Ranjani

Of Aunts and Apps

2012-01-27T09:08:00.000-08:00

Every so often, my elder brother, an ardent fan of old Hindi movie songs, will get a tune in his head. He wants to know which movie was it from, who the singer and composer was, who were the featured actors. So he contacts the expert. Our aunt, father's youngest sister, a great singer and movie buff, will give him the answers within a minute, give or take a few seconds. Sometimes she will call me to relate this incident. Sometimes, the quiz continues to other songs, other movies, a few bars sung across a STD call and another memory is created, a connection reaffirmed.

Now there is an app that you can download on your phone, Shazam (?) It can listen to a piece of music and within a few seconds, it can tell you the name of the song and the singer. It takes very little effort, no small talk and works pretty well most of the time. It impresses me for a while but leaves to impression. I don't feel any more connected to my gadget than the minute before it showed me its "smartphone" features. I marvel at the technology but make to memories. I don't have an excuse to call my aunt. Perhaps initiate a conversation where I learn more about her than her prodigious musical memory, a few bits of the Bhagavad Geeta perhaps, that she is mastering or a fable that has a moral underpinning that I need to hear that day.

I know my friends look up recipes on the internet. But I learnt to make avakai last summer because another aunt was visiting and she transferred to me not just the proportions and process of making the pickle but also her love for preparing foods that her family loves. If you need directions, use Mapquest, not the friendly Uncle next door who would love to have an excuse to chat and provide valuable advice as to which route to take on a weekday at rush hour versus the scenic route on a leisurely Sunday drive. We call Just Dial for a phone number instead of asking a friend who has used a service where she gives you not just the number but also her opinion about how three competing companies compare on service.

I support technology and appreciate the ease with which we have integrated it into our lives, saving large chunks of time that previously were spent in lines for paying utility bills and booking tickets. But what are we doing with this extra time? Spending it on looking for more gadgets and widgets, for apps and downloads, withdrawing into a virtual world where human interaction becomes optional? To live a full life, it is important to feel, to interact, to engage. Not just with the buzzing screen of the computer but with a living person, however slow, fallible and unpredictable they may be. Humans need human interaction. It is through these relationships that we learn and grow, we love and share, we bicker and bond. When the interface does not respond in the same human dimension, however quick it may be, it is an incomplete feeling. For the geeks who get all their satisfaction from developing these new apps and gadgets, I have a simple questions. When you have that "Eureka" moment of discovery, who do rush to share it with? Android or human?

Parenthood

2012-01-27T02:54:00.000-08:00

More than 15 years ago, I attended a birthday party for a friend's daughter in Washington DC. The group was composed of mostly Indian families with small kids and a few Americans. I remember watching a young Indian mother running after her active toddler son, trying to get him to eat something. The curious child moved rapidly between the tables, attracted by everything around him, finding the task of eating too boring. The mother had not sampled the buffet lunch, was clearly exasperated and obviously quite hungry. But she stopped chasing the child only after he had eaten to her satisfaction. At the same time, the American toddlers were sitting around the tablet with bibs around their neck, bravely tackling the items on plate, sometimes with tiny plastic forks or with their chubby fingers. Their parents were enjoying the food on their own plates and rarely paid attention to what was happening at the toddler table. After a reasonable amount of time, the child indicated that he wanted to get off the high-chair to which he was confined and went off to play. The uneaten food was dumped into the bin.

This scene came to mind when I read about the furor created in Norway when two little kids of Indian parentage were taken into protective custody by the child welfare agency for parenting behaviors that were found "odd" (to put it mildly) in that culture. There seems to be some resolution after intervention by the President of India and the resulting decision to hand over the children to their Uncle.

