongue was what my parents spoke.This presented a dilemma.My mom spoke Tamil and my Dad spoke Kannada.My mom was born in Chidambaram,lived for short periods in Madurai,Salem,Erode and thereafter in Coimbatore for a significant period before she settled in Bangalore.My Dad was born in Kolar,spent the majority of his childhood and youth in Mysore before moving to Bangalore. My Mom says she's from Coimbatore.My Dad says he's from Kolar. Society dictated that I should choose either one of these and call it my native.A more orthodox and patriarchal society would lean towards choosing the paternal one. I refused to do this,having always believed in gender equality. How could I choose either,having almost never been to

Warning: TLDR:D (A writer should never say this of her own writing.This one deserves the warning though).Unless you really are interested in listening to my rants.In which case you have my sincere appreciation coupled with admiration:P I've finally found time to write:D On a serene Saturday afternoon,I'm sitting in the deserted lab listening to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZc4JHN-Qhs It's been so long that I've forgotten what tranquility feels like:) You've heard what they say about getting overtly attached to people right? I learnt,the hard way,that the same holds good for gadgets too.:P Let me start my tale of woe.On a Saturday evening identical to this one,I was idling away in my room,obviously on my laptop.My phone was tethered to the laptop and I was taking a sip of water.Precisely at that inopportune moment,my phone happened to ring.As I've done many times before,I impulsively reached for my phone forgetting the wire that bound it t

Dedicated to the girl who won't let me write about some truly article-worthy incidents;) You know who you are. The problem about being with someone who writes is this:You never know what they might fancy.Something you might say casually would trigger an entire article in their minds.You yourself might sometimes inspire them. Worst of all is this,they might document some event from your life that you really really don't want them to:P I fear my friends who write,for this exact reason.Although they'd never betray my confidence,the impulse to write is beyond everything else. I say all this with so much confidence because I've been on both sides of the coin.My wonderful friend was inspired by some ordinary boring incident in my life that she wrote it up(only she made it sound terribly embarrassing.Okay I admit it was,although all I was doing was being polite and couteous :P) https://talesofincrediblycommon.blogspot.in/2017/05/hard-wood.html At that point,I wante

There's something about experiences.They age you.I feel as if I've been existing for centuries. Have you been through a period after which your life comes back to normal and you feel like you've been dunked underwater for a really really long time? I've been feeling this way since a couple of months,more or less. I keep holding my breath,hoping that any moment now,I'll see the warm sunshine. I see a tiny sliver of light before the overpowering darkness engulfs me again. I've lost track of time.Sometimes, I look at the calendar and the date surprises me.Where did all these days go,I wonder. I look back and see a blur of events that stand for my life. I am weary of the ups and downs. The calm scares me more than the turbulence.It petrifies me because I wonder what humongous wave is going to lash out at me next. I'm tired of fighting.It's time to let go. I've held on long enough.Hard enough.  Yet,there's something in me that