Saturday, December 31, 2011

Made it

At the beginning of 2010, I made a resolution that I would attempt to write 100 blogs during the year. I wrote 97. So I did not quite make it. But I was pleased to have written more than I did the previous year. When 2011 arrived, I should have theoretically set a higher goal, considering past progress. However, there was a tiny voice pointing to the 3 that I did not write, emphasizing the fact that I did not make it to the goal. So I decided to target 100 again this year.

I am happy to report that this is the 100th blog this year. It has been quite an experience. Writing takes time. Introspection requires concentration. But what is hardest is paying attention to what is in front of you, being in the moment, assimilating the experience. The tough part of keeping a long term goal is also in being disciplined enough to find a fixed time each day to convert your thoughts to the written word. Although my goal did not require daily writing, I still had difficulty sitting long enough to write coherently.

I know I can write more. I can definitely write better. I can achieve any writing goal that I set my mind to. I hope to set a loftier goal for 2012.

Stay tuned.

Friday, December 30, 2011

The year that was - 2011

It is that time of the year when newspapers and magazines start listing the major events of the year that is coming to a close. Usually there is a list of famous people who passed on - this year has seen a lot of departures in the arts in India, Bhimsen Joshi, Jagjit Singh, Dev Anand, MF Husain, Shammi Kapoor, to mention a few. There are lists of victories, usually in the sports arena. And there are other significant catastrophes, some made by nature like earthquakes and other made by man like the stock market roller coaster.

I like to personally take stock of what the year means to me, not just what has come my way but what I have done with what I have received. When I look back at 2011, it does not seem very momentous when viewed from an "outside-in" perspective. For example, by the time December 2010 arrived, I had moved into my own apartment and booked my new car. I had handled work and home admirably even tending to my father after his heart attack in the same months that saw much personal and professional movement.

In contrast, 2011 has been a tame year (or is it lame year?). I continue to live in the same apartment without making any significant changes to my living space. I drive my new car with pride and sold the old one after much personal sentimental trauma for letting it go. My work has not changed drastically nor has my bank balance. My daughter is a year older and fully immersed in "teenager-hood" if there is such a word. Nothing too striking.

But if I look from the inside-out, it has been a year of major shifts. I went into a prolonged state of "status quo" with not much work lining up professionally. I struggled hard with the idea of keeping my work life the same or growing the business. I took to meditation in a big way. I went on a couple of lovely holidays. I started learning music once more. I learnt to take things lightly and made progress towards going with the flow. I learnt to trust my intuition in making major decisions without analyzing options to death, as I was used to doing.

I read some lovely books, made new friends. I watched a few good movies but attended several wonderful live performances including the dance festival, the German philharmonic, Runa Laila and many others. I attended a couple of weddings. I bought expensive jewelry (quite scary). I ventured into new territory in the kitchen by making avakai this summer. I was thrilled to be invited to give the keynote address at a symposium to encourage women scientists. I got new clients and secured new business and referrals from existing ones. I mentored some and took advice from others. I gave freely and gratefully received help when I needed it.

I grew as a person. I made peace with myself on many counts.

But just as the newspaper will once again start printing the daily news from January first, so will life go on, one day at a time. The end of the year offers on opportunity to pause, to briefly reflect on the path we have traveled, to observe the milestones we have passed. But our work is to move on. To travel, to grow, to achieve.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Small World

There is a kiddie ride in Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom in Orlando, Florida called “It’s a small world”. As you are ferried in a trolley, you pass scenes from different countries while the song aptly titled “It’s a small world after all” keeps playing in the background ad nauseum. Kids of course love this gentle repetition while adults feel anything but gentle after hearing the rhyme which refuses to dislodge from your brain hours after leaving the ride. But the point it makes, is that we are all the same and still connected to everyone else in the world. I first saw this ride 20 year ago (OMG!). And as the years go by, I find the words to be so true, so often, that once again the rhyme has taken residence in my head.
During my trip to Baroda, I was to spend two days at a site reviewing some of their data. The first person I met, took one look at me and said, “I have met you earlier. I take the weekend class at Xaviers in Mumbai and you came to teach us couple of months ago.” I was astonished. Here I was, in a city which I had visited when I was an awkward teenager. And now, I was being recognized by someone who probably instantly expected me to behave “teacher-like” or worse, was evaluating me to see if I was worthy.

This happens to me so often. I have a handful of clients who are my former colleagues from my work life in the US and they continue to give me work in India because they know me and trust me. Then they spread the word to others who may not know me directly but have an indirect faith in me due to the recommendation of my first level supporters. And if I meet their expectation, they pass on good words and so the circle grows. But every so often, I find clients who know me through two different sources and I know that they diligently seek cross-references before assigning me new work. I can’t control what any of my past client/colleagues will say. But I never worry. Why?

I try to be consistent in my work, whether the client is directly known to me, or is a first-timer. I try to understand their expectations and do the work as if it my personal task, not an outsourced project. I go some extra distance, sometimes that may be an extra mile or at times it is done gratis. But I take pride in the work that leaves my desk, work done as an employee in the past and work I continue to do today as a consultant. One prospective client asked me at a face-to-face meeting, “at the end of the day, you are still a consultant, how can I be sure that you are doing the best for me, I am totally invested in my project as the CEO?” I had not prepared an answer for this question. But I told him the truth. “Everything that I do professionally, I do it with personal pride. It does not matter whether I get paid a salary as an employee or if I get paid on an hourly basis as a consultant. I am here because a former colleague (a European) recommended my work after observing me. You can start by trusting his word but we will continue because you trust me.” I got the project.

Today the world is really small. Technology and mobility have made it impossible for us to remain comfortably anonymous in our silos. There are emails and chats criss-crossing the globe even as we sleep. Someone may be assessing, comparing, complaining or recommending you. You can’t control it. So it is best to ignore what is happening behind your back. It is best to focus on what is at hand. And let your body of work speak for itself.
Need I say more?

Giving

I just returned from a trip to Gujarat to complete some work. I spent time with my friend in Ahmedabad on my return from Baroda. She was chauffeuring me around to my favorite shopping joints. I noticed a basket in the backseat that had an assortment of clothing, t-shirts, shorts, towels, shawls etc. I wondered but did not ask about its significance. At one of the many traffic circles that dot Ahmedabad's roads, we passed a cycle-rickshaw type contraption pedaled by a young girl, no more than 10 years old, carrying two little kids in the backseat. As we prepared to pass them, my friend asked me to grab three items from the basket and hand it to the older girl. So we pulled up close and asked the girl to come closer so I could hand her the clothes. And then we sped up and zipped by, waving to the smiling snotty-faced kids. It felt amazing to be a part of this random act of kindness. Random perhaps to the recipient but very much a planned activity on the part of the giver who has thoughtfully kept items that can be put to use by the needy and deserving people that we share our world with.

In Paulo Coelho's new book, The Aleph, there is a point at which the author and Yao, his translator/companion during the trans-Siberian journey find themselves begging on a street corner, using their recently emptied plastic coffee cups. It is a strange situation for the two of them to be, given their status in life. But they manage to collect some cash. Yao illuminates Coelho on the significance of seeking alms and the benefits that the act brings not just to the seeker, but also to the giver and most significantly how the cycle affects the place itself. We have known for centuries about monks who live by what they collect by way of alms, accepting what is given, being content, seeking nothing more that the essentials. In the zen (or Buddhist?) tradition, it is believed that the act of giving benefits the recipient obviously because it fulfills his need but it correspondingly fulfills the need of the giver to give and the alms that change hands complete the cycle by moving from one to the other. Thus in places where begging takes place, the atmosphere is elevated due to the ability of all three, the giver, the seeker and the item that is given, to fulfill their own need.

Similarly, in the book "Immortals of Meluha", when Shiva comes across a poor beggar in the land of the Chandravanshis, a man apparently not taken care of by the government, he momentarily feels that the Meluhan ways of equality are superior but he quickly changes his mind when he encounters the generosity of the beggar who willingly shares his meager meal with Shiva, a stranger. Shiva is humbled by this gesture, it is this apparent "lack" that brings in disparity within the population and consequently stimulates the cycle of giving.

It is not always the giver who is blessed, he is materially superior in having something to give, but it is the recipient who brings about the quality of giving in the giver and also provides him an opportunity to act upon his instinct. I have always believed that the ability to give (and receive)willingly is a quality we must develop, whether we do that by reading about it or by following instructions of people who ask us to do it or by watching others do it. We are all givers at some point each day and equally are at the receiving end, whether we seek material gains, or help or praise or love or recognition. Giving something of value to another does not make you great neither does taking something that is offered with good intention make you any less. As long as we are aware that we are a part of the cycle of giving and receiving, our participation in this circle will only help the world become a better place.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Peeling an orange

"You know how I know that you love me?" asked Aparna one morning last week as she was getting ready for school. "Because you peel the orange before putting it in my lunch box", she answered, without waiting for my response.

I was taken aback by her observation. I do peel the orange for her. But I also expect her to put her clothes into the laundry basket instead of leaving it on the floor. I ask her what she wants to eat for dinner. I also ask her help me make it.I take her out to watch a movie but I also get her to make her bed. It is the orange peeling that catches her attention. That shows her my love for her. Wow!