Parenting is a universal activity that all the people in the world who choose to rear children do daily. Most of the time, parents do what they do, unconsciously. How they bring up their children is guided by personal choices, not as per prescribed textbooks. Like so many other things we learn in life, parenting is a learned skill. While most parents build upon what they saw in their own childhood (either to replicate or rebel against), they also negotiate the wishes of the spouse who may have a different view on the subject. Parents from the same culture and similar socio-economic class may perhaps make the same choices. But at every corner, there are sharp turns and divisive opinions that trouble the most peaceful families.

When the subject of bringing up a child in a different cultural environment (from the one you grew up in) comes up, there are even fewer pointers, hardly any role-models. Does culture influence parenting? Yes. How and where you grew up is a major factor in how you make your choices as a parent. Where are you living now features heavily while making decisions in the present specially when you are bringing up your child in a different country. But can we honestly say that all of us who grew up in the same culture would bring up our children the same way? No. Parenting is influenced by culture but is comprised of a series of individual decisions, unique choices, keeping in mind the needs of today's society and the demands that the future will make on the children of today.

We may debate the merits of junk food and TV watching but what we need to observe as parents is the impression that we make on young minds. Everything we do should be guided not just by blind love but an awareness of the imprint that our choices will leave. Will our children grow up to be caring and committed citizens of the world? Will they be able to imbibe the best of all cultures that they are exposed to? Will they become responsible parents and not dogmatic supporters of everything that they see in their immediate world? Since each of our actions are to be weighed in light of our own context and situation, quite often there are no right/wrong, black/white solutions. The proof of good parenting can only be determined if we follow the children into adulthood and when they in turn bring up the next generation. If we continue to live in civil society as responsible citizens that protect not just their progeny but look out for a sustainable world, I think we can consider ourselves to be on the right track. For the globalized village in which we live today, that would mean bringing together the good from all cultures and melding it into a way of life, not a court-documented recipe, for a harmonious world.

My First Love - Aparna's first poem

2012-01-18T08:52:00.001-08:00

Aparna wrote this poem today at the literary workshop for school children at the Hyderabad Literary Festival held at Taramati Baradari. I am thrilled at her effort and even more pleased to share that she won a prize for it, 8 poems from 140 submissions were selected for the prize.

MY FIRST LOVE

He came into my life
One Sunday morning
He was my first
He brought such joy I have never felt before
We brought him home
He explored the place
He settled down and took a rest.
I looked at him lovingly,
Imagining how life would be now.

The days passed
And I grew to love him more
We ran and played
And grew closer
He became a part of me; a possession
Perhaps I took him for granted
For four years later,
When I saw him lying still there, I was devastated.
His tongue out, and his tail stiff,
Tears rolled out and fell to the floor.
I knew he was gone forever.
I looked at him lovingly,
Imagining how life would be now
Without him.

But when he was here, I had been happy
‘That was his job,’ she said, ‘to make you happy.’
‘To teach you how to love.’
I hope he’s happy in heaven
Chasing butterflies and cats
My first ever pet,
Sharky.

Innocence

2012-01-16T08:23:00.000-08:00

This rangoli graced the space outside my neighbor's apartment this weekend. A beautiful creation on the occasion of Pongal. We stopped to admire it and rang the doorbell to compliment the creator. My neighbor's son, a naughty three year-old promptly stepped out with his new toy, a slim and long airplane and promptly started using the rangoli as a runway to demonstrate. Both Aparna and the boy's mother were upset and asked him to not mess up the masterpiece. But the child kept on with his antics until we bid goodbye to them and moved away. If you look closely, you will see the tiny lines running across the colored spaces, marking the areas where the aircraft came into contact. But the rangoli is still as eye catching.

Aparna asked me why I had not stopped the boy. I told her a story that my mother had narrated to me years ago. Once upon a time a woman prayed to God. She asked him to send someone who would wipe off the kum kum from her forehead, someone who would eat the dryfruits that she offered each morning as prasad and someone who would erase her daily rangoli. People were shocked at these prayers since traditionally all of these constituted bad omens. Only the people who could look deeper into the words realized that she was asking God for a baby. For only a child would do all of the above with innocence, unaware of the connotations or significance of his/her impish actions.

