The e-wardrobe !

Write like no one is reading, they say. 

So I am going to do just that by declaring, I have problems with my wardrobe. Many times I tried folding everything up to the smallest piece of clothing, but the very next day I find myself searching for that stuff which I haven’t worn in the last decade and thus end up wrecking the whole thing. I’ve got to see kitchens and living rooms of others, dirtier than the adjacent slip road, and patted my own back for the spotless living room I own. But rarely do we get to see another person’s wardrobe. My friend in Bangalore has one which showers clothes as she opens it, and her attitude is my inspiration ever since. I know many of you must be making designs on your foreheads with all the tweaking of eyebrows, but that’s what I am, folks. You can stare or laugh at me all you like. I am writing like no one is reading, remember?

So being a programmer myself I have a wonderful idea for an application. It’s nothing but a wardrobe, which is driven by software, so let’s call it an e-wardrobe.

Here is the blueprint:

·         It folds clothes, categorizes them and places them neatly. This is performed by default.

·         If I try to put a used dress into it, it beeps and shines a red bulb with a message that the dress in question is to be put in laundry.

·         The application should have a dress sense. I mean early morning when I put on black pants with a black shirt, the application should tell me diplomatically, I repeat, diplomatically, that the brown trouser goes better with that shirt. The app should, by no means, use the words ‘suck’ or ‘ugly’ while saying these things which may make the user want to trash it immediately.

·         When clothes are back from the laundry and kept randomly inside the wardrobe, it should fold them neatly and categorize them and the most recently used should go to the bottom.

·         When a dress is picked on Friday which was worn on Monday of the same week, the app should diplomatically, I repeat, diplomatically, remind the user that it was worn few days back and gently ask ‘Are you sure’?

·         The app should be user friendly. In the sense, if a combination of kurti with leggings or a trouser and top is well matched, it can pass a compliment or two which sounds moderate, something like , ‘ Omg you look so pretty!’ or, ‘Noone can make a better combination’, or,  ‘That girl at your office is not even competition to you’. Of course, the compliments should be very gentle and precise, like the above.

·         If a combination made by the user is not apt, the app should either keep quiet or make subtle suggestions but NEVER comment on what is already worn.

·         Again there is a twist. The app should check the time first. If the user has ample time to choose and wear the above suggestions and compliments are welcome. If not, and the user has just a few minutes left, e-wardrobe should shut the hell up and close the wardrobe promptly when the user is done.

·         The wardrobe cleans, disinfects itself.

·         The wardrobe should detect the mood of the user. For example, early morning if I am in a bad mood, the wardrobe should just open and close and should not do any of the talking, even if there is ample time. The mood detection can be done by measuring the force applied to open the wardrobe or closing it.

·         If the user enters the e-wardrobe room humming a tune, the wardrobe greets her by the time of the day, and when she is done, says ‘Bubye Gorgeous!’ or few lines from a good poem, or something which is as subtle as that.

·         Additional functions: The wardrobe can have an add-on, which is a dry cleaner which occupies negligible space. This also irons the clothes based on fabric and thus adjusting the temperature.

I personally think if such a wardrobe, once implemented, will be the best seller gadget of all times and solve half of the world’s problems. This also reduces the pressure some women put on their husbands by asking about their look or dress about which the latter has absolutely no idea. I mean in some ways the e-wardrobe provides excellent emotional companionship and boosts one’s self confidence to supremely high levels.

P.S: My billion dollar idea is copyright protected.

Disclaimer: If any woman buys an e-wardrobe and then decides to ditch her husband, then it is her personal choice and e-wardrobe has nothing to do with it.

A hate chronicle.

Ten years ago. It was the last session for the day at college, and time seemed to stagnate. My yawns got heavier and longer, cheek muscles stretched out. Neither did the repeated glaring at the watch prove useless, vigorously shaking it to make it go faster invited attention from the teacher as well. The rest of the pupils who were at their acting best were bored too, but they controlled the yawns that kept coming. The teacher pretentiously went on with the lecture, totally aware of the plight of students who were at the verge of falling into a slumber. Finally the bell rang, which came like music to our ears.