When we love someone, we do things that they may not have asked us to do. We go that extra mile without even thinking about it. We don't expect each action to be scrutinized and weighed. We do it freely, unthinkingly, without any expectation. The gestures speak louder than words. There is nothing forced about the tender actions. Of course, we argue and complain and bicker. But all of this is done on the foundation of a strong connection. It is not just the parent-child relationship which is like this.

When love is reciprocated, the two people involved are not perfect but there is nothing that needs to be changed. There is no time like the present to enjoy each moment together. There is no need to convince the other, the feeling is mutual. It is a feeling that needs to be heeded, nurtured and valued. So often we fall into the trap of wanting to fix things in order for it to fit in tidily with our mental picture. But many things in life are beautiful even if not perfect. The beauty of flowers lies in their variety with slight imperfections and mutations. No amount of man-made, 6-sigma techniques of mass production can produce a memorable sunset or a Mona Lisa.

So let us observe the moments when we see the expression of love in simple actions. And be sure to say it aloud. And be grateful to have it in our life. How wonderful to be acknowledged!

Friday, December 16, 2011

Learning something new

I am learning to sing. Again. Obtaining formal training from a teacher. This is not the first time I have attempted to learn music.

About 15 years ago, I took my first step towards learning music. I had completed my Ph.D. and found myself jobless, directionless and depressed. The future looked murky at best and each day was difficult. A ray of hope shone at a kid's birthday party where someone directed me towards a middle-aged lady offering Carnatic music classes in the neighborhood. That is how I met Nirmala Mami, a wonderful lady who not only started me off with sa re ga ma but also saw me through some tough times in my personal life. There were days when the only motivation for me to get out of bed was to go to music class. And I had to practice what I had learnt previously at least a little bit before showing up for the next class. I was a quick learner and an interested student. I did not consider myself particularly talented. Two years of classes twice a week was the duration of my music sadhana.

I then moved away. Life changed drastically with the arrival of Aparna and a full time job. Music crept away from my life until another tough patch arrived. Once again I was drawn to singing. This tryst lasted less than a year. Another teacher in the neighborhood, not too demanding. I made very little progress, both on learning and in my confidence in my abilities.

Now I have a fairly smooth life. In my quest to develop my creative side, I again sought a teacher. After a long search, I have found a teacher who comes home once a week. This time I am learning Hindustani music, not just basics but I want to learn some theory and music appreciation. I am learning from a place of peace not pain as in earlier attempts. I am learning it not as a new subject to be understood intellectually. I am trying to understand what type of music I like and what is it that my voice is suited for. It is a different journey this time. After a few sessions, my teacher praised me saying that I have the talent to keep up with her teaching. I felt thrilled.

The journey has just started. What a wonderful place to be!

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Creativity

I watched the movie Rockstar a few days back. The film is ostensibly about a talented singer who is told that he needs to experience pain in order to become a truly successful musician of the likes of Jim Morrison. But the movie is also a typical Hollywood musical with the exotic locales of Kashmir and Prague to spice up the lukewarm chemistry between the boy (Janardhan aka Jordan) and the girl Heer, the muse (aka cause of the pain). While Ranbir Kapoor has done a wonderful job of portraying the main character, the movie does not delve into the psyche of the musician to show his internal evolution from simple boy-next-door to the physically violent artist whose name appears on billboards.

The life of a creative person is supposed to be full of internal and external strife that provides the grist for the creative energy that begs to be let out. A mystery to the majority of us who seem to lead obviously peaceful (aka boring) lives. I have always wondered about the origin of creativity - is it something that is simmering and boiling within these left-brain type people or is it divine intervention that leads to an outpouring of something extraordinary? The best explanation I have found on this subject is in a TED talk by writer Elizabeth Gilbert, best-selling author of the memoir "Eat Pray Love" (link provided below).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86x-u-tz0MA

Why do creative people have this ability to connect with large number of fellow humans but fail at the basic mechanics of living a full life? Many creative people meet violent and untimely death, sometimes at their own hands. Is a "normal" life mutually exclusive from a "creative" life? Are poets, writers, dancers, musicians or artists doomed by their own genius? I don't think so. In recent times we have lost M.F. Husain, Dev Anand, Jagjit Singh and other well-known creative people who lived reasonably long lives, with M.F. Husain leading the pack. Even today we have sitar maestro Ravi Shankar, a living legend who has contributed greatly to the awareness of Indian music on the international scene.

I don't believe creativity short circuits a long life. There is divine intervention in the creation of things of beauty and there is personal struggle. Both are to be experienced. Both are to be borne. Being aware of that drop of divine blessing in the murky waters of ones creative endeavors brings a lightness to the act of creation and releases the artist from the burdens of meeting expectations of their adoring audiences. This perhaps is the hardest lesson to learn. Some leave too soon, before the wisdom of age can dawn while others shine with this knowledge long enough to leave a rich legacy.

The Immortals of Meluha - Book Review


Just as remakes of classic movies and remixes of old songs continue to find new audiences, this is a refreshingly engaging book that is a different take on the back story of familiar mythological characters of Shiva and Sati.

The second in this trilogy written by Amish is already in bookstores so a review of a page turner, bestseller seems a little dated. However I was captivated by the story and the story-telling. Here is another writer from IIM who writes from the heart and reaches the reader (and not from the head who aims for his bank balance). The story of tribal leader Shiva who moves his tribe from the harsh environs of their village situated near Lake Mansarovar to the wondrous land of Meluha is a fast-paced tale set in 1900 BC but very much resonant of the times we live in. Amidst order and wealth and good governance, the people of Meluha, immortal as a result of their access to the technology of making somras, the elixir of immortality, suffer from the uncertainty of terrorist attacks that strike unannounced. In a society where science is amazingly advanced, the people still believe in the legend of the Neelkanth, the person whose neck will turn blue upon consumption of somras, the savior who will restore peace.

Shiva's arrival in Meluha and his consequent discovery as being the Neelkanth puts him in the difficult predicament of fulfilling a destiny that is unknown to him. It is refreshing to see his ambivalence at being received as a savior, a title that is uncomfortable at best. His love for Sati, the daughter of the king of Meluha, Daksha, is described with great sensitivity and restraint. The war scenes are vividly narrated. In fact, the whole book is an easy read due to the short chapters and even shorter scenes. It almost reads like a play.

In short, a wonderful book, that I highly recommend to readers of all ages.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Power of a live performance

No matter how many movies I watch, however grand the special effects or big the budget, there is no comparison with a live performance. Be it a scintillating dance, rousing vocals, extraordinary instrumental renditions or live theater, it is difficult to come out of a live performance feeling ambivalent. You either like it or don't. You feel it was worth the time and effort to go see it or a waste of your time.

I watched a live concert by Runa Laila at the Qutub Shahi tombs last week. A cool winter evening, a brightly lit historic site and a live band accompanying a versatile and well-known singer who I have loved since childhood, what a wonderful way to spend a Friday night. Runa Laila is not just a wonderful singer but a great performer who is at her best facing an enthusiastic audience. She sang a lot of her famous songs and also gave in to the many requests that came her way. As the evening progressed and the tempo increased, people came out of their cozy chairs and started dancing in the aisles and a few went up on the stage to move with the music. The lightness in the audience was contagious. I walked out feeling energized and upbeat, to the extent that I got lost driving back home but even that detour did not bother me!

We are so used to hearing recorded programs, CDs and mp3 and take it for granted that music is available to us at the touch of a button. But a recording is a repeat of the original and no matter how many times you listen to the music, it sounds the same. It is a great way to learn, by repetition, but what is missing is the connection to the artist and the energy that flows through them as they connect to their creative zone and pull the audience along. It is this transmission of energy that puts power into a performance and draws audiences. As I heard Runa Laila sing some of my favorite ghazals, I felt inspired to pursue my interest in music. The power of a live performance is not just in being in the moment and enjoying the show but in its ability to draw you out of your comfort zone and show you what is possible.

Being true

My cousin came over for lunch today. I never know what to expect when she visits, thanks to her two little girls under the age of four. There is total chaos, tears, tantrums during their visit and of course, a royal mess when they leave. But its always fun to interact with small children. It is impossible to be anywhere but in the present moment, either to stop a quarrel or prevent an accident or just to observe their funny antics.

The two girls picked things from their hiding places, made toys of regular items, found lost toys, applied new uses to ordinary household items. When the younger one was hungry, she came to me and announced that she was ready to eat. She promptly spit out what she didn't like. She gave me an angry look and clearly asked me to stop laughing when I found some of her cute actions hilarious. She danced with the music. At the end she had a full-blown tantrum in the corridor where she lay down and rolled around, screaming loudly. It's not easy being a kid - no one understands, perhaps that is what she was trying to communicate.