As we grow up, we get caught into the idea of perfection, of maintaining our life, our figure, our routine within predictable confines, coloring within the lines so to speak. We are not even able to tolerate others doing something different, off the beaten track. Why stop the child from being true to himself for that small part of his life when he can be true? Yes, destruction of a large magnitude needs to be curtailed and limits of acceptable behavior need to be enforced. But just as we appreciate the creation of a beautiful rangoli, let us also celebrate the innocence of childhood when we see it in action.

What goes around

2012-01-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

It happens often enough these days. You are standing in the checkout line at a department store with your car, awaiting your turn. Just as you get to the counter, the person behind you requests you if he could go ahead since he has only one item to buy. What do you do? Insist on following the system since you were ahead anyway? Or do you make an exception and let him go ahead? Is this a big deal?

There is no right answer. Following the system, first come first served, is the rational, logical approach. Letting a fellow shopper go ahead with his solitary purchase while you wait to buy a cart-load of stuff seems reasonable too. It won't make a huge dent in the greater picture given the fact that your billing will take much longer. So what is the right answer? How do you decide? If I am not in a tearing hurry, I usually oblige the other person. Why?

I once traveled from California to India with Aparna who was 2 years old then. For some unknown reason, she began throwing up soon after we boarded the trans-Atlantic flight. She was unable to keep anything in and started appearing quite dehydrated after a bout of vomiting and retching every half hour. After 8 hours of this, we landed in Frankfurt. I wondered if I should get off and seek medical attention or continue on the second leg of the journey.During the stopover, Aparna finally took a few sips of water and was able to keep it in without promptly ejecting it. I thought it was a sign of improvement and boarded the flight to Mumbai. We had been assigned two middle seats. I knew that I had frequent trips to the washroom ahead of me on this leg as well given Aparna's condition and requested the person in the aisle seat if he would exchange seats with me. He refused instantly since he had specifically requested an aisle seat and was not going to part with it. I was taken aback but did not have much choice. I then requested the other gentleman seated on the other side. He promptly obliged and moved into an uncomfortable middle seat. I was intensely grateful for his consideration. It made the rest of the journey a little bit easier as I made endless trips to the washroom.

A few years later, I was traveling alone in business class from Paris, in an aisle seat. A family of four had been upgraded from economy and were assigned seats next to mine. The mother of the two kids came up to me and requested me to change seats with her son who had been throwing up on the previous flight. I promptly obliged. I definitely empathized with her and her concern for her child's well-being. But more importantly, I remembered the kindness of another stranger a decade ago and felt that it was opportunity for me to repay it. I was not returning a favor to the same person but repaying a debt by making a deposit into the global "good-deeds" bank. I was helping someone who may in turn pay it forward for another person in need.

Allowing the person behind me in line to cut across is not a big deal or a great deed. I don't endorse people cutting across queues thoughtlessly. But sometimes there are opportunities to be gracious, particularly when asked politely, to give a few minutes of a head start to another person. Who knows whether these few minutes may be paid back by another person to me when I need those minutes the most? And if it does not come back to me, I can rest peacefully knowing that someone in greater need has made a withdrawal from the good deeds bank. What a lovely thought!

Retail therapy

2012-01-11T08:42:00.000-08:00

I woke up on Monday morning feeling empty. This was not your typical Monday morning blues, associated with the beginning of another work week. But more of a hangover type of remorse, usually felt after a binge. In my case, it was not overdose of alcohol but more of a shopping orgy. I purchased jewelry, electronics and many additions to my wardrobe all in the course of a weekend. For three days, I entered several shops, parted with a large chunk of my earnings and walked out with large bags or a tiny box. Some of what I bought will appreciate over time (like gold) while the electronics will only depreciate and the clothes will certainly wear out. The joy of acquisition was short-lived, as all these facts became apparent to me the next morning. No wonder I felt depleted, instead of rich.

