Day one- Line cook

Today was my fist day at the O.G restaurant, and as I walked into this new unfamiliar space, a familiar uneasiness that I had felt before, on my first day of work at morton's; came back. Here I was again, starting all over, in this new environment, with out any leads, clues or hints, nothing but instinct.

And it was my instinct that clicked today. for the first time since the happy days in Maurya, I felt a connection to the work that I was going to do. It felt like a whole bunch of dendrons, long dormant, had suddenly woken up and started firing synapses like never before. the work was methodical, precise, organised and fast. The place was not even up to full speed, and I was overwhelmed by the synchronization that was the order of the kitchen. No wonder my trainer called it 'Information Overload day'

bottomline- I enjoyed it. It finally felt like I was in a kitchen, and seeing the results of a few tosses in the pan, a few dunks in the boiler and a few moments on the grill come together on the plate before my very eyes in a matter of mere minutes was inspiring.

Of course, I say this now. As I said before, a job can be the best thing in your life for a week, and then become a form of voluntary torture the next. Wait till they have me on the line on a weekend. Questions remain- Am I strong enough? Am I Fast enough?
there was a question on the new employees questionnaire that I had filled out at morton's- What would have to happen in order for you to look back and say, 'this is the best I ever had?' I remember filling out- 'I would have to exceed my expectations' as the reply. I did not get to exceed anybody's expectations back there, but I hope I will be able to go beyond myself here, and expand my threshold.

Keeping my fingers crossed

As scheduled daybefore yesterday, I went down to the new place I had applied to for a job. The preliminary meeting with the restaurant manager had gone down well with me, and now I was going to meet the general manager.

As soon as I walked in, I realised that getting a job here would not be a cakewalk at all. There was actually competition for whatever posts were vacant. This dampened my spirits somewhat, but I still thought it was best to present myself in the best possible manner. The meeting with the GM lasted for a good 15 minutes, and we talked more about my former workplace, and the reasons I was no longer employed there. After feeding her some bullshit about how morton's was not the kind of environment I had envisioned, she helpfully offered the reasoning that they usually slow down to a crawl after the holidays, and I took up the tether and rounded up my position with the viewpoint she helpfully suggested. Not to say that was being dishonest, morton's had really slowed down since christmas, and that may be considered as the main economic reason behind my dismissal.

Anyway, the GM said that she would talk things over with the Restaurant manager, and decide by 3 or 4 pm today...so I'm keeping my fingers crossed and hoping for the best.

Reporting from Palm Beach

After my unfortunate and untimely firing, I was really depressed. To lighten things up, we decided to forge on ahead with our plans to go meet my aunt at THE Palm Beach you've all heard of. She owns a condominium right on the beach on this little island off the mainland, accessible by a road bridge. We had rented a little red Chevy Cobalt(which, by the way, takes approximately half an hour to downshift when you floor the accelerator pedal) and after Googling the directions, we set off, my first excursion on the American Interstate system. It had been about 4 months since I had driven a car, that too on the left(right) side of the road, so I was unsure if I could get us there in one piece. Accordingly, I had picked up the car a couple of days earlier to rouse my dormant driving skills.

Anyway, I drove down an undivided County road, for about 240 kilometres(150 miles) before I realised that we had overshot our turn by about 30-odd miles. The good thing about this part of the USA is the density of the road network. So this blunder did cost me a good 90 minutes extra time, but we eventually hit our target freeway and motored down at an average pace of 120 kph(80 mph)all the way into West Palm Beach.

my aunt's condo, being so close to the beach, enabled some decent beach photography(don't get your hopes up...not a single pretty person was to be seen)

The moonrise at high tide, taken from the balcony at a +2.0 overexposure at 400 ISO; and the three stages of sunrise, all within 4 minutes of blazing colour and light.

Later that day, we drove around West Palm Beach, admiring the Spanish-influenced architecture of the various mansions that are liberally sprinkled all over the place, and walked down Worth Street, known as the shopping destination for the rich and famous. The downtown area was really picturesque, and since we forgot to carry our digital camera, we have nothing to show for it. But don't fret, just imagine a watered-down Barcelona(minus Gaudi) and you'll get the idea...it's really amusing when America tries to put on European airs about itself, as if it's trying too hard to be these places, and not itself. The good thing about Sarasota is that it does not have that forced European look, and has a contemporary flavour mixed in with its default Spanish-inspired architecture, which works just fine.

