Break vs breakthrough

Whenever I strive for something in life, visualize a place to be that is very different from I am right now, I somehow feel that I need a "break", someone to give me a chance, a step-up, a hand, to make that move. I acutely feel the need to make the leap but keep waiting for the break. And as it happens, like with Birbal's khichdi story, the more you wait, anticipate and expect, it seems to take forever. And that provides the best excuse for not moving, "I did not get a break". Simple.

There is another way though. I can move very quickly into another orbit, as long as I garner enough escape velocity and breakthrough into a different path. This requires a lot more personal reserve and self-confidence. It is easier to speak about breakthroughs. They are about as common as miracles. But miracles do happen. And breakthroughs can occur. I know this.

But how do I gain momentum? Pick up confidence? Keep the faith?

One piece of the answer came to me this week. I think self-awareness is the key. If I can identify my specific niche, my combination of talents and abilities and trust, it will surely accumulate the required magnitude and velocity to enable flight. So many times in the last three years, I have received well-meaning advice about what I should be doing to grow my business. I have seen how others in the field are moving along. How infusion of vast reserves of capital or infrastructure can propel companies to grow quickly. But I have shied away from that approach.

I have finally defined that what differentiates me from the biggies, is the focus on knowledge-based problem-solving, of providing personalized service, of working for a happy experience for the clients who consult me. It is not large number of staff or fancy furniture and gadgets. It is my reputation and good will collected through the years of sticking with my vision.

And now I think the time has come for reaping the rewards. I am expecting a breakthrough soon. Wish me luck.

Remember Me? - Book Review

Another lively and funny story from Sophie Kinsella, author of "Confessions of a Shopaholic". The best part of the book is the plot - a young woman wakes in a hospital after a car accident and cannot remember 3 years of her life. Significant three years in which she has undergone many changes, from purely physical - like now having perfect teeth and a slim figure to financial - she has crashed her Mercedes and finally the most significant, marital - she is now married to Eric, a drop-dead gorgeous and rich man.

This unbelievable scenario where Lexi, the middle class low level department store worker gets transformed into a beautiful and wealthy woman, a modern day Cinderella tale come true, offers many laughs. In her breezy style, we struggle with Lexi as she tries to remember how she has got herself into this "dream" situation. While there are many benefits of this lifestyle, with a housekeeper and a luxurious home, there is a dark side as well. Husband Eric professes a "low carb" household where Lexi craves for the simple joy of eating buttery toast and finds that her perfect and humongous wardrobe has no comfy clothes or shoes. Taking a swipe at the snobbishness and superficiality of the lives of the wealthy, Kinsella shows how a "regular" person like what Lexi used be, can be miserable in their picture-perfect life.

There many other characters who are endearing with their quirks, like Lexi's old friends Fi, Debs, Carolyn, her spacey mother and delinquent younger sister. And then there is Jon, Eric's architect who adds to Lexi's confusion as she tries to reconcile with the cold, hard person she has become in those three missing years. She feels like a regular girl but the public persona she has created to move up in life clashes against her memory of who she still considers herself to be.

It's a funny, silly book that brings up important issues about money, fame, power and makes you wonder what you would choose if you woke up one day to find out that you have it all.

Meaningful work

It has been a stressful week. My father came down with high fever which I assumed was of viral origin. But the fever continued for 4 days with no signs of recovery even after starting a couple of antibiotics. After getting several tests done, it turns out that the bacteria causing the infection was resistant to all the common oral antibiotics. That left us with just a couple of options for intravenous antibiotics, to be administered twice a day. I could not imagine dragging him to the clinic every day in his weak condition. Fortunately, a nurse who lives nearby agreed to come home for the duration of treatment. He is still undergoing treatment but the fever has gone, he just needs to get his energy back.

As a pharmacist myself, I felt helpless when I saw the results showing the magnitude of resistance that the bacteria had developed through indiscriminate use of antibiotics. There is an urgent need to come up with new drugs to treat common infections since the standard drugs don't work any more. I have always loved my work in the pharmaceutical industry because I felt that I was making a contribution to finding ways to treat diseases and maintain human health. Doctors can diagnose but the tools to make sick people feel better were provided by the pharmacists. That was an empowering feeling. But with power comes responsibility.