I wonder why retail therapy is so popular for anyone looking to feel better. I had an associate at my previous job who faced every minor setback in life with a trip to the mall. While she glowed with the joy of new possessions on that day, she looked very different on the day the credit card bill was due. After amassing a huge debt and faced with the reality of any salary increment only in the distant future, she came to me with request. She handed me her credit cards (she had a handful of them) and asked me to keep them away from her reach until she settled every bill. It was almost a year before she could claim them. The whole experience was a lesson for her, as well as for me. I decided to possess just one credit card. This helps me manage my finances better since I see one consolidated bill which accurately gauges my expenditure and is due at the same time each month, allowing me enough time to arrange for payment before the due date.

Material objects bring temporary pleasure but the joy of ownership pales in comparison to the joy other activities can bring. Today I had my music class. It had been a busy day till then, I had not practiced and I was not sure I could handle singing. But once the class started, I was transposed into a world of melody, engrossed in music, drowning in the ocean of new raagas. I tried to keep pace with the teacher, I grasped at slippery notes and subtle nuances. I felt transformed at the end of the hour. I felt rejuvenated, refreshed, full.

The best things in life are not bought, but experienced.

Life lessons - from teenage kids

2012-01-04T09:54:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, in a small apartment in Mumbai, I lived with my two brothers, mother and grandmother. My father was posted in small town and felt it was better to leave three teenagers in the care of my mother in order to not interfere with our education during the critical years. For a long period of 11 years, my mother suffered with each of us as we went from 13 to 19 and turned into adults. I wonder how she did it. Specially on those days when I am having a hard time with my one and only teenage daughter.

Ask any parent of a teenager today and you will find pain, tears, frustration, helplessness, anger. Ask any teenager how they feel - they will tell you about helplessness, frustration, anger, pain, tears. Both sides experience the same feelings although one is in the role of a powerful parent while the other is the manipulative teenager. The amazing fact is that every parent has been a teenager at some point and empathy should be a large part of the parenting process. But there seems to a selective amnesia that the parent chooses to exercise and repeats a lot of the same mistakes their own parents made.

I think back to what my mother did in those turbulent time. She is no longer in this plane to guide me. How did she keep her sanity? How did she deal with unreasonable requests, uncouth behavior and general non-cooperation that dominated most of our days? We survived. And thrived. So did she. I think she started dealing with this issue on two counts. First - she did not overtly worry about the dreaded "teenage" phase. Second, she trusted us. She told us repeatedly that we were good kids, long before we turned into surly teenage brats. She told us we were her true treasures. She calmly responded to my incessant questioning rationally. Very rarely did she pull rank and say "because I am the Mom". She knew we would rebel but ultimately make the right choice. She gave us a long rope. She kept her cool. She was genuinely interested in our lives, our friends, our school and college stories. She maintained a sense of humor. I am sure there were days when she was tired and one was us was pushing her buttons. She must have lost her temper and given us an earful. But she was always there for us. Like the daily sunshine and Mumbai humidity.

My personal experience has been one of continuing amazement that my daughter is a wonderful 100% reflection of whatever I am feeling or thinking at that moment. When I am feeling peaceful and grateful, I am showered with affection. When I am stressed and feeling generally "blah" about life, she gives me more chances to feel worse. I have finally figured out how to change the dynamic. I can restore peace in the home by restoring peace within myself. Sometimes that requires me to just slow down. Sometimes I need to meditate. Other times, ice-cream works.

I have now changed my thoughts about "teenagerhood" as a tough phase. I know it is an essential phase of her growing up and each year is special to me as I see my little bird testing her wings in the world. I want to be a part of it. I want to build a stable nest for her and enable the growth of strong wings so she can fly high. It is an intense period of learning for me as well. So we keep moving, through trial and error, in search of equilibrium. It is not easy but as with most things in life, keeping a sense of humor helps.