But how can adults understand? We live in a world that is so closed, so guarded. We shield our true feelings, we coat our emotions. We hide behind a curtain to avoid being hurt. We try to say what is right, not what is true. Neither do we praise nor do we criticize freely. We live in a straitjacketed world of political correctness. Not much point in investigating the reasons why and how we transform into boring adults. What we need to learn from kids is that it is OK to let ourselves go more often. Sing loudly, Dance freely. Laugh openly. Speak our mind. Express opinions without fear of repercussions.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Love and responsibility

I am reading the bestseller, Immortals of Meluha, a sort of historical/mythological fiction where the central character is Shiva. The book describes the kingdom of Meluha which is an almost perfect society created by Lord Ram. For all of us familiar with the story of Lord Ram, the name conjures up the image of a perfect person who lead is life strictly on the path of dharma. He is seen as the epitome of righteousness for silently obeying his father's orders to step down from the throne that was rightfully his and to spend several years in exile. A man must do his duty, do what is right - this is the message that most people take home.

But is it right to blindly follow orders? Is it the responsibility of children to obey their parents wishes, even if it seems unfair or downright wrong? A debatable subject in today's society. Given the glorious example of Lord Ram, a son understands that he should do as told. But is that all that Lord Ram did? Yes, obviously he followed the mandate. However, what is not dwelt upon is the fact that he did it for the love of his father, without any rancor, without prejudice towards Kaikeyi, without hatred to his brother. Doing something simply because "it is the right thing to do" without being convinced does not give you brownie points with the Almighty. If it was purely a check-box type list that you had to get through in a life in order to win celestial favors in the next life, perhaps doing the responsible thing will get you ahead. But if the act is done with an underlying ill will towards the other, both the action and its fruit are wasted. You are not much better than the person who does not fulfill his responsibility. If you are looking for a good outcome to your actions, there must be love and a genuine good intention as the foundation of everything you do. Do your work with love.

This is a lesson that I took a long time to learn. Now I am more watchful. I check the underlying feeling before I take up any activity and if there is a doubt about my motivation, I let the job wait until I am in a better frame of mind to do justice to it. Today I had to teach at the college but I was not mentally ready. So I decided to try something new. We had an impromptu debate in class on an ongoing current issue and used a lot of our skills besides the obvious technical knowledge to dialog and discuss openly without hostility. I think the students enjoyed the change. I certainly felt I had used the time allotted to me wisely. I know that it will be a long wait until I see the fruit of this interaction but since we all put our good intention and enthusiasm into it, I am sure it is worth waiting for.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Role reversal - Part 2

When I was eight years old, I would walk from the gate of our apartment complex and onto the road where the school bus would pick me up. I had to walk a small stretch of road outside the gates in order to reach the assembly point where other kids would be waiting. One morning, a cow was busy chewing on some grass as I walked by. I don't remember what really happened next,but I found myself running for dear life, followed by the cow that had looked deceptively mild, minding its own business a few minutes back. Perhaps spooked by the honk of a passing vehicle, it had taken off in a startled leap behind me. After an intense chase, I fell into a ditch, expecting the cow to chomp down on my braids. But the cow kept running ahead. I got up slowly, bruised in body but scared to walk to the bus stop thereafter. My brothers could not stop laughing when they heard of my plight. But my parents took a decision that day. My father would accompany me to the bus stop each morning and wait until I boarded the bus safely. He continued to do that everyday till I was 13 years old.

Today my father walks with the help of a walker as he recovers from hip surgery. He has already suffered a heart attack and a kidney problem in the last year. The highpoint for his birthday this year, which ushered in his eightieth year, was being discharged from the hospital. He is physically weak, a mere shell of what he used to be. He is easily tired, demotivated and often cranky. Neither cricket not politics interests him. Anna Hazare's activism revived his spirits for a few weeks earlier this year. But he finds it difficult to read for long, or watch TV. He has stopped making plans for the future. He still wants to give advice but mostly feels that it is a lost cause.

I don't know how to deal with this new version of my father. I am the one who has to help him walk to the table to eat. I choose the clothes for him to wear. I open the curtains, get him his glasses, insist that he eat everything on his plate. I discuss his medication and health status. I teach him Sudoku. I urge him to read an article a day from Reader's Digest. I give him advice. I tell him stories. I share details of my day. He asks for my opinion about dealing with his finances. He seeks inputs into how to pass the days which seem long.

It is hard to take this role, parenting a parent. To be the caregiver after having been at the receiving end for so long. I am sure it is difficult for him too. Only a year ago, he stood by my side as the truck unloaded my possessions into my new apartment. It was exactly a month after his angioplasty. He would not hear about taking it easy. He was my support as I made a major transition. Now he is moving into a new phase, a more restricted life. Perhaps he may not go out for a walk as freely or head to the medical store to buy his medicines as confidently. His social circle will probably dwindle to those few people who can come over and visit him at home. For a person who thrives in the company of people, his sphere of interaction and influence is decreasing.

Just as we see our children growing, it is part of life to also watch our parents shrinking. Being aware of the inevitable cycle of life where I fit in makes me aware of the present. I need to be in the moment to witness these transitions. As I move from one role to another, I need to stay rooted to what is happening now, not visualize my future or go back into the simpler past. Just as my father did with me, I need to accompany the moment.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Medium size life

I was at dinner last week with work colleagues. Among the five a the table, many of us had acquired the same educational qualifications and had almost equal number of work experience under our belt. But I was the only one who had broken away from full-time corporate employment to pursue the uncertainty of the consultant lifestyle. "So how busy are you? How much work are you able to get?" asked the new acquaintance. "My target is to work 5 days a month", I replied. I almost burst out laughing at the open-mouthed expression that followed. "Wow. That sounds really great", he said. "And I try to take a vacation every quarter." I could not resist adding, just to see how far the astonishment level would go.

I suspected that they thought I was a little crazy to be doing this - not getting the full benefits of my elite foreign education. I know that I could make more money and have a fancy designation with overseas travel and five-star hotel dinners thrown in for good measure. But how then can I take a week off to visit my sick father without seeking permission from my boss? How can I take music lessons on weekday afternoons? How can I be home when Aparna returns from school at 3 p.m, the only time when she is chatty enough for me to know what is going on in her teenage school life? How can I accompany a neighbor to the doctor mid-week?

When asked to visualize a successful life, most people imagine a lavish lifestyle, not just a comfortable one - a life which includes expensive homes, cars, gadgets and every luxurious item available in the market. A dream life equals a king size life. One where you can buy anything that is on sale. Enabling such a life demands unnecessary pursuit of material wealth, unhealthy competition, unnatural levels of stress and premature aging. But the all-pervasive subliminal messages imply that anyone lagging behind is a loser. Getting off the rat race is a sure sign of failure.

Personally I made a conscious choice to get off the beaten path. It has not been easy to create this kind of flexibility in my work life which enables me to actually have a life. It is my work that enables my life, don't get me wrong. I live a comfortable life. But it is not a king-size life. It is a medium-size life. I live in a medium size apartment with a reasonable home loan. I drive a reasonably new car but one that allows me to be free from dependence on public transport or finicky drivers. I make less money. I try to put more life into my years. I want to have some reserves of time and energy with me when a chance to explore new avenues for personal development come my way. I want to be available when someone seeks my advice or wants my physical support. I don't want to let the moments speed by when I am immersed in getting through excruciating work pressure.

People talk of working hard till an arbitrary year in the future at which time they will actively pursue the life they always wanted. Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans, said John Lennon. I don't know how long I will live. And as I look at my frail father, a shell of his old self at age 80, I wonder if I will be able to live an exciting life later. Better to live a full life now. And to do that, I needed to create time. So I try to work less, live more. If that makes me a loser in the eyes of the corporate types, so be it.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Do something

A common refrain amongst NRIs when they visit India, is to exhort the resident Indians to "do something". It could be anything that is perceived as being sub-optimal or downright intolerable - heat, air conditioning, traffic, pollution, noise, inefficiency, lack of discipline and on and on goes the list. It seems simple enough for a transient visitor to point out the lack and place the responsibility onto people who live here all the time. I find this stance not just annoying but supremely idiotic. Let me get this straight - I live here 365 days a year. I inhale the automobile exhaust, deal with inordinate delays at most places of business, I brave the summer heat and the malfunctioning air conditioning, all the time. I try to get on with my life. In fact, I find that I have a pretty wonderful and satisfying life on most days, despite this chaos. But here comes a tourist, who once held an Indian passport, and now finds the whole scene unbearable, even for a short time.

Here come the million-dollar answer to the oft-repeated question of "Why don't you do something about this?"

Who should do something here? The person who has a life in India in spite of the obvious difficulties, the one who can live happily amidst all the uncertainties? I don't think so. I think the one who needs to "do something" is the one who has graduated to living in a rarefied space and changed to such an extent that what was once everyday life is now a terrible tragedy. I think the visitors needs to do something; about their attitude.

Let us look at the simple situation of "road rage" - traffic woes that add to the already stressed individual's limited capacity for dealing with adversity. Majority of people who find themselves stuck in traffic find ways of dealing with their anger and channeling their frustration while they inch along to their destination. But a few totally lose it and have the equivalent of a toddler's tantrum on the road. Who needs to do something here? The person with road rage or the others who are at the mercy of the lunatic? It is a rhetorical question, so no need to answer.

