The Printed Jezebel

I have been blogging since 2004 – when Blogger ruled the roost. And over time, I kept many blog addresses, switched names and hosts. From Mumble Jumble, Brain Freeze, Brain Freeze Too, Global Loony Hatch (don’t ask – immense fun though) in undergrad to The Consulting Chronicles and Last Vestiges of Sanity in IIMB.

It’s been five years since I settled upon my insanity as the core defining concept of my being.

Except now it isn’t.

It’s time (again) for a little change. We shall now be The Printed Jezebel.

Why the Printed Jezebel?

1) Because it sounds nice!

2) And unlike a Painted Jezebel, who is someone you would not like other people to be around for their own reputations, a printed Jezebel is good to read. Go ahead. Prove me wrong!

3) In my last few years of self discovery, I have discovered my passions. That’s the good part. And like all good Jezebels, I put my best face forward to the world. This blog helps me do that. It’s my best face!

4) Painted Jezebels get thrown to wild dogs. Printed Jezebels and dogs are good friends.

Comments, feedback and other assorted words awaited!


Stranger in a strange land

The beautiful vistas, the azure seas,

The rolling plains, the golden sands.

The stuff of your childhood dreams,

Then, why are you this stranger in a strange land?

Your heart knows no own hearth,

The search is quelled by no iron hand,

You sleep on the softest bed,

Still, you’re a stranger in a strange land.

The memories you swore forever to keep,

Ephemeral as the morning mist,

The words that you wanted to bury deep,

Wander in your mind, strangers in their own strange land.

I don’t understand how…

some people are so enamoured of their reflections that they preen at the first indication of a shiny surface.

Imagine this (rather recent) occurrence:

I am in the office and pulling out the cord and putting away my laptop in the bag when a friend comes to enquire when I am leaving.

“Right now,” I said. “So what are your plans?”

I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. I followed his line of sight to behind my shoulder to the picture window behind me, which was rendered almost opaque by the darkness outside. (Small aside: The view from our office windows are amazing)

“Uhm, you do know I am approximately 2 feet away from where you are looking, right?”

So, he dragged his eyes away from the fascinating sight of his suited self and brought himself back to earth. “uhhh, let’s go down and find your housemate. She’s on the phone.”


We went down and called her from her own landline to come down.

When she came down, I remarked (I thought wittily), “Boss here can’t take his eyes off his reflection.” till I realised I didn’t have her attention either.

And there we shall leave the scene, both of them feasting greedy eyes on their beauty and me looking up to heavens.

The Write Way to Corporate Success

Dear Bertrand Le Graf,

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for the kind way with which you promptly replied to my last mail that was very… kind. In accordance with my requirements, I request you to please send me the answer (very kindly) to my mailbox as soon as you can. Unless you are sleeping, in which case I humbly apologize for disturbing you because this mail will come by Blackberry. I sincerely hope that the answer shall be forthcoming. Please feel free to ‘revert back’ in case any of the points seems obscure.

Thanking you much in advance,
Best regards,
Shruti George

From my constant correspondence with Belgians of all ilk… My emails seem sprinkled with more Ps and Qs than I can imagine.

The Nights After IIMB (Adapted)

‘Twas the nights after IIMB, when all through the room,
Just a solitary alumna was sitting, alone in the gloom;
The books were gathering cobwebs and lots of dust,
The light was from the computer screen- glow it must;

The family was nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of dollar signs danced in their heads;
When out in the newspapers there arose such a chatter,
That she typed away to see what was the darned matter?

Away an IE window she opened like a flash,
Typed the web address complete with dot and dash.
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But the newest fachcha batch of IIMB, oh dear!

With much fanfare, wit not too lovely or quick,
She knew in that moment this was going to stick.
More rapid than eagles the queries they came,
And she whistled, laughed and knew them to be the same;

“To the top of the fora! to the top of the sites!
Now ask away! Seniors are here, we know our rights!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the communities the fachchas, they flew,
With their mind full of questions, and some high hopes too.

As she drew in her breath, and was turning around,
Down the driveways of B, fachchas came with a bound.
They were dressed in formals, from head to foot,
And their faces were uplifted, oh it was a hoot;

Suitcases of clothes, some on their back,
Looking like consultants and bankers in a pack.
Their eyes — how they twinkled! their dimples how merry!
Their joy was contagious, (almost like reading Dave Barry).

Her heart sank with horror upon the prospect of fresh faces,
Hadn’t we seen some before? She so hated these phases;
They were going to have all the fun,
And she was destined to have none;

It wasn’t fair and now she knew how the Grinch felt,
What a really crappy hand was she dealt?
Never mind, there was still the question of work,
The huge MNCs for whom she could not her duty shirk;

A wink of her eye and a twist of er head,
Left her nothing in the future or this world to dread;
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Come June, feeling just sometimes like a timed jerk.

With decks to do and slides to master, she chose,
To keep the clock ticking overtime, at 5 AM she rose;
She sprang to her car at crack of dawn, with a merry whistle,
This was her life after all- some roses amid the bed of thistle.

But the world heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,

“A big K to all of you, and to all a good-night.”