Here is a funny link to "The Mom Song" on Youtube. Pay close attention to the lyrics. And if the link does not work, please google it. It's hilarious.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXgoJ0f5EsQ

Letting go

2012-01-02T07:53:00.000-08:00

It is 2 Jan 2012. Now that a regular work day has dawned after a party to ring out the old year, it is time for people to plan, to ask, to list all that they want in this new year. Making resolutions is a common phenomenon, breaking them is even more common. It is surprising that each year we continue this ritual (or is it a charade?) of wanting things in our life, even lofty ones like healthier lifestyle and peace of mind and common ones like a new gadget or luxury car.

Very often when I look at my closets, I feel overwhelmed by all the things I own. I am not a pack rat and usually only keep things that are of use to me and periodically even purge my belongings. But clutter has a way of taking residence unannounced. As I see clutter around me, I feel that my thoughts are also cluttered. It is time to clean up.

I feel this year that I should make a list of things that I want to let go. The list obviously includes several material possessions of dubious current value. But more important are the intangibles that I would like to let go. Most of them feature in the category of "fear". Here is what I plan to release this year:
1. Fear of attempting Shirsasana (head stand in yoga)
2. Fear of water - I would like to learn to swim
3. Fear of public ridicule when I sing in front of an audience
4. Fear of taking up a large writing project - book, novel, memoir???
5. Fear of sharing all my fears - this one I will tackle another year

I think I will start with the third item on the list. I plan to post mp3 files of some of my singing previews. It is a big step for me, akin to posting pictures of yourself "before" going on the huge weight loss diet where your "after" picture makes you look like a fashion model.

Why am I doing this? It has been my experience that sharing your plans loudly with the Universe makes it come true faster than if you were hoarding this information inside you, afraid to make it public in case you fail. I hope to get better at items 1-4 as I make efforts during the year. I also be more accountable by feeling the need to update readers on my progress. It feeds a virtuous cycle to achieve.

All I need to figure out is how to embed my mp3 files into the blog. Help!

Made it

2011-12-31T05:35:00.000-08:00

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.

The year that was - 2011

2011-12-30T08:28:00.000-08:00

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.

Small World

2011-12-29T09:43:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-29T09:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Peeling an orange

2011-12-21T09:16:00.000-08:00

"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!

Learning something new

2011-12-16T22:07:00.000-08:00

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!

Creativity

2011-12-14T08:57:00.001-08:00

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

2011-12-14T08:36:00.000-08:00

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.

Power of a live performance

2011-12-06T09:17:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-06T08:41:00.001-08:00

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.

Love and responsibility

2011-12-01T09:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Role reversal - Part 2

2011-11-28T23:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Medium size life

2011-11-26T06:28:00.000-08:00

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.

Do something

2011-11-25T08:49:00.000-08:00

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.

Minimum requirements

2011-11-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

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.

Role reversal

2011-11-21T08:53:00.000-08:00

"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.

Touch

2011-11-19T08:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Thought-provoking words

2011-11-08T09:22:00.000-08:00

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".

Clarity confounded

2011-11-07T09:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Be careful what you wish for.....

2011-11-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Life lessons - counting blessings

2011-11-03T06:26:00.000-07:00

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

2011-11-03T05:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Life lessons

2011-10-31T00:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Aleph - Book Review

2011-10-21T05:32:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-21T00:30:00.000-07:00

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.

Gender barriers

2011-10-18T20:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Left Vs Right

2011-10-16T23:20:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-16T07:02:00.000-07:00

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".

Dash in the Dark

2011-10-11T07:10:00.000-07:00

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".

The Last Lecture - some thoughts

2011-10-07T10:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Growing Circle

2011-10-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

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!

Fifth gear

2011-10-03T09:38:00.000-07:00

"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.

Listening

2011-10-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2 States - Not really a review

2011-09-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Why I watch Masterchef Australia

2011-09-29T09:59:00.000-07:00

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."