So after Two nights spent just two kilometres away from Jack Nicholson's villa, the high-life experience was over, and it was time to go back. This time too, we got a little lost, and had to do some frantic searching on the map to determine our location. All in all, we got back safe and sound, refreshed after three months of the monotonous work-sleep-eat routine.

Sorry, Puneet...

Never, ever, get too comfortable with the way things are.

Life has a funny way of catching you unawares at the most crucial of times, hitting you with the force of a sledgehammer in the face. You start to think that things are finally going your way, when all of a sudden, something you did not even consider possible happens.

Here's the story-

All was well with the universe when reached work on friday morning. It was payday, and the troubles of the past week were behind me. At about 3 PM, I was told to come for a meeting. That's when it hit me. I was getting fired. All the signs had been there from the past week, and far beyond that as well. I was just oblivious to them...The chefs meeting with the management, and her repeated statements that food cost was way too high, the quiet silences that would settle over when I was present, and the problems I chose to ignore- My minor yet frequent clashes with the sous-chef, mostly a result of misunderstanding, my crude relationship with the other pastry cook, my general incompetence and performance, and the simmering discontent that had settled in like the mist over a backwater on a cold winter morning.

As I walked into the manager's room, I was readying myself for it. He was calm, courteous and professional(how the hell else do you behave when you're firing someone?) and informed me that there were certain 'adjustment' issues, and that I was not getting along well with the rest of the crew, and in this light, he'd have to let me go. I responded by saying that I knew of the 'adjustment' issues(a synonym for "they hate my guts") and asked a few cursory questions about my pending salary and so on. Both the chefs were present in the room, eyes averted and silent, letting the manager do their talking. As I left his office, the chef muttered a characteristically dispassionate "sorry, Puneet"; and I did not even look back. I jaunted out, and took off.

Hate is the easiest emotion to cultivate. It comes from the smallest things, and compounds itself with every little flash in the pan, every disagreement and every moment of forced silence, when I wanted to holler. This hate grew in the hearts of my former colleagues, and it culminated in this event, when it boiled over onto the flame. The fact is, I was never a part of them. Surely, we both tried to get along, but we were both looking at different things, and judging our actions in a discriminatory manner. I should have realised long ago, that the same social rules that existed between them did not apply to me. I was outside the inner circle and different from them. No matter how hard these people try, most of them are hardwired with this discriminatory apparatus; and they may not even be aware of it. I don't blame them. It's just the way they are...

And Hate was the first emotion in my heart as I left the kitchens behind. I was filled with Hate, bitter and sharp. I felt betrayed and abused. As time went on, I realised that this was not going to affect any of them, and it would instead affect me. I can't hate someone for being who they are. It's their own little world, they could now do as they please, and I was free of the boulder I had placed on my heart in order to continue working at this place where I really did not want to be, but had to because it was a good job.

And what is a good job? Is it one in which you make lots of money doing something you're good at? Is it something you do for fun, money be damned? is it something you do just to earn more and more money and nothing else? or is it a little bit of everything? The definition of a 'Good Job' is very fluid, a job can be the best thing in your life for a week, and then become a form of voluntary mental torture that you choose to endure because you're still employed(and thus comfortable) and you're proud of the work that you do.

It was because I chose to suppress my discontent, that this dismissal hurts. Voicing my issues with them could have got me fired faster, and could have resulted in lesser parting pains. But because I was too full of myself, and had my head up in the clouds, that really pissed them off. They could not stand me and I was blind to that.

A friend of mine has confessed to me on a few occasions, that when he first met me, he despised me, listing all of the aforesaid characteristics as the Raison d'etre. But all of that disappeared within the space of a month, and I had made a new friend, and I'm so grateful that he saw beyond my general brazenness and misbehaviour and connected with me.

I have realised that people like that don't come along very often, and you cannot look for that level of Camaraderie, that sort of fraternity, and that intensity of friendship in just about any person. There is a word for this sort of relationship. It's called Yaari...