Nostalgia—OB Presentation

Back in the day we had a course called Organisational Behaviour/Organizational Behavior. (A course that has been life-altering. :))

Going through my Google Docs, I found a document that was the text of my presentation as part of the tutorial for the course. It was about a fifteen-minute speech on "Experiment". The starting idea comes from one of the best books ever: A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. I also read quite a few blog posts from around the blogosphere for inspiration; thanks to all those writers.

Let's see if you think it's an interesting read.

view.txtbear.com/81565/ob-presentation

P.S. "ICE Age" is the term our tutorial teacher used for the current times of Information, Communication and Entertainment.

Flabby Happy meets Skinny Smily

Here's a piece I wrote on the redundancy of perfection, primarily in body shape:


"Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it is unattainable. However, they who aim at it, and persevere, will come much nearer to it than those whose laziness and despondency make them give it up as unattainable."
Lord Chesterfield must have been a wise man; who else could have given humanity a never-ending goal to strive for?
But maybe, just maybe, he didn't quite get it right. Why should we aim to hit perfection, knowing fully well that it is as unreal as mathematical infinity, or rather iota? Sure, it is a way of constantly reinventing yourself; sure it ensures you don't get complacent; definitely, it helps you reach zeniths of success you might never have acknowledged the possibility of... But there is a catch. A rather big one, actually. Of course, as opposed to "laziness", perfection is... let's just say a perfect option. But between the black and the white, there are quite a few rich shades of grey. After all, grey is the new black!

The pursuit of perfection carries around a transparent cloak of unrealness. While we deliberate, discuss, or debate, the cloak remains invisible. But when it comes to being in the real world, things change.
How many of us genuinely don't want a bikini-babe/ramp-hunk body? Yet how many of the rest have one? I could go on with the statistics now, but what are we getting to? Are we robo sapiens, expectedly crafted to perfection, all manufactured and quality-checked to ensure size-zeroes or eight-packs? In case anyone's waiting for an answer, go figure.

We frequently notice the flabby using the evergreen khaate-peete-khaandaan-ke-log as an argument-stopper. The ones far on the other side of the spectrum of course are assumed to be happy and satisfied.
This is where we get carried away into the wrong territory. Whoever started the idea of happiness coming from having things? True happiness and satisfaction are not outside-in phenomena. They're exactly 180 degrees away from that—inside-out. I'm happier with my few-extra-pounds than my next-door neighbour with enviably chiselled curves. And the reason is simply that body shape (or salary, or car brand, for that matter) is not the right yardstick to measure happiness.

It's actually interesting to wonder how the thought of desirability and body fat being inversely proportional originated... But who cares? Now is the time to question it! Don't get me wrong here; I'm not defending couch-potato behaviour or condoning sedentary lifestyles, and the bunch of grapes in my palm is perfectly sweet. I'm simply hoping to shake up some closed minds. It's not merely a matter of perspective: Researchers recently combined the best features of the faces of some of the world's sexiest women, including Kiera Knightly, Angelina Jolie and Megan Fox. And no goodies for guessing that the end result was a face just above average, at best. Irrelevant example, you may say, but the point is that literature accepts that the greatest perfection is imperfection.
There you go! With a reasonable and scientific proof against the real existence of perfection, a mere mortal doesn't even need to go on rambling about it.

And hence she stops.

The Hidden Dream [CrWr]

The leaves made soft, rustling sounds. The wind blew softly on her face and played with her blonde hair. As her golden locks flew about her face she realized this was what she had been waiting for, all twenty eight years of her life—to enjoy herself and just watch, as time sails past her. If only this could be real.

"Cut! We have to do this again. Coffee break for now."

The director's interruption brought her back to reality. Her harsh reality—she wasn't the simple girl she got be for several hours these days, being laid-back was no longer part of her busy life, and worse, the wind came from seven large fans around her, the soft hair was fake and the yellow leaves were barely anything apart from died dry paper.