Last Man in Tower - Book Review

2011-09-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

Vishram Society located in Vakola is the ideal target for ambitious developer Dharmen Shah - a crumbling society with two towers, close enough to the Mumbai domestic airport to be a desirable location with jaded occupants eager to lap up the offer of a lifetime. Thus begins the saga of the residents of Tower A as each apartment owner begins salivating at the unbelievable amount of money, upto Rs. 20,000 per dilapidated square foot that holds the promise of transporting their lives into realms that were beyond their imagination. Adiga introduces us to the characters who have lived in communal harmony, sharing meals and tears over the years of living in close proximity to each other.

Mrs. Rego (Batteleship), the Saldanhas, and the Pintos represent the dominant local Christian community of Vakola while Ibrahim Kudwa and his happy family lends the diversity touch. Mrs. Puri, a friend of the late Purnima, wife of retired Masterji, Yogesh Murthy is the key character who drives the residents towards freedom from Vishram, as she aspires for a better life with the money from the sale which can go towards paying for the care of her eighteen year old mentally challenged son. The central character of Masterji, who joins the Pintos in their dissent is etched beautifully by Adiga. The outdated idealogy with his rigid views about people, sharply contrasts with his sentimental memories of his wife and emphasizes the divide with his son. There is a point early on in the novel where Masterji remembers his wife's words "A man is like a goat tied to a pole. You may have free will but only so much." Those words ring true when the momentum builds up as the deadline provided by the builder for residents to accept the generous offer approaches.

All the characters are portrayed as flawed individuals, each responding to their own circumstances, including the characters of the apparently ruthless but physically sick developer Shah and his "left-hand man" Shanmugham. The evolution of the idealists in Vishram from nay-sayers to eager aides as they deviously plan to get Masterji to agree happens gradually and in the process some unexpected surprises are thrown from the stereotypical secretary Kothari and the wily broker Advani. As Masterji faces one challenge after another in his solitary battle once the Pintos succumb to threats of physical violence, the callous nature of the law, the silence of the media and the connivance of his son, you feel terribly for the lone crusader. You almost wish he would turn pragmatic and choose to live even if the money was inconsequential to him. The end is almost pre-decided but still catches you by surprise. After baring the heart of maximum city, Adiga shows how heartless it can be. As a Mumbaikar I may wish otherwise but the taste of betrayal lingers long after the book it put down.

Waiting

2011-09-28T09:10:00.000-07:00

Waiting is something I don't do very well. Ask my (late) mother! Considering my lack of patience, a friend once asked me if I had indeed gone through with 9 months of pregnancy before my daughter's birth! So when I found myself about an hour early for my lecture at St. Xavier's college, Mumbai on Sunday, I did not know what to do.

For some reason the flight from Hyderabad arrived early at the airport and at 9.30 a.m., most of Mumbai seemed to be asleep, or at least off the roads and half an hour later I found myself in the majestic corridors of Xavier's, an old Mumbai institution that continues to refresh its reputation with each new movie featuring its famous basketball court that hits the multiplex. But today seemed to be a rest day for the hoops, no cameras, no props. I sat at a bench near the canteen, overlooking benches where a few students studied in groups of three or four. A girl with a bright orange top and large earrings walked to the adjacent table after turning the fan on. A boy with a two-day stubble picked another spot and took out a laptop. The silence broke occasionally with loud laughter from a group. Two thick rainforest canopies of green provided relief against the gray rock facade of the building on either side of the canteen. A solitary sparrow skipped about, pecking at crumbs. A couple of crows perched on the wires overhead. A snow white cat napped under my bench. A few students moved towards the volleyball court and started a boisterous game.

