Jugaad

I was having dinner with my manager and my ex-manager last night; both charming gentlemen with more than a little entrepreneurial zeal. In between salads and soups, we discussed business models and visionary goals. My manager brought up Harsha Bhogle, a former batchmate, saying noone resented him because his current position was hard earned... if he can make five lakhs in four hours now, it's only because he once had to put in 18 hour days with very little knowledge if it was even going somewhere.

I don't resent Bhogle his money or fame either, but I do resent his clarity. I wish I knew what I cared about enough to willingly put aside the safety net of a conventional job... the kind of thing where you not only put in more time and effort than you would in a normal job, but also love every minute of it, and make it big eventually as part of a natural progression of passion + skill + experience. 

I know, in theory, what I'm that enthu about. In fact, I know two or three things I'm that passionate about, and good at, which makes me luckier than most people. I'm also fortunate in that my passions are ROI-friendly as well as idealistic, given enough time. The question is whether I can get myself to take that leap towards one of them and let it play out, instead of going back to something that I know and trust just because it's easier than taking that risk.

For someone who's generally not materialistic, I sure am superficial when it comes to conventional definitions of success. But if that's the only thing holding me back, surely the answer's self-evident?

Frightful Fridays

A courier guy who won't ask for directions until he's too lost to describe where he is.

An internet cable guy who'll take all your money upfront and then give you five reasons why he can't install the thing in your house.

Dead silence when you ask people for deadlines, and then sudden death as they all arrive at the same time.

Who wants to trade lives?

PS: I just tweeted all of this and now I'm blogging it too... anything to avoid looking at a tome of HR-ese that needs to be translated into plain English.

Arbit Takeaways From Arbit Movies - I

Hrithik Roshan must have a small weenie. Either that or he's an alien. Seriously, how can anyone have hair that perfect, skin that just never shows any wear and tear, and THAT body? Given he has six fingers one one hand and ears that are elongated, I'm leaning towards the possibility of his being an alien. With a small weenie. 

Farhan Akhtar on the other hand - now HE is very human and very very sexy. He has the kind of hair that you know has seen some bad days, skin that's as pockmarked as the dark side of the moon, and a body that isn't too far away, with diligent gymming. And airbrushing.

As for Abhay Deol - he's hot enough, but in a gay way. The kind you know you won't fall for, because it'll be too funny when he's trying to seduce you with that voice. 

Now that we have that out of the way, proceeding to the movie Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara... brilliant first half, supremely lame second half, Katrina Kaif should never be allowed to open her mouth, every woman should try not to be Kalki Koechlin, and clearly the hottest men end up with the most pointless of women, so tatasthu. 

And, let's see, Delhi Belly... really not as vulgar as it could've been, though I could just be saying that because I live with a boy and my tolerance levels for disgust have multiplied manifold. I'm not quite repressed enough to fall out of my seat laughing at the word 'tatti' being used in public, so I'm sure I didn't enjoy it as much as the average Indian, but in it's defense, it's more amusing than that Hangover II nonsense. 

I spent most of the movie wondering why the writers thought anyone would get a Mill on the Floss reference. And also if that lead actress was a lesbian. And whether Shenaz had had a boob job and/or was a vampire. And whether I hate you (like I love you) was only funny because we live in the era of Justin Bieber. So all in all, a thought provoking movie, Delhi Belly.