Coming back to the issue of doing something about all the ills of Indian society, I agree that there is much that can be done. Much more than what one individual can possibly do in a lifetime. But there is something each one of us can do. We can pick a cause or causes close to our heart and try to change the system, from within. Not by pointing an accusing finger to highlight what is wrong, but by putting out a helping hand to those who need it. It is easy to get dejected by the magnitude of things that could use sweeping reform. But every journey starts with a step.

I try to do something. It may not amount to much. But when I teach at the college, I try to instill a work ethic among students that breeds honesty, respect for others and sense of pride in work that is done sincerely, instead of thirsting for marks or degrees. I help out financially to those deserving individuals who cross my path. I always take calls from those who seek career guidance. I feed biscuits to little kids who beg at traffic lights and stray dogs that seem to need a snack. I can't be Mother Theresa. I can't save the world. But I can act in my little way. Perhaps India will not transform in my lifetime, but it helps me to know that I am doing something.

But I did not say all this to the person to quipped "Do something". I felt it was better to say nothing than do nothing.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Minimum requirements

I have had a discussion with a few friends lately about the topic of intense competition that turns both college-age children and their parents into emotional wrecks. For the majority who chase impossible odds to get into prestigious institutions like IIT, anything less turns into the first major failure of their young lives, perhaps scarring them forever. For the minority who are asked to choose a career of their liking, the choice is even harder because the path to a fulfilling work life is not laid out like a step by step recipe, particularly if you veer away from the path of "doctor" or "engineer". A few loaded parents then resort to sending their children overseas by paying a heavy price.

I am not sure what Aparna plans to do, considering that we will soon have to pick a path. I am wary of the mind-numbing rat race to become one among a million engineers and doctors, all of whom come out of colleges with degrees, but not an education. A broad exposure at the junior college (plus two) stage might open more avenues but it seems like a child is doomed to decide by the time they are 15 whether they want to pursue a scientific or arts curriculum without truly being given a chance to explore. How about sending her to the US, asked a friend? There is better all-round exposure with more time built into the system to decide a major.

In my mind, to send your teenage child abroad, away from your watchful gaze, to independently pursue a college education requires fulfillment of three minimum criteria - money, motivation and maturity. The first one, I will have to cough up. Even if I don't have the necessary amount, I think that is still something that can be arranged. Motivation lies solely in the child's court. How eager and willing to work is the child? Will she focus on the goal i.e. get an education, without being distracted by the freedom and fancy lifestyle? Will she reach deep into her own reserves of values, courage and resourcefulness to survive and thrive in an unfamiliar environment? That depends a lot on maturity, the third criterion. Whose job is it to be responsible? The child's of course. But it is possible that there is a difference in the maturity levels of two children of the same age. Why? I believe that a child's maturity level is a function of two factors, the child's inherent nature and also the parent's approach. I am not sure how I have fared in my part but I have always tried to push the onus of decision-making on Aparna, to let her practice her skills in a variety of situations - should she study or watch TV? birthday party or Blue Cross? pizza or fruit? She doesn't always make the choice that I would like her to but it's OK. The more she decides and takes responsibility for those choices, this iterative approach should help hone her skills. Will it make her more mature? I don't know.

But we have a couple of years to check it out. And then we will decide. About college.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Role reversal

"Let me see what you are planning to wear to school", she said. "Make sure you are not late," she continued. Finally with an admonishment to "be good", Aparna left to board the school bus. I was supposed to leave a few minutes later to reach her school. A teacher had called two days earlier to request me to be a judge at a debate competition in the school. I agreed. All weekend Aparna alternated between excitement at the prospect and worry at any potential embarrassment caused by my presence at her school.

I had been invited twice previously. Unfortunately I had declined both times due to work conflicts. Aparna was convinced I would never again be invited. That explained the extreme thrill at the impending visit to her school. It was interesting to see the role reversal as she became the mother, echoing words that I have said to her many times before. "Don't be late. Be safe (implying, be sensible). Be good."

The seventh and eighth grade students spoke eloquently on the topic of child labor, making their points clearly and confidently. I was asked to say a few words and then announce the winners. I did my part and stepped out, escorted by a couple of teachers. I saw her then. Peeping into the room to see what I was upto. We exchanged a few words and I left.

Later she confessed that she was "proud" of me. A friend asked her "Why did they ask your Mom?". "Because she is awesome", Aparna replied. "And why is she awesome?" came the prompt response. "Because she is MY mother." With these words, Aparna made my day. Just as a few words of praise go a long way to raise a child's esteem, the same applies in reverse order as well. Motherhood is a long haul job with few opportunities for positive feedback. Today was such a day. By her words, Aparna acknowledged my role in her life; not by my "awesomeness" but by her confidence in her own sense of self.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Touch

There is no doubt that we have five senses (perhaps a sixth one as well for some). Different ways to experience the world we live in. Sight, smell, hearing, taste and feel. My comprehension of my world begins primarily with my eyes. I listen so I may speak appropriate words. I inhale the scent of the air around me. I appreciate the flavor of food. And I touch, so I may feel.

Somewhere along the way, I thought the senses were mutually exclusive for the most part. I know people who can't see but can hear. I know hearing impaired people with an acute olfactory sense. Of course there is an exception with food. I read somewhere that when we eat, we first eat with our eyes, then take in the aroma, hear the sizzle of hot food and then feel the texture in our mouth before we get to the taste. Pretty complex stuff huh?

What I did not know until recently was that we can also use one sense to understand something typically associated with another sense. Confused?

Read the following lines of beautiful poetry by Javed Akhtar, featured in the movie Zindagi Na Milege Dobara

Jab jab dard ka baadal chaya
Jab ghum ka saya lehraya
Jab aansoo palkon tak aya
Jab yeh tanha dil ghabraya

Humne dil ko yeh samjhaya
…Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai
Duniya mein yunhi hota hai

Yeh jo gehre sannate hain
Waqt ne sabko hi baante hain
Thoda ghum hai sabka qissa
Thodi dhoop hai sabka hissa
Aankh teri bekaar hi nam hai
Har pal ek naya mausam hai
Kyun tu aise pal khota hai
Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai


I felt a pang when I read it. I was using my eyes but hearing the words in my head. But I was left with the feeling that something had touched me, the predominant emotion was of "touch" - not sight, not hearing. Strange I thought.

Then I came across a wonderful collection of Sufi songs. Some were songs that I had seen in movies. But there was one from an album. I played the CD on my laptop and went to the kitchen to fix dinner. As the notes tumbled out, I actually felt a powerful force drawing me back to the laptop from where the speakers were doing a great job of amplifying the music. I could hear it from the kitchen, but the power pulling me was not for audible clarity, it was a power telling me to stop doing anything else, compelling me to halt, and just be. Not comprehend, not memorize, not repeat. Just be. The words eluded me but the tune stayed. The tug at my heart (not brain) came from not just the poignancy of the voice but from a deeper connection with the melody. I was touched.

I am amazed at myself for experiencing feelings through my other senses. Ability to see and hear can be quantified by measurement. Smell is a tricky one, it can become tolerant or weak or sensitive, something that can be gauged qualitatively. Taste of course, while being subjective, can be classified too. But how do we express our ability to feel? Is it just the response to a physical stimulus on skin? Is it a sensation, of pleasure, or pain or plain numbness? Our ability to feel depends not just on the number of nerve endings per square inch of skin. It is in our openness to receive, our sensitivity to perceive beyond the obvious, to be open to new and inexplicable situations. As I age, I find that I am not doing so well on some measurable parameters for certain senses, but what fills me with hope is that I am refining my sense of touch. I feel more now than when I lived in the obvious world of sensory overload. I now stop and appreciate things. With my participation, I feel more alive. Perhaps growing old has its rewards.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Thought-provoking words

I read a wonderful article in The Hindu magazine section this weekend. It was an opinion about Apple's "Think Different" ad campaign, a phenomenally successful promotion of Apple products that led to the rebirth of the company in 1997 and continued to run till 2002 taking not just the products but the company and its founders to iconic status.
A link to the article is provided below.
http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-sundaymagazine/article2602615.ece

After a long time, I have come across an article that compelled me to write to the author to appreciate not just the thoughts on the topic but for the compelling articulation of his stance. It is writing that is clear, easy to read and difficult to ignore. Although the author feels strongly about the subject and lets us know his stance unambiguously, he argues the case without being judgmental about the majority who may think otherwise. The flow is smooth, the narrative taut and the logic faultless. It is not a tirade against the status quo but a sharp voicing of opinion that shatters the haze through we which normally operate. It made me sit up and read the words again. I stopped and mulled over the content. I talked about it with friends. I sent out the link via email to those who I thought would appreciate it.

Good writing should do all that. Make you read and re-read. Inspire thinking. Stimulate discussion. Energize into action. A writer by no means is an activist but he wields a mighty weapon, the pen that brings form to his deepest thoughts. And through that channel of creativity, writers can become agents of change. Change demands movement towards something new, away from the ordinary, off the beaten track or in one word, different.

