An ode to a manager

This poem is dedicated to all my friends in companies which have draconian work cultures and whose lives are ruled by demonic PHBs. (especially my Service sector friends). Luckily, my manager is as cool as one can get and I, hence take, twice the sadistic pleasure involved in dedicating poems to their miserable work lives

An ode to a manager

Blessed be he who sings thy ode,
Breaks his back whilst tholes thy load,
Monday through friday, Nightfall through morn,
Gently smiles back at thy ridiculing scorn
He is wilted with work and darkened to coke
And yet doth he laugh at thine asinine joke
And all ye grant, a petty salary, pray be
“Thou art the symbol of grace”, quoth me
He toils day and night to earn thy praise
And feeds thine ego to win his raise
Thou looked with glee and grinned and smirked
Ere thou scowled at him when he was irked
How work goes on, no clue thou hast
Thou command no flaws, thou want it fast
Thou hast an eye for fallacies divine
He makes one error, thou point out nine.
Thou treat him akin the minions of hell
“Hail manager, thou knowest well”
Glory be thine, thy victory destined
Mankind be ruled by Manager-kind

Hotel Hyderabad

My sarcastic take on recession in food loving Hyderabad. Hope you like it(i mean the poem, not the food ).

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My taste buds were already tingling, as I entered the hall
And spotted the Biryani counter next to the kebab stall
As I checked out the tikkas from the corner of my eye
And took in the fragrance of the spicy chicken fry
The counter next to it served sambhar and curd
I moaned and cursed and  said the F-word
I could hear them chew and I could hear them munch
As my eyes fell upon the board “Unlimited buffet lunch”
I reached into my pockets and estimated my wealth
The single torn currency defined my financial health
I called up the waitress and asked for her advice
“What can i get Madam, for a reasonable price?”
She gave me her “Ahh!! You are an engineer” look
I would rather have had the “Ahh! You are a crook”
She called up the manager and what she said is mystery
They pitied me and must have looked into my credit history
I frowned as she pointed me to the counter labeled  “Curd Rice”
And she said “We are all prisoners here, of our own device”

Confessions of a son…

We never lose our innocence. We never lose our insecurities. We only learn how to hide them, as we grow up

I was cold and small and filled with fear,
When I felt your fingers soak my tear,
My hands reached out and yours did it meet,
And I felt the warmth, knew Ma was near.

With my tiny hands and tiny feet,
With barely a breath and barely a beat,
Drawn towards your loving stare,
I crawled upon the crumpled sheet.

I opened my eyes to the world’s bright glare,
To see your lips move in a silent prayer,
You covered my eyes and kissed my head,
And ran your fingers through my hair.

Weeks and months and years ahead,
I saw what they did and heard what they said,
I saw men laugh and saw men cry,
I saw men live and saw men dead.

I have learnt to hunt and learnt to fly,
But Inside I feel dark and dry.
Their filthy hands have touched my soul,
I have learnt to cheat, to steal and lie.

I feel burnt and darkened and turned to coal,
when I feed on blood in my silver bowl,
They stabbed my heart with a burning spear,
Ripped my conscience and punched a hole.

And today when I stand lonely here,
With my face turned away from Mother dear,
I feel cold and small and filled with fear,
And need your fingers to soak my tear.

The smart answer that I did not have… (Continued from an older post)

Well, yeah.. I didn’t get fired after all. And that pretty much sums up the annual appraisal process we have in place here. “But, that’s okay”, I said to myself. “What I have learned here in the last one year is so much more valuable than a credit entry in my bank account which would inevitably be eaten up in no time by the numerous useless debit entries above and below it.”
Now, before I could recount the numerous technical addendum to my CV (recursively defined as something you can create by copy pasting from your senior’s CV and changing minor details – The abbr, in urban myths,is believed to be indicative of the fact that copy pasting involves the extensive use of the keys Ctrl C and V), my train of thoughts was interrupted by another irreverent remark by my neighbour (how it pisses me when MS Word underlines my “neighbour” and suggests “neighbor” ).