Love it? Dove it.

It’s a beautiful February morning. There is no office today. Yay! I can lie in bed all I want and soak in the serenity of the February spring interrupted only by the calls of the early morning birds and the howling dog from the vacant plot behind my house. But I can’t lie in bed. It irritates me. It’s not the bed, it’s not the pillow. Problem is my hair. It is dry almost like grass drying on bare fields after harvest in the sun. To me, nothing can be more irritating than dry hair grating on the pillow early in the morning. I can even compare it to the annoying sound my made by the kitchen grater when carrots are grated on it. It’s just that bad. Aaarrrrgh.

I possibly cannot love my hair. I am embarrassed by it. I have been so embarrassed by it that I have tried every recipe in the book, followed every single tip by friends, relatives, neighbour aunty, why even the woman who brings us fresh greens - on making the hair soft and shiny! Seriously my dear Dove, you tell me how someone with hay like hair will ever feel like playing with it? That is impossible. That I suppose is reserved for girls with awesome soft, manageable, huggable hair.

But Dove? Dove. Dovvvvve! The only thing I haven’t tried yet. Don’t know why I didn’t consider it so far. But not today. There’s Dove on the shelf today. Something I picked up on a whim from the supermarket yesterday. I have to shake off feeling bad about my hair early in the morning. Let’s do this babe, I tell myself. The hair awaits its new fate. Or would it be luck? Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Shampoo is soon followed by Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Conditioner. This is the last experiment I tell my hair rather loudly. What I didn’t know then was that it sure was to be the last experiment I would do on my hair.

IT WORKED! It actually worked. After drying and setting, when I checked in the mirror I saw what I wanted to see. I saw what I have always dreamt to see. Lustrous, smooth and shiny hair that I can toss and run my hands through! Mom is not going to believe this. May be she will make me carrot halwa today (Yeah, I will have to put up with that carrot-on-grater noise).

I can’t resist resting my head on the pillow to check the end result. I toss, I turn. But there’s no grating noise. I double check. Yes, there’s no grating sound.

Since that day, I don’t shampoo my hair anymore.

I Dove it.

I don’t condition it anymore.

I Dove it.

Dove. That’s my new love. So if you love your hair too, you should
JUST DOVE IT.

PS: Now I can do all that the girls in this Dove commercial do. Anytime. All the time.

Proud and in dove love,

Rajani

This post is being written for Dove Go Play contest presented by Indiblogger.

#DovePlay #Indiblogger

JUST DOVE IT, BABY!

I will tonsure my head if it doesn’t work this time. I announce as I return from work this time. Without further explanation my family knows it’s about my hair. While I do have lengthy, dense hair, it is simply bad looking, rough, dry and creepy to say the least. My family knows the threat is real. They had to force the razor off my hands the last time. They pray silently. I oil my hair a bit, hang around the TV, grab some coffee and start reading directions on the Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Shampoo and Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Conditioner packs.

Armed with usage instructions I march off to test the last bit of my patience and the new combo - Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Shampoo and Dove Hair Therapy Intense Repair Conditioner. By the time I come out, the electricity if off and everyone is out on the street playing. While I bond with my siblings over street-Frisbee, I can feel my hair starting a new bond with me. It jumps with me, falls with me, grabs me in a hug so soft when I turn, plays chase as I run. Gotta be dreaming, I tell myself. Then the best thing happened – as I try to force it into a knot, it felt silky smooth against my palm, it slid from between by fingers. That can’t be right I think, I pass my hands over again and well, again. It is silky smooth indeed. An irrepressible smile escapes my lip. I have never smiled about my hair in a long long time. The electricity is back, but street-Frisbee continues. Someone is clicking pictures. I definitely look fab, the hair looks like a million bucks. I will send you some pics real soon, Dove.

Tomorrow on, it’s not another day. It’s Dove day.

May be you could also take some inspiration from the DovePlay commercial below. I did. 

And go tell the world to Dove it, baby.

This post is being written for Dove Go Play contest presented by Indiblogger.