In the health-care field, more than any other, every person needs to feel the responsibility of doing their work honestly. The fruits of our efforts touch the lives of people when they are most vulnerable; when they are ill. These patients are not strangers with unknown faces, they are our family members, our friends, us. If we want to have confidence that the prescribed medicine works, it stems from our belief that each person involved in discovering and developing new drugs and bringing them to the market has done their work truthfully and with commitment.

This is what I believe. And this is what I said to my students today.

A Girl Like Me - Book Review

I picked up this gem of a book on a whim. The introduction clearly mentioned that the main character was a 16 year old girl transplanted from USA to India and it seemed like a transatlantic coming of age story. A little too simplistic for my taste, I felt. But I needed a light read and it seemed harmless enough. Once I started reading it, I just kept turning page after page and finished reading the 300-odd pages in a span of 24 hours.

Sixteen year-old Annie (Anisha) Rai moves to Gurgaon with her mother Isha and they start a new life almost three years after the death of Anisha's father. Author Swati Kaushal gives an authentic first-person account of life in a new school, NPS, in Class XI where Anisha makes friends with Richa, Somes, Nikki and of course with her childhood friend Keds who eases her transition. Descriptions of Gurgaon, including the fickle Delhi weather are truthfully described but the poignant passages are the ones where Anisha remembers her Dad, with beautiful descriptions of Minnesota.

The story begins with Isha's social circle consisting of old friends, parents of Keds, but grows with other characters including the mysterious neighbor JD, and the Bajaj family upstairs and their poor cousin Rani whom Anisha befriends. For typical teenage drama, there are couples like Nikki and Keds, Richa with an ever-changing boyfriend until heart-throb Kunal enters the mix. The parts describing their school lives are realistic and easy going. The interactions between the amazing but workaholic Mom Isha whom Anisha seems to adore seems genuine. When the story takes a turn, that is when Anisha's angst at her mother's preoccupation with work and other distractions bring to light real-life situations which are extremely significant in the life of a teenager seeking support as she navigates the treacherous years.

I enjoyed the book immensely because I loved all the well-etched characters, Keds, Rani, JD, Anisha and Isha. I frankly cannot choose a favorite between Isha and Anisha. The dialog is crisp and the descriptions are outstanding. Here is an example:"The beads of rain that lengthen and drip off the curved rim of the parapet glisten in the crevices of the latticework. They are shot through with pinpricks of light: one moment they are a queen's necklace, the next a shimmering crown. I lie back in my chair and watch them shift shapes, watch the dance of the droplets that collect and swell at the undulating edge of the awning above my head, as they dive down to the puddles in the red brick below them, as they shatter and shimmer and regroup into countless miniature pools."

While the book covers the unlikely (but possible) situation of an American-born Indian teenager coming to live in India, it is an extremely balanced view of what India offers to those who come back "home". In the span of a few months in Anisha's life, we see India through new eyes and grow wiser with her as she looks back with a new perspective on her own past. The book ends well, not all neatly tied up as in the movies, but with hope for a future where everyone can make better choices.

Nine on Nine - Book review

Perhaps the best way to get back onto the reading wagon is by picking up a book of short stories. It is not as taxing as a novel which requires investment of energy in the lives of the characters over a long period of our time as we watch their lives through the author's lens. Short stories are easier, to read and digest. Nine on Nine, a collection of short stories by Nandita C. Puri is a quick and easy read. As the title suggests, nine stories set in various locations in India shed light on the lives of ordinary people.

The best one is the first titled "An Arranged Marriage" with an unexpected twist, featuring love marriages in two generations of a Maharashtrian family and the consequences of these decisions. The next one where the comings and goings of a group of affluent women at Jenny's beauty parlour reveals secrets that are obvious to the reader but not the main characters. Similarly, the plot twist of "Flashback" is revealed prematurely in an unfortunate sentence that perhaps an astute editor could have suggested to be removed. The most poignant story is "The Piano Teacher" which depicts the humane aspects of kind old people that the young consider a burden. "Bhabhiji" reads like any other TV soap opera and one wishes that the main character had more nuances instead of being a victim.

The book is a good attempt and the stories highlight the layers of history behind the monochrome lives of regular people. But as a reader I hoped for more depth and insights. I would rate the book a seven on ten.

Strange fruit

Can you recognize this fruit? Apple, right?
No, guess again. Peach? No.
This vaguely familiar-looking fruit is actually cashew fruit.