Let me take this time to salute all those writers who indeed "think different".

Monday, November 7, 2011

Clarity confounded

I was watching the movie "Paa" this weekend. I had watched it once before. For a movie with a poignant theme, it is a remarkably unsentimental movie. The characters are strong and well-etched, the story clear on its priorities, the actors at the top of their craft. There is a memorable scene where Vidya confesses her pregnancy to her mother and the only question she asks is "Do you want this baby?". Vidya haltingly replies only to be confronted with the same question from her mother. Again. And again. Until Vidya admits that she wants to have the baby.

It is a powerful scene. Succinct. With no melodrama or weeping histrionics on the parts of the characters. Beauty of the scene lies in communicating just one thing - is Vidya clear on what she wants? Baby or not? The rest can be taken care of, whether that deals with society's perception of an unwed mother or the practical aspect of single-parenting. I was struck by the simple yet persistent question that brings clarity to the heart of the problem. Solution then meekly follows suit.

How often in life do we get befuddled by an issue that stumps us? It may be a new situation or an ongoing one. Something that needs attention now or something that needs to be mulled over. Like the fable about the old man, his grandson and the donkey, we don't know whose advice to take. Should the old man ride the donkey or should the child be given a ride? Different people voice different opinions. Following one or the other seems to cause discomfort to one section of the populace. In frustration finally it is the donkey that is hitched onto the shoulders for a ride!

Seeking advice is a good thing to do when you are in a dilemma. Finding the right advisor for the right problem is an art in itself. But regardless of the wisdom of the well-wisher, we know deep down that the key to our problem lies within us. When too many thoughts swirl around causing turmoil, we are unable to see clearly in the sandstorm. But clarity lies within, not outside. It requires a journey inwards. A mentor can guide us on such a journey but wiping away the muck to view the issue with clarity is something we must do ourselves. Perhaps the best way is to ask ourselves that pesky but pertinent question repeatedly. It will first cause an uncomfortable churn, then an impulse to run away or shove it away to the back. But when we dig deep, we will find the way to the clear stream of water underground. And then rest of the obstacles, real and imagined will fall away.

From clarity arises purposeful action. Action that is sustained and right. But we need to also act first, act to find the clarity.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Be careful what you wish for.....

Wishing while blowing out the candle on your birthday cake, wishing while tossing a coin in a fountain, wishing on a fallen eyelash, so many opportunities to make a wish. So many reminders to stop and contemplate something that you long for and want in your life. We assume that the wishes accompanying these rituals are good ones, initiating the creation of happy experiences and memorable events. So we consciously create a thought. And many of these come true.

What about those thoughts that remind us of our fears? Our inadequacies? Our potential losses? Those don't count as wishes; they are our terrors, things that we don't want to contemplate, things we wish would not happen. But so often we find that these have come true as well. How can that be possible? These are not "good thoughts" that require manifestation. Surely it is not me who has created them? Or is it?

I often think about many of my wishes that have come true. It is great to admit that I have created in my life, experiences and events that took shape in my head long before they assumed form in reality. I like to take the credit for making them come true. But quite often, these wishes have also brought other things into my life, logical consequences of making room for the wishes, that have given life to my fears as well. When my daughter was born, I continued to work. I enjoyed being a mother and a good employee. But life was hard. My child was in daycare, fell sick periodically and grew up while I was busy juggling all the priorities. I wished to be a financially-independent career woman, but my fear was that I would not enjoy time with my child. Both my wish (for meaningful work and motherhood) and fear (of child not getting enough of my attention)came into being simultaneously.

There are many such examples where people have had to face the fears that they avoided confronting. The woman who gave up working after marriage but worried about the family's financial security with one income. When her husband suddenly passed away, she had to face the very fear that she had shoved to the back of her mind while making a choice years ago. The man who worried about his child getting a serious infection and did his best to protect him from common causes but had to confront a life-threatening brain infection for his grown-up child due to unknown causes.

What makes fears come true? Is it an evil, malevolent energy, different from the benign positive energy that shrouds a wish? As the years go by, I am convinced that there is no difference in the energies that enable both our wishes and fears from coming into existence. When we put our attention on something, that "something" is bound to grow. If we work peacefully, good things happen. When we worry, we send immensely powerful energy to that very thing we are trying to avoid and that grows too. Fears and wishes are both products of our mind. A powerful tool for creation. The two are linked, sometimes we see one side of the coin, sometimes we the other. Sometimes we see the object and sometimes the reflection.

The fulfillment of every wish comes with its attendant changes. We want only the good and resist the consequences. Perhaps that's why Mother Theresa said "More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones."

So should we wish at all? Good question.

I strongly feel one SHOULD wish, but as they say, Be careful what you wish for, it may just come true.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Life lessons - counting blessings


I came across my "autograph book" last week. It is a small 3" X 5" book with pages bearing a flowery design. This is a book which bears messages from my friends in Class X at my all-girls school in Mumbai. The messages are mostly mushy, some corny and unabashedly sentimental. They talk about friendship and togetherness, memories and motivation. Some teachers have written in it too. The "khadoos" nun who taught mathematics was also the principal of the school. Her words to me were "the greatest mathematics to master in life is the one that enables us to count our blessings." At that time I remember thinking "how typical, she writes about math even in this book."

But today I see the meaning behind those words. As humans we like to keep score, no matter how poorly we fare in mathematics in school. We are constantly tallying what others have, how much they make, how many bedrooms in their mansion, what make are the cars in the neighbors garage, whether their kids got into IIT, where was the holiday destination of relatives. We talk of ROIs and EMIs. We calculate mileage for the car, square footage price for the house and percentage of raise for the salary. We estimate run rate to ensure victory in cricket matches. We watch the SENSEX graph slide down and gold prices skyrocket. Even the most pathetic math student does quite well in real life. We truly master practical math, not the stuff taught from textbooks in school.

How often do we apply the same approach to the other stuff in our life? When would you value health? Not until you lose. How would you quantify your wealth? In terms of having much more than you can imagine or always having what you need available to you. How do you classify friends? Can you calculate a happiness quotient? Can we put a number for satisfaction? Freedom? But are these not valuable? Perhaps not amenable to mathematical manipulation but important indicators of quality of life. Not everything in life is measurable and quantifiable. Items that fall in this category are blessings. If we learn to count the blessings, we master spiritual mathematics. I don't know where my math teacher is today, but I thank her for covering topics other than the exam portion and for opening my mind to subjects other than what was prescribed by the syllabus.

Life lessons - being yourself

At age 5, Aparna really loved the show about Clifford, the big red dog. In one endearing episode, a key character feels that dogs have a great life and imagines life as a dog. Of course, he soon finds out the disadvantages of being a four-legged creature in a man's world and soon appreciates his real self.

On our morning ride to school, she asked me if I had ever wanted to be someone else, probably hoping for an amusing answer about another creature from the animal species. I had not entertained such fantasies. But I honestly replied that I had quite often wished that I had been a boy. Why? Because I had two brothers and I thought that life was more fun for boys, I replied. She seriously considered my response and then gravely observed, "If you had been a boy, you could never have been my Mommy."

What an astonishing insight! She had no idea about the difficulties I had encountered on my way to attaining motherhood. But she had somehow intuitively tapped into what I considered was my greatest achievement, one which I could not have attained had I been granted my wish of being male. So often we think life would be better if something could change, if we had the advantages available to another, if there were privileges in our possession, tangible benefits that would improve the quality of our lives. But nothing gives more joy than being true to our own selves. Once we accept who we are, with the attendant benefits and baggage, we are able to live life more fully, joyously. And sometimes it takes a little one to point out the larger lesson.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Life lessons

There is a best-selling book out there titled "All I need to know I learned in kindergarten". I have not read it but I am sure it offers something of value for all the readers who made it a bestseller. But just going by title alone, I find it hard to believe that a lifetime of learning can be crammed into the first 5 years of life. Perhaps I am a slow student but I know one thing, I am still learning. Everyday. From likely and unlikely sources. Not just teachers, leaders or elders but from every new interaction, every experience, every person I meet.

Teaching does not always happen only in a classroom. Learning does not happen only from professors. For a parent, a child is perhaps the best teacher. My daughter has certainly been the one for me. I have been smart enough to acknowledge the insights she has shown me in situations I have been through many times before, blundering through my days alike a bull in a china shop.

Here is what I learnt from her when she was 3 years old:
One busy morning as I was rushing through a list of errands, she spotted a snail moving across our path. She wanted to stop and watch it reach its destination - the lush grass on the other side. I left her to watch the show and moved on towards the stairs leading to our apartment. She bent down, deeply engrossed in observing the brown shell slide across the cobbled path. Careful not to impede its movement, she stayed far enough to watch but close enough to appreciate a miraculous moment in nature.

In that moment, she learnt about snails. And I learnt to stop and watch at least one of the many beautiful moments that each day brings into our hectic life. With many more of these moments that we have shared in the last 14 years, I now know that I have a teacher in my life who constantly amazes me.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Aleph - Book Review


Imagine an autobiography of a person who lived 500 years ago. A love story with a violent end. A narrative that stopped abruptly. A tale left resolved. Then imagine, completing that story today. Bringing a logical climax to what began centuries ago. When the story is Paulo Coelho's own journey, the book that he writes becomes "Aleph".