#DovePlay #Indiblogger

Inspiring India's youth to vote using social media as a tool

How would you inspire and mobilize India's youth to vote in the Indian General Elections 2014 using social mobile apps?

How would I?

Before running into my lecture on how we can tap the youth force to vote in the country’s general elections, I propose that we analyse the youth psychology and psychographics attached to this segment. If you want to get the youth in your fold, you need to work them, just like big and small brands in the market beginning with underwear to nail polishes to denims and sneakers do.

Selling India to its youth is not so much of a difficult proposition but getting them to vote is a slightly more painful job. The primary reason being they don’t feel any compelling reason to go vote. Indian kids are brought up around red tapesim, told to keep quiet, not have opinions, to listen to elders - including having others decide on careers for them. Voting is a responsibility – like flushing the toilet after you use it. It is a right – like demanding pocket money.

While young minds are adaptable, trainable and inspirable, what is important to know is that they are also overloaded with information. They see, listen to, speak and process information at the same speed. With social media usage at an all-time high, to say we are in the right space at the right time would be more than appropriate.

Young minds are self-inspired. So to kick start the campaign is getting people to voice their opinion in a public forum – like twitter and facebook. They need to be made to come forth with what they feel from within, they need to be made to identify the issues surrounding them politically, economically, in education, science, environmentally and take a stand. Different forums will be formed, discussions, arguments and resolutions will follow. That will give them the courage to speak their mind, form opinions, get opinions, and get together. Step 1, over.

Step 2: As with any cause, what is most important to make them torch bearers of the change they want to see; to be prepared to fight for their cause. Social media needs to cleverly bring together these youngsters in to physical groups/gatherings wherein they will meet others who have been only sharing their online lives. Talks by those who matter in the real world, sharing of ideas and stressing on the fact that only voting will make any difference to all their talks and efforts this far should be driven in. Every participant needs to plug in and create and group even while the conference is in progress with his absentee friends and others on his friends list and create buzz about the conference and the resolutions – in short each participant will become an online ambassador for our cause - inspiring and mobilizing India's youth to vote in the Indian General Elections 2014. Social media being social media, thoughts ideas and discussions will be shared, commented on, retweeted and a bigger buzz created. Leaders will emerge. They will lead further campaigns with smaller forces. Eventually, winding down to the d-day #VoteForIndia will lead by inspiring all to flock to polling booths and getting the ink down on their nail.

Target achieved.

And this is how I will do it.

This blog post is written for an indiblogger contest in association with #Voteforindia and @WeChatIndia

Go find that perfect Holiday. Courtesy Tribe 10 Holidays

Holiday, time and again!

Outside my window seat.

Outside my car window rushes by a world that I’m no stranger to, yet one that never fails to add something new. Every time.

My car rages ahead like a bull in a hurry. Beautiful towns and their people seem to race backward in tandem with my car’s acceleration.

There’s so much to see, feel and embrace. Nothing to converse about. Conversations kill the moment. Silence is sometimes the best friend.

A town wakes up to the morning sun.
The boatman pulls out his rowing boat and heads out of
the narrow canal. 
Fields glimmer as the cold breeze sweeps over the crop. 
Somewhere, mynahs call a conference.
A lazy doggy stands soaking up the rays of the sun. 
A blue train rattles down the track a little far away.
A hen and her little chicks are out for breakfast. 
A bull finishes up his meal before heading out to the vegetable market with his cart and owner.
I race alongside the blue train.  
Four village belles cross the railway track, aluminum pots of water steady on their heads, the sun gleaming behind them.
What a view!
Familiar smells and unfamiliar turns heave at the doors of your senses. 
Sign boards whiz by.
Highway tea stalls get life.
The morning newspapers wrestle with their handlers. 
I get my cuppa of hot steaming tea – double strong. Mmmm.
My day couldn’t open any better. 


Back in the car, back at the wheel, it’s time to look out for a fuel station. And then start all over again; to find something else.

Chasing rain. Welcomed by sun.