As usual, the boys who had to board trains and college buses pushed their way out sooner than us, while we had all the time in the world to stroll peacefully to the hostel which thankfully or not was in the same campus as the college. I closed my book, opened my purse and put the unused pen in it, and got up just to see a gang of boys coming towards me. The one who led the group had a stack of cards, which by appearance looked like invitation cards. I stood at the edge of my bench, facing them, and the rest of my bench mates farther away from the fast approaching bunch of guys. The gang leader announced that it was his sister’s marriage, and that he wanted to hand over personalized invitation cards. He started with the last girl in my bench, called her by name, leaned forward in front of me and extended the card to her. This continued until it was my turn. I waited, with expecting eyes, and to this day I curse that moment. To my surprise, he acted like he was completely oblivious of my presence, overlooked me purposely and kept distributing to the next row of girls and to everyone but me. I noticed the smirk on his lips and the evil in his eyes. The other boys in the gang, who were just behind their leader, booed and howled at me, when one guy, Sai, pointed at me and laughed humiliatingly. I realized the intention, and walked out of the classroom burning with anger and disgust of the highest degree.

When I went back to the hostel the girls were already talking about the royal wedding. Many of them were aware of how I was ruthlessly uninvited, but I guess girls in college get some sadistic pleasure from such incidents and only pretend to be sympathetic. If you ask me, yes I was genuinely shattered for a moment or two especially the laughter of Sai which kept ringing in my ears a little longer than it should have.

Thankfully, I had a couple of genuine friends who blasted me for even feeling bad, as the guy who did this was a pest of sorts. He dint even deserve our time, I was told and was not allowed to talk about this incident. However I secretly nurtured hatred towards Sai.

Let me explain why they did this to me. These guys were like an isolated entity by themselves in our class. They never interacted with anyone but themselves. They scored negligible or no marks at all, and boycotted University exams with ease. They were a pain to any teacher. To top this, they dressed like goons. The month before this catastrophic incident, it was my sister’s marriage and I invited only a few of my friends from hostel and college to it. This supposedly triggered a revenge plan among them against me, and I don’t understand why on earth they could expect to be invited, given that none of them have ever talked to me or acknowledged my existence. So the marriage of the gang leader guy’s sister came like a blessing to them and they utilized the opportunity to perfection.

Days passed and it was exam time. One fine exam eve, around noon, I was walking in the corridor, daydreaming with a book held just for formality, when a friend came running towards me with panic in her eyes. She halted near me, and said…’ Your classmate…’ and gasped to take breaths….I asked.. ‘Who?’  She continued, suppressing breathlessness that ate into her words..  ‘your classmate, Sai, had been in a serious bike accident’. She continued to puff and pant, and I heedlessly exclaimed ‘Where!’..She continued, ‘He was going to another guy’s house for combined study... He wore a helmet as well, but he was hit by a lorry and the helmet dint help... he has a head injury and is in a coma now’. With that I almost dropped my book. I couldn't believe my ears. The news of the accident spread like wildfire and I was totally blank to think anything. 
I was surprised with my own mindset- I hated this guy to my very core but I never wished or cursed that anything bad should befall him. We sat together at my room in hostel, each of us silent and in our world of memories about him. None of us had anything good to say, but we just couldn't let go of a batch mate like that. No, nothing would happen, we wished.

The hostel did not look like an exam eve anymore. Usually the place would bustle with activity, group discussions and combined study, students looking very modest and intelligent all the way. However the news had fallen hard on us and we had stopped thinking about the examination. Nobody talked to each other.