It is difficult to review autobiographies in general. When such books hold reader interest, it is usually because the author has lived an interesting life. No amount of salvaging by clever writing can cover a boring story. In Paulo Coelho's case, he is a man who has earned his fame by writing a particular genre of books that have been phenomenally successful all over the world, through translations. The strong spiritual bent of his words come from his own experiences in this lifetime. But here he goes into new territory. He tells the story of his journey to resolve something from a past life. He embarks on a travel across Russia by train, 9288 kilometers on the Trans-Siberian railroad. He is compelled to travel in order to renew himself and progress on his spiritual path. He encounters the fascinating Yao, a seventy year old man of Chinese origin but with exposure to Brazil and Japan, all of which makes him a perfect companion and translator for Paulo. But it is Hilal, the young Russian girl of Turkish descent who is the long-lost love from 500 years ago that Paulo must not only bear but also learn from, the one that will give him an opportunity to redeem himself.

The story is long and complex but written in Paulo Coelho's easy style. Even the esoteric concept of the "Aleph" - the point in the Universe that contains all other points, present and past, large and small, is explained in simple terms though one can only imagine the experience of being in the Aleph that brings the faraway past into current consciousness. There are exquisite insights offered by various people including Yao, the shaman and Hilal. I kept going back to passages that held me under the sway of not just the words but of the essence captured in them.

The Aleph is a heavy book to read. But for it to work on you, you need to be in the right frame of mind, just as Paulo Coelho needed to be in order to experience the Aleph.

Sisterhood

We sat in the garden in the warm afternoon sunshine. A group of seven women, some meeting each other for the first time, others having been friends for decades, classmates or neighbors. As each one entered, introductions were made and we settled into an easy banter. Surprisingly, there were no questions of "What do you do?" or even "how do you know each other?" We sipped a cold drink and watched the butterflies flirt around the flowers. The sun hid under a cloud. And then one woman started singing, a haunting romantic melody. Another joined in. A third filled in the words when the others hesitated. All of us traveled into another mood, the singers and listeners alike. There was laughter at lunch. The paan-making session included freshly-cut paan from the backyard filled with all the ingredients and professionally assembled to resemble the store-made variety. More songs filled the air. It was a heavenly afternoon spent at ease in the house of a relative stranger, amidst friends, in an atmosphere that I can only describe as "sisterhood".

There was a time when I lamented the fact that I did not have a sister. God had kindly sent me two wonderful brothers to start me off in my journey of life where many lessons were learnt and social skills practiced within the safe confines of home. I enjoyed all my interactions with my siblings, the intellectual sparring, the rough-housing and the constant teasing that is common when children are closely-spaced. But I missed having a sister to giggle with. Perhaps an older one would have enlightened me about puberty, boys, co-ed college life. Or a younger one would have shared nail-polish and swapped stories of her first crush. I wondered if we would share clothes or bicker endlessly or have constant comparison contests. I hoped we would grow up to be close and share womanly tales and family times, as only sisters can. But I would never know. I was the only girl sandwiched between boisterous brothers.

Only recently did I realize that you do not need a biological sister to experience sisterhood. I have been generously blessed with girlfriends (or is it women-friends?) who have been like sisters to me. What else do I call the bond I share with a colleague who took me in when I had no place to live? The Moms who share carpool duty as the kids get ferried across town? The young mother of a toddler who is the same size as my teenage daughter and kindly lent her clothes for a one-off formal event? The elderly aunty who checks in every hour to make sure Aparna is OK when I ask her to keep an eye if I am out of the house while Aparna stays home? The Chinese colleague at my previous job with whom I shared the painful stories of my infertility so that she could deal with hers? My American colleague who helped me find dependable daycare for 3-month old Aparna more than a decade ago in sunny California, the one who still keeps tabs on Aparna on Facebook? The one whose daughter actually uses Aparna's outgrown clothes because they fit and the child hates shopping? The many women who have helped maintain my household while I work? The ones who enabled me to get on the path of spirituality?

There is so much we share - work, words, woes, wonder. There are so many shared memories as we all move together on our respective journeys, stopping to appreciate the moments that intersect. A hug, a pat, a helping hand. A kiss, a compliment, a little gift. A ride, a smile, an inspiring story. This is what sisterhood is about. Sharing, giving, receiving but above all being there. It may not be the same sister who sees you through your entire life, but there is always one to get you across. When in doubt look around. You will find a sister, willing to share your story. And if you don't; call me.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Gender barriers

I found myself parked on the roadside yesterday, with a flat tire. For a few minutes I was stuck immobile. In all the years that I have been driving my car, both in the US and more recently in India, it was truly the first time that I was by myself when it happened. I know the fundamentals of changing tires but had never done it. I got out and looked at the sad state of the rear tire. I looked around. A bearded man in a navy blue sherwani was fixing similar tires in a small shop on the opposite side of the road. I walked over and asked him to take a look. He proceeded with the work at hand, a scooter tire, followed by a motorcycle one, with no sense of urgency, much like a doctor with a waiting room full of patients, everyone is sick and miserable, what is the rush?

I spoke to Shyamala about options as I waited. The verdict on the tubeless tire was that it was damaged due to driving some distance after deflation. I asked him to load the spare tire which he completed efficiently. There seemed to be repair options but I was not sure if this was the right place to get it done. I paid him and went to the location suggested by Shyamala where after a couple of discussions a decision to fix and load the "repaired" tire was taken. It took over an hour from the initial observation of the flat to the restoration of the original tires so that I could head home. I had spent time outside greasy repair shops, interacted with mechanics and made decisions about the well-being of my car on my own.

It was the first time that I had dealt with automobile issues, a subject typically handled by men, not because of inherent knowledge in these matters but because in the great gender debate, men are often saddled with roles just because they are men. While men have proven themselves in the kitchen (if you don't believe me, just look at the contestants on cooking shows), it is possible that women can handle electrical and mechanical matters just as well as their male counterparts. It is a matter of application of the same approach you normally use for solving any problem; look at the situation, available resources, possible options and choose the one that works best in the best current circumstances.

I felt very proud of myself for handling the situation well, felt macho actually. But there was still a little voice inside me that kept repeating "You should have checked the tire pressure. Haven't I been asking you to do that for the last two weeks?" Perhaps I should continue listening to my feminine intuition also.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Left Vs Right


For the past few days, there seems to be a phrase that keeps cropping up repeatedly in various conversations. Just two days back I was attending a motivational talk at a college and the accomplished speaker was drawing attention to thinking patterns by describing left brain vs right brain thinking. I had been trying to identify whether I approach life as a strict left-brained person considering I have pursued higher education in a scientific field which requires data, logic and reasoning. And whether such precise, data-driven methods always bring me to the right solution. Would I or should I try the intuitive, gut-feeling, right-brained approach followed by creative people?

It is tough to choose one path and categorize yourself into one or the other category, after all, I do have both parts of my brain functioning reasonably well, I think, even if I prefer one hemisphere to the other. So I looked up the subject on the definitive source of information on mind-boggling matters - Google. I came across multiple choice tests with quantitative scores to categorize me. Surprisingly, these mathematical approaches were featured on websites of institutes offering creative courses in the arts. A rotating picture of a dancer is also supposed to be a valid predictor of "right-brainness" depending on whether you perceive her to be rotating clock-wise or anti-clockwise. Newspaper websites seemed to have this link. Since my logical mind tried both the exam approach and the visual test approach, I am happy to report that I am left-brained as per my test score but right-brained as per the dancer. Huh?

What do I do now? The tests can't be incorrect? Google can't be infallible? Looks like my intellectual ability has slipped between the cracks of the two hemispheres! I tried to think of past situations where I have used historical data to come to logical conclusions that served me well. While there are many examples of those, it turned out that there were enough examples of situations where I followed my gut instinct without much documented support and that took me on interesting paths as well. I think we all do that. Tap into our available resources to find answers to issues that need solving. We have a complete brain and the smart thing to do is to use it fully, appropriately and finally be OK with the consequences of choices made with the head (left-brain) or heart (right-brain). While the two may differ sometimes when thrown the same question, one thing is clear. Stay away from putting yourself in a box with a label that does not completely suit you.

My dominant way of thinking may be left-brained but it is also the one that is now supporting my endeavors to try creative pursuits that exercise my right-brain.

One year

It suddenly dawned on me that I have spent a year in my "new" home. I moved into my apartment exactly a year ago. While I was excited at the prospect of finally having some square footage to call my own, I dreaded the change. I had spent 5 years at the previous address. I knew the milkman, the newspaper boy and had a good support system which enabled the household to run smoothly. I could tell what time it was by Buddy's barks on his morning walk. In the evenings, inevitably, my old neighbor of indeterminable age would sit at her doorstep, observing the comings and goings. On Tuesdays, the park across would be filled with kids on roller-skates. I was close to tears when the moving truck pulled out of the gate with my belongings.