Last time when the rain gods went ahead and wetted my neighbouring street ignoring mine, I remember being mad as hell. That rain never visited the lane I live in. It turned the street corner, wetting the road as it passed in one lavish swipe, smattering against David’s sand-laden window panes leaving behind a more photo worthy mess. And off it went to wet the neighbouring lane – unwanted, unappreciated, unsolicited. As I child, me and my cousins playing outside my house would run to the roads where it rained. We could never wait for it to come upon us.

After all these years those nice memories of tiny running feet kicking up dust along with road, chin up in the air, all of us racing to see who among us would get to touch the rain drops first, I was surprised that a glowing summer sun should dust, polish and bring out those very memories of rain-drenched, joyful days.

As I walked home yesterday for lunch (ah, the joys of having an office close to home!), the sun played hide and seek behind the clouds. As I progressed, so did he, coming out of hide mode, slowly lighting up the path, bathing the other end of the street in golden yellow like a lavish flame, proceeding towards me, crossing houses, parked cars, sleeping dogs, lamp posts, a biker, the new foursome litter of playful pups… engulfing me in all his brightness and warmth once again.

The move

Signal

The road is one interesting place to be on. I like it and I hate it. It’s amazing, irritating, challenging, frustrating, amusing, offending and hilarious all at once. If getting to office is a challenge, going back home is an even tougher one.

So what is that I love about the roads? The people: driving, trying to drive, walking, talking, braking while talking, shuffling music, honking, overtaking, waiting, advising, eating, smiling, screaming, crossing, doing everything, doing nothing… And what do I hate? Well, most of it, most of the time. I enjoy the nonsense at times, ignore it as I please on others; but there are times when it really gets to me. Phew! those are the days that cloud my memory.  What do I do? Where do I go from here? So here's it: I come up with my own thesis. You could do the same. Pay a little more attention to the life around you. It's fun. Plus it is safe (hurts no one, you see). Here’s mine on the new founded rules of signaling. Ignore at your own peril.

1. If you are on the left of the road (because you want to turn left) with your indicator signaling left, pay all the attention you can to the drivers on your left. If the auto fellow / the uncle on the bike on your left is looking right, beware, he’ll cut right before you can yell your favourite expletive. Replace left with right if you are going right. 
2. If the driver on your left is looking straight ahead as though he has just developed a stiff-neck, he is going straight.
3. If an overtaking bike / auto driver looks sideways, the new signal theory states that he is heading in that direction. The indicators on his vehicle are for ornamental purpose only.
4. All metropolitan transport bus drivers are super self-trained to lunge the bus right before heading straight or even left. The more you remember this, the better for your multi-lakh fancy car.
5. I have a specific ‘DO NOT FOLLOW THIS VEHICLE / STEER CLEAR OF THIS VEHICLE’ chart for vehicles with a certain RTO registration and also for cars and bikes of a certain make. Works for me. Make one for yourself. 

The colour of advertising

Just another day in the ad world. Just another conversation, one among the many madnesses the poor devils in the agency encounter.

Patrick: Client | Linda: Client Servicing Executive

Hi Linda
Hi Patrick
Good morning.
Good morning.
The stuff we were looking at yesterday…?
Oh, the ad? Yes…
Can we have it in some other colour?
Any other colour? Why?
No… it is nice. But I was just wondering if we can have it in any other colour.
But Patrick, I think blood red will suit our purpose best. It will really stand out. And in any case, we’ve seen the other options and decided on this one.
May be we should try pale pink….?
(What!)

And elsewhere in the same office

Hi….
Hi..
I want to change that deep blue to may be light beige…?
Light beige? But.
I think that would be look nice.
But...
(Excitedly) Let’s do that.
The servicing guy promptly faints.

Cents & Ladie of Vellore

Restroom signages in a hotel in Vellore. Must see.

Between yesterday & today

Tribe 10 Foundation at SIP Prodigy Intl. Competition, Chennai, 14 Nov. 2009

Support a cause: Tribe 10 Foundation

AUTOGRAPH / TIME MACHINE

Yesterday I chanced upon my slam book from college yet again. My numerous excursions to this part of my world have always been short lived, basically for want of time. It would invariably be to find the exact date of a friend’s birthday. In my constant race against time, I could not afford a storage card dysfunction in my brain so I best left it to my slam book to keep the information intact. But this time I decided not to make it yet another excursion.