Suddenly a phone call at the warden’s room stifled its way into our thoughts. It rang louder than usual as it echoed its way into the unusually silent corridors. The warden answered it, and talked for like 30 seconds and placed the receiver down. She looked at the corridor blankly and in a few seconds gestured to my friend to go to her room. They talked for at least five minutes and she walked back to us to say, ‘Sai passed away’.

Days passed.

I wondered about the lost time which could have been spent being friends, but was misused to hate each other. That sometimes an untimely demise of someone we know is what it takes to make us realize that the present is actually precious and the future, completely clueless.   

To mock a helpless bird..

I’d been the youngest in my maternal family for at least half a decade until another made his entry and those were the years I treasure; not just for the happy moments. The part wherein  a gross mischief committed exclusively by me was pardoned in a blink was definitely good. Those memories in which the older kids and sibling were blamed based on the degree of mischief and the fact that I always got away unscathed still makes me so happy! However it wasn’t a cakewalk, because I had to deal with the misery of never being taken seriously. A tooth pain, a random complaint, a blunder – instead of people consoling me, everybody considered those as jokes. I was laughed upon in those years I desperately needed moral support.

Unfortunately those were also the years I tried to speak in English, as insisted by my school management and I tried to combine words to make broken sentences. The relatives found my futile attempts so funny that I dreaded to speak in English at home. Just for your information I would like to mention that the so called relatives in question were not Oxford alumni themselves.

Once upon a time when I was approximately five years old, on a cold unfortunate Christmas Eve, the maternal house was jam packed with every other relative one can possibly think of - except one who was abroad and couldn’t join the festivities. An ISD call was made and each one was waiting in queue to wish him a merry Christmas. The fact that once the telephone bill for that month arrives none of these people waiting patiently for their turns in the queue would be available in the vicinity- and that is the key to all the extended wishes, small talk and local gossip that went on endlessly across continents. I was the last one in the queue and everyone was sitting around the black telephone like wolves on the prowl when my turn came. Then started the conversation, which was so faked that I responded with ‘mmm’ and ‘ok’ to whatever was said to me. I should admit that this was child abuse of the worse kind. The relatives were not pleased with my monosyllables. Finally the person at the other end wished me a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. To this, I exclaimed ‘Same!’ as the proficiency to say ‘wish you the same’ had not occurred to me and the fiercely anticipating relatives broke into a chorus of uncontrollable laughter. Quoting this incident became the prime hobby of certain morons that every time I visited, I was made a laughing stock citing this incident. I am not exaggerating this part, but it came as a surprise that once when I was doing my engineering and I visited my grandma, this same set of people repeated the ‘Same’ incident much to my horror and disbelief. Well was it so much of a joke that it should be remembered after fifteen years? Fifteen years ?!

Don’t get me wrong here; I am a light hearted person, who forgets the past quickly. I understand jokes and never take them seriously. However after all these years I cannot come to a logical reason as to why the ‘same’ episode needs to be revived every time I visit my grandma’s place. Not just revived it was remixed as well.

Yes I did retaliate in the best known way to make my point that I am not a fan of these jokes, especially the ‘same’ recitals. The illogical reasoning that followed was more appalling than that. It was said that I was a ‘small’ child, and my voice was ‘funny’ and that they ‘adored’ me, and hence the torture. I read that as 'We have no one else to humiliate, but you'.

 I went on to love English, read whatever Papa or my sister gave me, wrote articles in school and college magazines, started a blog, won prizes at my workplace and online competitions, and here I am. Whether the prolonged mockery helped me is not the point. The point is the importance of moral support and encouragement to a child. The levels of self confidence lost by a child once we mock them. I vowed never to laugh at a mistake or blunder made by my niece or my son, not only in English – but in whatever they come across in their academics or the world around them.

P.S: I did not borrow the above theme from Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. However I wonder whether someone stole my thoughts to make 'English Vinglish' :-|

'Spot-fixing' curtains.