Roll back into time to ten years back, and you could meet the happy Melanie. Youthful, beautiful, enthusiastic, brave, wild, intelligent, and ready to take over the world. She had just graduated from high school, and in the week that followed, finished working on a TV commercial for Walmart. She had an unmistakable talent for acting. It took her less than two years to move on from heading the school drama club to being a known face all-over after appearing on national television. And in another three months the movie industry had taken her away. Forever. Every few months the Orangeway neighborhood buzzed with excitement as their little big star got ready to make another appearance on one of the screens at Studio 16.

It was almost like a fairy tale. Melanie's life had been perfectly smooth and in some ways too good to be true. And it was. It didn't take her too long to realize that she was trapped in the quicksand of the glitzy world. Try to escape, and only be dragged further into it. She knew her only option was to not resist and let things just happen.

Today she had come a long sad way from being excited to being unsatisfied at what life had to offer. She no longer had the time to enjoy the little joys of life that brightened her up when she was younger. It felt more like a previous life than just her past—so beautiful, too distant. If she ever got the time to stop by and admire the beauty of a snowy mountain, a young flower bud, or puppies playing in the dirt, a beep on her cell or her manager's "Much as I hate to interrupt you at this moment, Mr./Ms. ____ is waiting to..." would be sure to interrupt. With every passing day, she felt the strings of time pull her further away from her real self—the free bird.

Everything she had considered 'sins' was part of her life today—monotony, a perpetual irritation, and most of all lack of the freedom that was so dear to her. Shimmering dresses, sparkling diamonds, and the most impressive beaus had started to depress, rather than impress her. She longed for a day when she didn't have to smile at pretentious women and appear to be awfully concerned about their latest adventures or the latest piece of **** they had gotten into; when she didn't have to look her best for every trashy party that maniacs threw; when she didn't have to get up early every morning and be driven to a studio where the crew would pile her up with pounds of makeup, jewelry and instructions.

At times she got so caught up in the rut that she forgot all about what she really wanted from life. It was on one such morning that, unknown to her, her life-altering opportunity came to her. A debutant director wanted to cast her as a preschool teacher who loses her memory in an accident, and the erstwhile 'devilish' kids help her emotionally survive the incident. The story was touching, and she didn't even feel the need to read the entire script or negotiate the money to sign the contract. Within a month, work began and she started visiting preschool teachers and three year olds to discover more about their lives. For the first time in years she could feel her past self coming back to her, beckoning to her! She didn't have the time to acknowledge the feeling, but she felt happier than she ever had. Without wondering why, she continued to work on the movie with all her soul and gave one of her best performances.

On April 29, the day after the movie released, Page Six had all about the first look of Angels In Disguise, with interviews, audience's views and critics' reviews. And there, on the bottom was the news that skeptics still doubt today, months after it was published:

"Melanie decides to quit acting
Takes up job as preschool teacher at Orangeway Preschool, LA"




(29 December 2008)

(Title Undecided) [CrWr]

[Writer's note:
This poem was written when I was in twelfth grade, working towards getting into a good engineering college. The tough competition and pressure to perform sometimes used to get very frustrating. This is one of the creative vents of those negative emotions.
I'm still awaiting suggestions for a good title. Which reminds me that the credit for the titles for most of my works go to my wonderful friend Rasadhika Sharma, aka Kid.]


I kick, I yell, I shout, I scream,
O God, why isn’t this just an ugly dream?
My future drowns in fire,
My life burns in a pyre,
To my rescue comes no fairy nor elf,
What do I do when I’m angry at myself?

I know I can, yet I won’t.
The world is amazed why I won’t.
(Did God invest in me, this talent for nought?
What good is a war, a war never fought?)
Yet to my rescue comes no fairy nor elf,
What do I do when I’m angry at myself?

Am I waiting for when it’s too late?
Isn’t a glorious future, good enough bait?
Opportunity is knocking, too busy am I.
Life’s zipping past, but here waiting am I.
But to my rescue comes no fairy nor elf,
What do I do when I’m angry at myself?

Wake up, girl, that was indeed a dream:
What you thought poison, is actually cream.
Only sweet nectar, there’s no evil brew.
Wake up now to what is true.
A visitor is knocking, get up Miss Poetess:
“I’m here to be yours, my name Success.”