I read what every single girl had jotted down for me. Word by word. My best friends, my gang, the three I shared my front desk with, the girls in the row behind us, the last benchers… they were all there. Alive, fresh, charming. Just the way they have always been.

I had been nice to everyone but never the top contender for the best PR person award. But still, every single person, even those classmates I hardly knew, had had only good words to write. Reading their words was truly humbling. It takes a big heart to be so pleasant. My lesson for the day.

It was beautiful to travel all the way back, 9½ years since we all left college and went our separate ways. I met some of them on and off, phone some still, heard about some from the some I met, thought about some whenever I came upon a familiar smell or similar scene. But yesterday, I saw them all. The scenes played out in detail: I listened to the classes again, answered attendance call, laughed at the proxy, took notes, borrowed pen, ate lunch, watched Jo break the writing desk, filled the burette, dissected frogs and earthworms and cockroaches. I saw us rehearse dance, hunt costumes, get on stage, go on a picnic, laugh till Jo cried… I also saw Vidhu’s lab accident, the blood, the girls screaming, the rush to the hospital.

I have decided to find them. As many as I can. Meanwhile, if you chance upon this entry my dear friends, do drop in a line. Miss you all.

Madam, I’m not Adam

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting with the type-setter at the wedding card shop finalising the typography on my personal wedding card. Half-way through deciding on the type size, the computer operator stopped short, read the entire content back and forth and turned to me. Neither could she withhold her confused expression nor her tongue. I wondered what was so shocking. I read and re-read it. Did she find anything unprintable? Nah!

“Madam, personal card’aa?”, she interrupts my thought train.
“Aamam.” (Yes.)
“Ungaloda ?” (Yours ?)
“Aamam.”
“Appo, ponnu peru?” (Bride’s name?)
Oh! So she has figured out the groom’s name. Pankaj has started laughing already. When the joke is on me, it’s always convenient, isn’t it?

How difficult is it to follow that the other name on the card has to be of the girl? Gotcha! Rajani cannot be a girl! That’s her problem. Does she think this is a gay marriage? I hope not. For her own benefit. I don’t think this religious-looking, deep-in-tradition woman would have the stomach for it.

But I’m learning to enjoy these @#$%^& ideas. I used to get irritated. But of late, I’m highly amused as to how people are religiously bent to making me male. I refuse to give up.

PS: As per Citibank credit cards department, I’m “Madam Mr. Rajani Nair”.

You can’t SNOOZE mom.

5.15 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
[Snooze]

5.25 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
Tsch. [Snooze]

5.35 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
Goes the unrelenting alarm.
Mmmmm [Snooze]

5.45 am
Beep…. Beep….
Yawn! [Snooze]

5.55 am
Beep…. Beep….
Oh, Shut up! [Snooze]

6.05 am Beep [Snooze]
6.15 am Beep [Snooze]
6.25 am Bee.. [Snooze]
6.35 am B.. [Snooze]
6.37 am “Shankar will you just get out of bed?”

7.00 am
Shankar is out the door fully dressed for his gym session.
You can’t snooze mom after all.

What’s with me?

I have not been here in a while. Sure, there’s a lot I’ve been 
wanting to put down. I have been wandering from place to place, from one thought process to another to another, thinking up as many as 12 different things at any given moment, creating problems, solving problems, pitching, arguing, fighting, laughing, laughing so hard I cry... It’s been so much fun, so much learning and a great deal of inspiration.

So, what’s with me? Too busy? Too lazy? Writer’s block? Yes? No? I don’t know. But write I will. It’s my means and end. And yeah,
I’M BACK.

A new beginning on Janmashtami

Muslim women carry their children dressed up as
Lord Krishna to participate in Janmashtami celebrations
in Pune. Looks like someone's taken the first steps to
understanding another religion. Hail the spirit! Way to go ladies.

As published in Deccan Chronicle, Chennai (23 August, 2008).

And now!

Orkut says "I'm a person of culture". Phee, Phee! But only today :(