Plumbers, carpenters and technicians help us recalculate the number of days that constitute a week. Like for example, the washing machine breaks down and laundry basket is looking more like a garbage dump. Suddenly the realization that some important clothes are in them dawns and then calls to the retail guy ends up either to the voicemail or the line is forever busy. After calling like n(n+1) times the retail guy lousily answers the call, in a tone which makes you think that you are begging to be cast in his next movie. Then he says he will send his men to fix the machine in two days. Another two days and the wardrobe seems to look empty, the laundry basket is not visible anymore- it remains buried under a heap of clothes. One begins to wonder about the scarcity of clothes in the wardrobe. Then you call again and he says, Madam you don’t work on a weekend, do you? Call on Monday! There, and before you know it, another week and soon, one month and a thousand phone calls are wasted.

No fortunately that did not happen with me, something worse did. So two weeks ago we moved into this new apartment, and have set up everything except the curtains. We took window measurements ourselves and bought rod and curtains and ever since had been waiting for someone to fix it. So firstly we were given the number of one Joseph, who wasted one week by postponing unprofessionally saying ‘In another two days’ and after which he refused to answer our calls. I intelligently tried to call from my mobile, thinking he would pick up but he was cleverer than both of us. This guy did not have the courtesy to call back, and so we started looking for someone else.

 We gathered details of another guy who fixed the curtains for a neighbor. This guy promised to come the next day and yes he came today by noon. One hungry looking guy to fix curtains, rods and holders for three rooms and four double-curtains. Usually a helper comes with such people to help with the tools but there were none in sight-no tools either. Not to mention that he looked frail and undernourished to even hold the curtains properly using both hands. However we noticed that he wore frameless spectacles, Casio watch and carried a very modern phone. The first impression he made was to borrow some basic tools from us. For all the phone calls and the number of days wasted, a weird kind of patience had come to us and we decided not to underestimate. So he started one side of the window where he took measurement and made a mark on the wall to fix the holder.

Then he set up the holder, tilted shoddily almost at a 45 degree angle from the floor.

I should mention here that my husband is not a quick tempered person. Unless and until provoked to his core he doesn’t bother about anything or anyone other than family or his electronic possessions (not necessarily in that order) and lives perpetually undisturbed in his own world of wires, cables and gadgets.

Hubby: ‘What is this?’

Stupid malnourished guy (SMG): ‘What sir?”

Hubby: ‘ Cant you even see for yourself what you have done! If the holder is tilted the entire curtain will be tilted…do I have to tell you that?’

SMG: ‘Oh come on sir this holder and all will not be seen outside once the curtain comes!’

Hubby: ‘Okay then!  You can leave! We dint get this curtain for free, we paid for it and we expect you to do a good job of it’. 

**I think this is a total decent response, because if it was Papa in this situation he would have made SMG pee in his pants or cry like a baby. If it were my grandfather he would’ve said enough for this guy to abandon everything worldly and go to the Himalayas to meditate**

But SMG had conveniently ignored the conversation as his stupidity took over him and he climbed on the other side of the window to fix the next holder. He placed the holder somewhere at the edge and turned to ask, ‘This angle okay, sir?’

Hubby: ‘What ! Don’t you even have the basic scale to measure the angle?’

SMG: ‘Oh we don’t carry that for such things Sir’

Hubby then took his phone and called the neighbor who recommended him and talked about how the wall was damaged. Neighbor of course was not helpful and finally SMG packed and left. Seriously if it were me I’d just shake the ladder he was standing on. Well considering his approximate weight to be around 30 kilos I could have done that easily mind you.

And so he left, leaving the hall in a total mess with screws and curtains (newly and carefully bought) strewn around. Sob. Screws can easily excite my toddler who at present can’t tell a tool from a biscuit so he may as well swallow them, so I need to clean up the place and make sure there is nothing lying around. That’s how to invite a calamity to the house you see. Sigh.

Well we need such people around to realize the value of professionals.