Finally I’ve reached, and well in time,
And spared some to sit and rhyme!
Neither words nor music express my elation,
Far gone by are the days of desperation.
My saviour not a fairy, nor an elf,
But Presence of the Lord, and belief in self!


[The positive ending, as of then was just a hope. Thankfully today I actually am where I wanted to be in terms of engineering colleges, among much else. :)]




(March 2008)

Only the Beginning [CrWr]

The first step is always tough,
The walk seems long and the road rough.
But stepping ahead won’t kill,
After the first, it’s all downhill.
Fight the pain, conquer the fear,
Let go of all you hold dear. . .
The road will show you the way,
Waiting to dawn on you is a fresh new day.
Unleash the infinite strength within,
You will reach the goal, at least begin!




(6 March 2007)

Beautiful Penance [CrWr]

As the years pass by... and peace triumphantly lives on... sometimes the satanic instinct arises, and engulfs all that’s good...
Such is my story...

Once upon a time, billions and billions of years ago, I was but a young kid, just about a couple of million years ago. My cousins and I were always at play! I was young, bold and restless—a winner by blood, a winner who knew not defeat...

That fateful day we were playing yet another game; I knew I’d win, I always did, but no, not this time. One of my little cousins, the youngest, the tiniest one, defeated me! I couldn’t believe it! I, the mighty Earth, defeated? No way! I always had to win, no matter what.

My obsession with winning had nurtured a devil within me that I never knew of, till I saw the ugly face of defeat. And now, when I saw it, I let the devil rule. He talked, I listened, he commanded, I followed, and I ate up my cousin. My little cousin! I ate him up! As the others watched in horror and disbelief, I ate up my cousin! He instantly melted into me, making me feel like he was never meant to have an independent existence. I felt so great, so powerful. I had become bigger, stronger, mightier. I loved the new me!

Years passed by--millions of years that is. My bent of mind shifted from shock to pride to loneliness to grief... My passion to win gave way to my yearning to play again, to lose again—hoping that would rid me of the albatross around my neck. But I myself had severed the delicate ties of relationship so cruelly! Who would play with me now?! I shivered with the cold—within. Not knowing what to do, I continued to be the cold, lifeless planet I had become.

And one day... I suddenly felt an excruciating pain. My penance? I hoped. A meteor, a distant relative, had struck me. Dust flew off in all directions spectacularly. I was still, shocked, and in great pain. But by and by, with each passing day, my pain became more bearable, and the dust collected, into a solid mass, about a quarter of my size!

You all know this mass, he is my little kid. He’s is the eternal symbol of love, beauty and charm. . . popularly known as THE MOON.




(6 March 2007)

At Last the World Won [CrWr]

My heart asks me a question I can't answer:
"Am I earthly, or am I infernal?"
This amazes me; my thinking hits a start,
Ah, at least I still have a ‘heart'!
O you cruel world, I was born selfless,
And you wish to make me heartless!
You wish to draw out of me, all my goodness,
And in the success of that, lies your happiness!
I pity the puppets in your demonic hands,
Trapped like the past buried in the sands.

I was born an angel, serene and pure
You change me, of that I'm sure.
I smile, when actually I'm ready to kill,
I dance when I'd rather be still,
Within me, the colour of purity fades,
Instead of love, there are killing spades.

You desire that I praise and flatter,
Just because it pleases you better.
You think changing wouldn't cost a shilling,
But to change, you are never willing.
You preach of love, humility, and justice,
But you are made up of hate, pride, and malice.
Ablaze within you is a devilish fire,
Goodness you've burnt in the crucible of your ire.

But I can see this is the way to be,
Only in my dreams can I be a spirit free.
I too will ask my heart not to beat,
Kill my conscience and let myself cheat.
I will be what I was never ought to,
Because you desire it, and it shall be true.
I've understood things aren't flowery good,
Covers our pure hearts, your evil hood.
You wish to change me, and change I will.
The good in me, I will myself kill.
From now on, till my death,
Pretence shall fill each breath.
Into my new home, you fake world, I enter,
Defeated by your puissance, I finally surrender. . .




(30 January 2007)