This is how it looks on the tree, before it gets ripe.
Now you recognize the distinct shape of the cashewnut, a strange aberration of nature that allows the seed to grow outside the fruit. And what a delicious nut it is. Plain, roasted, salted or as a garnish for sweets, it is a delectable nut.
But have you tried eating the ripe red fruit?

I tried it today. Yuck!!!

It did not have a special smell, looked totally like an apple but had a weird taste. A little sour, with a milky mouth-feel, probably tasted like spoilt paneer.

It struck me then that my little experiment today mirrored the nature of life. What disappoints us most is the mismatch with our expectation, not so much the experience per se. I am sure there are people who savor cashew fruit but they know (and perhaps like) the taste, while I was totally taken by surprise.

Many times we also hanker for the fruit of our efforts, judging success by what is out there, the obvious, tangible stuff that everyone else treasures. But public symbols of success are like the cashew fruit, pretty to look at but not always palatable. The kernel of success is the seed, the delightful cashewnut which is visible but not as showy. It does not have style but sure has substance.

The cashew tree was my teacher today. It reminded me to look at things differently in order to find the truth.

Aparna's Blog

Everyone knows Sudha Murthy. But does anyone know about her grandmother?

One of the recent assignments we had to do in English was based on the story “How I taught my Grandmother to Read,” which is a lesson in our textbook. It is a simply narrated tale about how Sudha’s grandmother, being illiterate, was dependent on her to read her favorite story to her from the weekly magazine. When she realizes how much it means to be educated, she asks to be taught the Kannada script. Finally, her efforts bear fruit and she accomplishes her dream to learn to read and write. Our task was to write a diary entry pretending to be the grandmother, on the day of the Saraswati Puja, when she thanks the Goddess and her granddaughter for the gift of education. Here is what I wrote.
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I have always admired Swami Vivekananda’s quote “Education is the manifestation of the perfection that is already within you.” And I have always thought what a wonderful thought it is, with such a beautiful meaning. But I have never really understood what it really means. Until today. Today I believe I have lived to experience the very true essence of this powerful saying. Today I have received the greatest gift of all - education. Today I have found the purpose of life. Today I stand an educated, independent lady. But the process of my education did not take place overnight. It has been a long journey.

Four months ago, I asked my granddaughter to teach me the Kannada alphabet. After burning the midnight oil on many occasions and diligently doing my homework, I can now proudly say I am literate. Today I bow down to my granddaughter; my teacher, for all her help-sacrificing her play time to sit with me and patiently go over the Kannada script.

Today, on Saraswati Puja, she gifted me a copy of the novel ‘Kashi Yatre’, which I am capable of reading all by myself now. It is only unfortunate that I didn’t have the privilege of experiencing the pleasure of education the first 62 years of my life. But now I have learnt to appreciate it, to treasure it. It is as if I have acquired enlightenment. I will never forget this day - the day I begin my new life with my most precious gift - my newfound education.

10,000 hours

I got a call today from Priyanka - asking me if all was well. She hadn't seen me in a while, I had not even asked for books to be delivered to my home from Evening Hour for the last few weeks and of course, my blog was stagnating. Was I OK?

I felt sheepish telling her that I was just taking it easy, I had no real excuses, work has been light lately, no business travel for two straight months, no other pressures to complain about. I felt bad, letting down one of the few regular readers of my blog with my paltry posting. But I have not felt compelled about any issue to write about it. I have not even completed reading any meaningful books to review. So I feel there is no real story to report. And as I said it, I sometimes feel like such a fraud when I say I like to writer.

To be a writer, nay, to be good at anything, as Malcolm Gladwell says in "Outliers", you need to spend 10,000 hours on your special talent, whether it is in sport, art or work. To be honest, I have spent more hours thinking about writing than writing itself. Although when I get that compelling feeling, no matter how busy I am, I do get my thoughts down in print. But most of the time, I meander along, mulling over my thoughts, refining my opinions, composting ideas and feelings into tangible words and logical flow.

I subscribe to a writing group where I see people eagerly sharing links, opportunities and their personal sources of inspiration. It is clear that they live and breathe in the writer's world. And many of them have found success in getting their work published. More power to them. They show the way to amateurs like me and make me acutely aware of how far I am from the 10,000 hour qualifying mark.

So I am writing today, to show my effort towards that lofty goal.

Oh! And I visited Evening Hour and got some books to read. Stay tuned for more reviews.