Unemployment News

vacancy

 

Jobs, jobs in every site:

None of them for me.

No, dear auto sender, it’s

Not the right vacancy.

 

Never heard of these people

No brand value they got;

I don’t know on what basis you

Call this employer “hot”.

 

This one may not be so bad

May send a CV here,

But turned out we want different things

No merger then, I fear.

 

“If only you’d move to this

Or that city, you’ll find

Jobs grow there on trees, but you

Won’t shift, so never mind.

 

“If only you’d agree to

Do something other than

Whatever you would like to do

Life would be easy, man!

 

“You’d love to shift to country Dash

Try something different there?

But darling, that needs work visa

You’ll get that how and where?”

 

I see my problem, I have been

Too difficult – choosy!

Good to work at what bores you

That way, you’re not lazy.

 

Location I won’t bother with

Send me to mountains high

Close to zero CTC?

’Accept without a sigh.

 

Brand name is for snobbish folk

Who wants a decent boss?

I’ll jump and grab, I promise, the

Next job I run across.

A Song for the Brave Souls

Chosen to be single, have you?
How are you coping?
Times aren’t too difficult
Not too hard – I’m hoping.

 

Batchmates have tied the knot
Engaged at the least;
You’ve so far got away with
Gorging at the feast.

 

Hither-thither, now and then
Arrives a cute baby.
When asked about your plans:
“Definitely, may be…”

 

Are your parents on the brink
Of giving up hope?
Do they tend to sound tragic?
Do they tend to mope?

 

“Won’t we order wedding cards?”
Do they love to ask?
“How can we rest until
We complete this task?”

 

Or has it become worse?
Are the friends no better?
“Tragic story? Secret love?
What is the matter?”

 

Admire the wedding photos
Smile at the child,
Be coldly outspoken
Or tactfully mild.

 

Tell the friends: “Just because
You’ve signed the deal,
Don’t try to drag me down.
I know how you feel.”

 

Tell the parents to relax;
Surely they know?
Marriage is no joking matter.
Life-changing. So…

 

Is it a good idea to
Get married in haste?
Repent at leisure and
Let life be a waste?

 

While they find a good answer
You must disappear.
Crude, but this works, I know.
Experience, my dear.

 

garfield11

 

(Image borrowed and edited from Garfield’s official website. No copyright infringement intended.)

The Wise King

“I am like Buddha,” said the king. “Have you heard of Buddha? He couldn’t tolerate sorrow. And neither can I. The sight of gloomy faces, the sound of sobs… I cannot stand it. And that is why,” he continued after a suspenseful and impressive pause, “I have decided to put an end to Sorrow.

“Summon everyone,” ordered the king. “Everyone who claims to be sad; and I shall see what is it that they are crying about. Who claims to be heartbroken? For, you have to face it: too many people actually indulge in melancholia. I’m sorry to say it, but that’s how the world is – unfortunate and uncomfortable. I mean, a child will wail if you take away his toy. Well? A dog will howl for no earthly reason. You see what I mean? So call everyone, everyone who says he has a sorrow, and then we’ll see. I have a plan.” And he gave a small but satisfied snort.

On a special day, the king introduced a special council to his people. Anyone who claimed to be sad was to bring his (so-called) trouble to this council, made entirely of very dignified men with proven record of Wisdom. The council followed a policy which was beautiful in its simplicity. A basic and exhaustive list of Recognised Reasons for Sadness, prepared by the king himself, with suggestions from his trusted wise men, was announced but not revealed to the people. (Just as democracy isn’t for everyone, the details of state policies aren’t either.) If one claimed a reason for sorrow not found within the list, it was considered a special application and usually rejected, for the king was, obviously, thorough, and the applicant warned as a Time Waster. However, for the vast majority, the council simply found a reason ranked higher in the list than the applicant’s specific trouble, and thereby proved that a) he hardly had a right to complain, with so many people so worse off and b) he should in fact be thankful for not being worse off. Being professional and kind, they allowed him a Prescribed Period to Grieve, and additionally took the trouble to prepare a list of things that were Perfectly Alright in the applicant’s life, and with mild reproach, asked him to memorise it.

The beauty and the infallibility of the plan lay in not publishing the list to the ignorant masses, so that no one knew exactly where their problems ranked, and could never compare. Most importantly, no one knew what the unbeatable Reason Number One was (which, theoretically, the Council could not compare away), and so no one could claim to suffer from it.

Unsurprisingly, the king’s plan was very successful. Not only did complains and grievances drop drastically within a few months, eventually, there were no applicants – no one who officially claimed to be sad at all. The king had established utopia.

 

*The first jarring note in this happy State was struck when one of the trusted wise men, with special access to the list of  Recognised Reasons for Sadness, turned rebel, claimed to have had his world shattered, and openly defied the king’s beautiful and philanthropic policy, but that is a different – and needless to say, sad – story.

 

wise-king

 

(Image by author. You too, can make it; so why copy it?)

Watching the Rain

On Sunday afternoon, the rain paid a visit. My cat, her only surviving kitten and I sat and watched her. There is something about the minutes before the rain, when I can hear her footsteps, smell her perfume, see her light — gosh, that light! Silver with a hint of golden. Warm and mellow. Bright and beautiful. No wonder that in paintings and films and photography they say the lighting is everything. Everything looks new, different, lovely. Not so bad, this! How green the leaves in this and that garden. The paint on that house not so dull after all…

A nerve on my right hand has been twitching for some time. I am a bit nervous about nerves. Ever since he had to have a major surgery in his spinal chord. Ever since she suffered excruciating pain in her hand because her nerves got entangled with each other. Ever since my shoulder started aching persistently from sitting in front of a computer for hours every day. So much that I practised and became quite good at wielding the mouse with my left hand. It still ached. Well. Hell.

Couple of days ago, I was waiting for a mail. I am not waiting, I told myself, and then got up in the middle of the night and turned on my computer and signed in to my account to check if it had come. It hadn’t. When I got up in the morning and signed in again, it was there. It was probably being written when I had got up between my sleep and checked for it in vain.

I like emails. Of course not from anyone and everyone. But written messages are fascinating, I think. However, there is this problem with them: one sentence, one word can be read in so many ways that sometimes an email leaves room for doubt. Of course, where there’s room for doubt, there’s also room for hope. But doubts are aggressive, like the kitten that survived. Hopes tend to be timid — at least my hopes, sometimes — like the kitten that didn’t.

A dear friend says that she ends up calling her dear ones exactly when it is important to do so. She calls it prayers. I call it telepathy. And I wonder, when I think of someone particularly strongly, when I cannot help thinking of them, rather, and then end up knocking, is it also telepathy? Who or what has been urging (that is the word) me to write/call/remember? And I always half expect the recipient to reply: fancy your writing now/today/this! Sometimes, the other one, a dear one, writes that: you wrote exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it. Isn’t that wonderful? And I smile and nod and feel good. Sometimes, another one, also dear, doesn’t say anything to clear the mystery. But who knows, maybe the other person has glimpsed a wonderful thing but won’t admit it. I remain suspicious. And/or hopeful.