It took a while to find a place for everything and to get everything into its new place. Moving from a large duplex house to an apartment is no easy task. I thought I had given up and given away a lot of my belongings in the weeks prior to the move. But I found out how much more baggage I had when several boxes stubbornly sat in the living room, refusing to move unless a proper space was found for its contents.

But things settled down. There were only 10 occupants in the building. The neighbors across helped provide contact information for the milkman and newspaper boy. Aunty negotiated with the maid on my behalf while Uncle befriended my father and later provided breakfast on days I had to travel early in the morning. The new school bus route brought new friends for Aparna and gave an extra fifteen minutes of sleep each morning. We now had two parking spots in the cellar, elevators and backup power. There weren't too many shops nearby though necessities like a medical shop, Xerox machine and a kirana store were within a reasonable walking distance.

Then came Diwali. Fairly quiet and dark. You could tell how many families lived here by counting the diyas in the balconies. A small gathering was organized for New Year's eve. About 50 families celebrated Holi. The swimming pool was full of people in May. The elections for the committee took place in June. And over 60 families stood together to hoist the flag on 15 August. We sang Jana Gana Mana and Vande Mataram to mark the first function celebrated by the Executive Committee. We welcomed Lord Ganesha with a grand 5-day celebration. And this Dasera, there is 90% occupancy.

I have made several new friends. Some like me, have moved within the city while others have relocated from other metros, following lucrative job offers from the booming local economy. I have new members in my support system. I buy vegetables from the Rhythu Bazaar truck that brings fresh produce every Tuesday morning. I slow down as I drive over speed-bumps and watch for little kids playing in the driveway. I walk around the building each night after dinner, savoring the cool breeze that sometimes blows me away. I know the old Uncles who also walk at this time. I see Goldy out for her night walk and stroke her golden coat as she runs towards me with a small bark of recognition.

I am once again comfortable. Comfort comes not from being in "my place" but by making this place "mine".

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Dash in the Dark

The corridor was dark as we locked the door and moved towards the elevator. The security guards slept on chairs just inside the gate, the bedsheets covering their faces. We pulled up to the gate and turned off the ignition. In a few minutes, Aparna's friends appeared and quietly got into the car. Daylight stealthily advanced on us as we sped on the Outer Ring Road towards the school. The girls discussed possible exam questions as they geared up for the early morning examination. A stream of cars poured into the uneven parking lot and dropped off students at the gate. The medley of colorful outfits that walked sleepily into the school building made it looked more like a morning party than an exam day.

Parents sheepishly pulled out of the parking lot, looking a little guilty as if they had committed a crime in broad daylight. We had received word from teachers asking us to bring the children to school to take their exams which had been postponed by more than 2 weeks. School buses would not ply. We had to arrange for transport ourselves. So we planned to carpool and I had to take the early morning drop-off slot.

The current state of school closure in Hyderabad following the agitation for a separate Telangana state has made the pursuit of education an undercover operation. There seems to be no end to the fear mentality that has pervaded school managements. It is one thing to accommodate a couple of exams at an unearthly hour but what about regular school schedules? When do we put the children back on track? Do we even care about how this impacts children of all ages, not just the children in higher classes who have board exams and competitive tests lined up? Putting education as an "essential" service does not seen to feature in the minds of politicians who are busy safeguarding their positions and tenures. Already normal life has been thrown out of gear on a variety of levels, whether it is public transport, road and rail safety and other administrative problems that are piling up.

I wonder what will be left for the inheritors of the new state, if it comes up - stones and ashes, a lethargic workforce, a ruined economy and a younger generation that does not know what the next day holds in store for them.

While we wait for things to sort themselves out, I know what I will be doing tomorrow. Engaging in another undercover operation with "Project Sunrise Carpool".

Friday, October 7, 2011

The Last Lecture - some thoughts


There are books that you buy, books that are gifted to you, books borrowed from the library and books passed on through generations. Then there are books that mysteriously appear in your life. "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch was one such book that appeared in my bookshelf. I was dusting the books one morning and I found this "The No.1 Bestseller" on the second shelf. I have no memory of buying it or receiving it (or stealing it!). So I figured that it was in my hands for a reason - for me to read it NOW.

Normally authors write books and then go on a promotional tour. In this case, the author, Randy Pausch, a professor at Carnegie Mellon University, gave his "Last Lecture" at the University. It was a fun and poignant lecture since Pausch had been told he had only 3-6 months to live after detection of pancreatic cancer. He was 47 years old. The lecture became a huge hit with millions of viewers seeing it on the internet which then became a reason to put his inspiring words into a book with the help of Jeffrey Zaslow. The book is now a major bestseller and continues to influence people 3 years after the death of the author.

The book begins with Pausch making an unlikely statement "I won the parent lottery" referring to his good luck at being born to parents who brought him up with the right values and support to help him move ahead in life while keeping him firmly grounded. The speech was about achieving your childhood dreams. For Pausch it included experiencing zero gravity, playing football and being a Disney imagineer among others. In a self-deprecating humorous narration, Pausch tells us the stories of how achieved (or did not achieve) all the dreams but shares the lessons he learned while pursuing them. He tells stories of his teachers, mentors and students who he has enabled to achieve their own dreams. In a non-preachy manner we get nuggets of wisdom which were either passed on him, or are cliches that work or gems that he has gleaned from his experiences.

All the humor comes with an underlying tone of sadness but at no point do we feel "you poor thing" for Pausch. All that comes through is his earnest wish to pass on a part of what he feels are lessons for his 3 young children who will not have a father as they grow up, to the larger audience that he is ostensibly addressing in his last speech. So the speech is really about "how to live your life".

I went on to watch the Youtube speech after finishing the book and it is easy to see why the speech has been so phenomenally successful. Pausch is handsome, persuasive and completely in control. The amazing optimism and sense of awe and gratitude for his life is clearly evident in his narration as well as the tremendous passion for life and family.

Should you read "The Last Lecture"? Absolutely yes. If you are not a reader, watch the video.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Growing Circle


It is the time of year when I follow one family tradition. During Navratri, I keep the traditional display of dolls, a custom prevalent in Tamil Nadu. I grew up in Mumbai and after a longish stint in the USA, I am now a Hyderabadi. But traditions stay the way they are because they get transported across not just state borders and geographical limits but across generations as well.

The collection in my annual display is eclectic. It has clay and porcelain dolls from my grandmother that are over 50 years old, miniature brass ans steel utensils from my mother, local Kondapalli toys bought by me, plastic Barney and Winnie the Pooh from Aparna's toddler years, terracota Ganesha's from Pondicherry artisans and a mish-mash of souvenirs from places visited including a bamboo basket from the recent holiday in Shillong. While there is an overarching religious significance to this ritual, for me it has been more of a social ritual. I am not a party animal. I seldom have hordes of people visiting me at one time. But I invite friends to visit during these nine days. Mostly the women and children show up. I make a little snack along with the prasad and give age-appropriate gifts to those who come.

Coincidentally this year the festival marked the one-year anniversary of my occupation of my new apartment. So I invited friends who had been visitors in previous years but I also had new people on my list - my new neighbors. Shweta came with little Yogya, who did not mess the display but quietly destroyed the rangoli outside the door. Little Snigdha did not come but her grandmother came and I struggled to keep a conversation going in Telugu. Anjali appreciated not just the display but other parts of the apartment as well since it was her first visit. My cousin's kids had a great time identifying objects and animals. Shyamala is not a neighbor but a new friend who I met hardly a few weeks ago. Priyanka and I got friendly after she opened a book store near my old home. Shailaja,Radha and Prabha come every year.

It struck me that I had built a substantial network of friends in Hyderabad. As I thought about the years in the US and the friends who would come over then, I realized that I have always made friends in each of the places I have lived. It felt to good to count my blessings in terms of the friendly bonds that I have with so many people. The festivals give us a chance to renew links, to share joy to spend time on what is important. While it may seem like a little extra work, it is worthwhile to keep growing the circle of friends, making new ones and nurturing the old. Long live tradition!

Monday, October 3, 2011

Fifth gear

"Please pick up your ward at 8.00 a.m. sharp at the airport." The SMS appeared on my phone at 3.45 a.m. It was Sunday morning and the school excursion group was returning from a week-long visit to Rajasthan. I had decided to drive down by myself to the airport, something I had not done previously. At 7 a.m. I was speaking to Shyamala about the airport parking logistics and she pointed out that I should probably be on my way right now. She was right. The airport is 35 km from my home. But I pottered about the house some more, read the paper while I sipped my morning cup of tea. I pulled my car from its spot at 7.30 a.m.

The Outer Ring Road (ORR) leads straight to the airport. It is a road I take frequently on my many trips outside Hyderabad. But I always take a cab. I have seen the transformation of this grand stretch of highway after the inauguration of Shamshabad airport at all times of day and night. I have boarded domestic and international flights, arrived in blindingly hot summer afternoons and rainy evening thunderstorms. I have seen the many detours that sprung as parts of the road were constructed and then pieced together like toy train tracks. I have seen the beautiful rocks of the region reduced to rubble and heard the dynamite blasting away the hillocks. Today, there is a gorgeous wide blacktop road with 4 lanes on each side that cuts across a dense urban jungle and runs beside the lake as it traverses small settlements to end in the ultra-modern glass and metal facade of the Rajiv Gandhi airport.

I got onto the ORR and changed gears as my car happily picked up speed until I finally engaged the fifth. All the lanes belonged to me. At that time of the morning, only a few cars dotted the road ahead. I passed a green Meru cab and Maruti 800. I leisurely surveyed the surroundings - no honks, no brakes, no sudden swerves. The speedometer showed 110 km. I noticed for the first time that my dashboard speedometer has markings till 240 km! I routinely drove at speeds above 65 miles an hour when I drove in the US. But just getting into fifth is such a rare occurrence while driving in Hyderabad. It was absolutely exhilarating to be in control of the car, on a smooth road while heading to your destination without any stress. I relaxed. A few cars passed me. I wondered how fast they were going. And why? I turned on some music. I sang along.

Before I knew it, the airport exit came up. Time - 7.50 a.m. I reluctantly pulled into the final stretch and parked. Time - 8.00 a.m. sharp. The day had begun.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Listening

It is said that God gave us two ears, two eyes and one mouth with the intention that we will use them in the same ratio i.e. look and listen more and speak less. But most of us seem to have missed the point and perhaps talk more than necessary and definitely talk more than we listen. As children we are often asked to "listen" but the people saying the word seldom seem to do so themselves. And so we learn from what they do and not what they say. When we become adults, we too, speak more and hardly ever listen.

Listening is a skill that most communication workshops talk about a lot. It is about focusing on the words of others so that we can communicate more effectively. But I am talking about a different kind of listening, listening to yourself. That is what meditation is about. When you start quietly observing the frantic thoughts racing around your head, the thoughts get self-conscious, they pause, sometimes even come to a grinding halt. Just for a fleeting moment, the pool is still and when you peek into it, what do you see? Your own shadow, not obscured by the ripples. Similarly, when you are stuck, confused or at cross-roads, we seek the counsel of others, hoping to find a solution externally. Ignorant to the basic fact that the solution to our problem lies within us.

My experiments with meditation continue on a daily basis. Here is what happened last week. My printer was jammed with an aborted printout. I tried the only method I knew of opening the back door and pulled out the offending sheet harshly until I realized that I had ripped the paper and now one half of it was irretrievably stuck in the mysterious plastic and metal interiors. A few days passed by. I need the printer on a daily basis and it was not a good situation to be in. Before going to bed one night, I relaxed my thoughts and sent out a message to the universe asking for a simple fix to the problem. I woke up the next morning with one clear message, as though someone had whispered it to me just before awakening. "Read the manual."

I am sure even the book "How to use printers for dummies" (if there is such a book) points to the manual for troubleshooting. But I decided to do as suggested and read the manual and voila! There was no section on how to clear paper jam, in all the 8 languages in which the booklet was published. So much for divine messages! I skimmed the pages and found a diagram naming the parts with little arrows pointing to the sections. On an impulse, I pulled up on one side and lo and behold, it opened up the section where tiny curly strips of the jammed paper were clearly visible. I joyously removed the bits and expected the printer to get back on track. But the paper jam message persisted. Now that I was already looking at the innards of the printer, I felt bold enough to explore hitherto unexposed internal organs and finally located the missing paper bits. Once those were removed, my printer chugged back to life like the active 4 year old that it is.

Moral of the story - I pursue my meditation with a renewed faith in the capacity of my brain to provide me the solutions I require (not just for mundane IT stuff). All I need to do is meet the necessary condition - of listening.

Friday, September 30, 2011

2 States - Not really a review

I have done the unthinkable. I read a book by Chetan Bhagat. I had made up my mind that Chetan Bhagat writes pedestrian stuff and therefore has a huge readership. Very presumptuous of me, I think. I had no experience, just a firm opinion. And so events transpired or rather conspired to make me read "2 States". Now I can say with the authority of having read one Chetan Bhagat book - he writes pedestrian stuff and has a huge readership.

The title of the book truly echoes my 2 states of confusion. Is this a novel that is to be made into a movie or is it a movie screenplay that has be "back-written" to look like a novel? I can guarantee that the movie will be a huge success with or without Shahrukh Khan because it has all the elements of a blockbuster Bollywood tale - love story (boy meets girl), drama (parents against marriage), action (boy moves to unfamiliar part of India to woo to-be in-laws), emotion (boy hates his father), and a comedy track (provided by relatives from either side). Every stereotype of a Punjabi boy meets Tamil girl is depicted in the book (just short of Tamil teri maa, Punjabi tera baap statement). So what is unique about this story? The couple fall in love while studying at IIMA! It is a natural assumption that they should be having super high IQ but they keep doing one stupid thing after another. Not content with being in love, they decide to get married only when they are assured that both families will be smiling in the wedding pictures. So they come up with harebrained schemes to please "the other side", none of which work.

The whole narrative proves that IIMA grads are as stupid as the rest of Indians, even grads who turn out to be writers perpetuate the stereotypes of regional differences in spite of seeming superficially broadminded. Here are some examples - the girl is a Madrasi but fair (how is it possible), the madrasis are highly educated and crave knowledge (read newspapers all day) while Punjabis crave paneer and prize their milk-like complexions above all else.

Perhaps it is Bhagat's own story and each word is true but short of declaring it an autobiography, he could have imbued the story with some creativity. The story is simple and written in an easy read manner that is appealing to the masses. But there is no depth to the writing. Even as the protagonist suffers the separation from his beloved, it is difficult to feel his pain. His tongue-in-cheek narrative has a smug undertone that is grating. The solutions to his problems miraculously fall in line. The shrewd parents turn into gullible idiots when Krish Malhotra offers to coach the nerdy IIT-aspiring to-be-brother-in-law as if Brilliant tutorials does not exist. The father and mother are mere puppets as Krish charms them with his skill and charm. Similarly Ananya Swaminathan who has never cooked a meal in her life is able to twist a host of Punjabi relatives at a wedding around her little finger by taking a feminist stand. Sounds too good to be true? And so the story chugs along with a inexplicable twist, a Devdas phase for Krish and a not-so unexpected villain turning good guy at the end.A great story for a movie and I am sure it will all work out - for Bhagat and his fans. But I think I will abstain from reading other books by Bhagat.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Why I watch Masterchef Australia


Every weeknight I tune into StarWorld to watch Masterchef Australia. I look forward to the intense competition amongst the participants battling out to be Australia's next Masterchef. It is a wonderfully crafted show - fast paced, sharply edited, incredibly exciting. The participants are amateur cooks while the judges have established reputations and restaurants. It is the chance of a lifetime for the chosen ones who get to battle live on TV as team challenges, pressure tests, invention tests and elimination rounds are thrown at them. The show is smart, savvy and scrumptious. Guest chefs share recipes, compete with contestants and cook at exotic locations. The judges are tough with the tests but kind with their words, they are true mentors who love to see their proteges shine and produce delicious food. They are generous with compliments to the deserving and clear in the feedback to the unlucky ones. Being vegetarian, I sometimes balk at the exotic meat that is included in the ingredient lists, the memorable one being octopus. But I still watch to see how it all turns out.

When it is time for a contestant to be eliminated quite often they are asked their reason for participating. For most, it is a way out, a new fork in their path as they struggle with mundane jobs or dead-end career prospects. It is a chance to make a living using their passion for food. Some look at the competition as a shot to open a restaurant, publish their cookbook or get into a profitable catering business. They give up jobs, put their wedding plans on hold and spend weeks away from their families as they struggle to keep their place in the Masterchef kitchen. They all want to win. Desperately.But something strange happened today. As four contestants battled yet another elimination challenge, just before the announcement of the loser, Adam, a scuba-diving instructor stepped down and away from his shot at possibly winning the title. In a few straight from the heart words, he mentioned how he had participated to check if he loved his life. Being among people who exhibited a passion for cooking far more than his, he felt that by staying in the competition, he was taking away the chance from someone who deserved it more. His words sounded honest, spoken like a man who had just had an epiphany. He realized that the life he had, running his scuba-diving school was his first passion while cooking for friends was second. He left sooner than he had to but he returned home with the knowledge that he was lucky to have a wonderful business that fueled his passion.

What does that mean then? Should we stick to what we know best? Do what we have been trained and educated to do? Do what makes a decent living even after the passion for your work has ebbed into complacency? I think Adam's choice meant the opposite. It emphasized to me that we must explore all of our talents and interests. Even if we don't make it to the top, we would still have wonderful experiences like all the Masterchef contestants have, regardless of when they get eliminated. They learn from the best, they make new friends, they learn how to work in a team with relative strangers, they get competitive. They are richer for having been part of the Masterchef experience. That is the way to look at all opportunities. How does the experience of participating change you? Are you a better person for having tried? Is your life richer, more complete for exploring new territories? Absolutely yes.As Les BRown said, "Shoot for the moon, Even if you miss, you land among stars."