A man arrived with a snack. As he munched his sandwich, the cat moved to a seat right within his sight, smacked its lips purposefully, multiple times. The man continued eating but just before he got up, he threw a piece of bread. The cat silently picked up the morsel and found a secluded spot to enjoy its bounty. The weather was perfect, warm but not hot, hazy not humid. I decided to leave my hair loose about my shoulders, not tie it up as I always do in humid places. I picked up Aleph by Paulo Coelho, hoping to catch up on my reading. But I decided otherwise. I stopped the urge to always "do" something. I observed instead. I did not compare. I tried not to judge. I was "in the moment". And so an hour passed. I looked at my watch - 11 a.m. Perfect I thought, time for me to teach. But the teacher before me was not done yet. So I continued to wait in the same spot. I resisted the urge to open my laptop and check email. I tugged at Aleph, then put it back. The game continued. Groups of students came and went, like gentle waves in the ocean not far from the building. The benevolent arched corridors looked on. And so did I.

Key Ingredients for Success

2011-09-26T09:08:00.001-07:00

I gave this keynote speech to a roomful of women chemists at a Chemistry symposium at the St. Anne's Womens College last weekend.

"We are in this room to celebrate 100 years since the award of the Nobel Prize in Chemistry to Marie Curie. To the world, Madame Curie represents a woman successful in her chosen field. All around us, specially in Hyderabad where we live, we see posters and billboards of successful women, sportswomen Sania Mirza and Saina Nehwal; the current Miss India from Andhra Pradesh, Kiran Majumdar-Shaw, successful in the Indian biotechnology industry. All of us want to be successful but what does success mean to you? Money? Fame? Admiration of peers? Winning competitions? Do you want to be successful? What is your definition of success? Each one of us has a specific and highly personal definition of success at any given time in our life. More importantly, the definition of success is also highly dynamic. If you think your luck or fate or destiny determines your ability to succeed, think again.
No matter what your definition is, there are some ingredients that are necessary for success.

I have picked 7 ingredients that I feel are key to success:
1. Dreams - Dreaming is essential. But write down your dream so it becomes a goal.
2. Hard work - "The only place success appears before hard work is in the dictionary"
3. Opportunity - Stay tuned for opportunities that knock on your door. Someone once told me, luck is opportunity meeting preparation. So when you work hard and prepare, you will be able to see the opportunity. Others will think you are lucky but you know what really happened.
4. Failures - Paradoxically, failures are essential for success. The most interesting stories of successful people are full of challenges, troubles and obstacles. So don't be sidetracked by failures.
5.Self-belief - If you don't believe in yourself, how will others? More of my confidence comes from my failures and challenges that from my success.
6. Constant learning - Learning does not stop when you leave college but learn something everyday, from everyone. This is another way to boost your self-belief.
7. Positive thinking - When others ingredients don't seem to be doing much, this last and final ingredient will help you stay the course.

The one enemy of success is "fear". Fear is not just about failure, sometimes we are afraid of success, actually we are just afraid of change. Gautam Buddha said "To see what few have seen, you must go where few have gone before." So we must first overcome fear of change. Since change is the only constant in life, we need to persevere as we come across challenges. Life, after all, is a marathon, not a sprint.

As was mentioned earlier, although 40% of students in a college classroom full of students pursuing higher education in a scientific field are women, the number decreases to 1% as we survey those who pursue science careers. It has been shown that men are 3 times more likely than women to occupy positions of power and prestige in these fields. Why do we see such a gross disparity? When it comes to innate intelligence and ability, women are as capable as men but the reality of the obstacles in life push women towards dropping out. Reasons for dropping out of a Ph.D. program may include family demands, conflicts with academic guides, research projects difficulties, funding problems etc. Dropping out of work may involve non-cooperation from family, unfair bosses, unreasonable demands of work, disparity in pay and promotion, work practices that do not help work-life balance. Each difficulty seems insurmountable and a good enough reason to drop out. Does the choice to leave the work force affect just the individual woman?

No. When a woman leaves the workforce, she impacts her future as well as that of the others who follow her. We have very few women in decision-making positions because of the lack of constancy and the commitment to stay the course. There is a solution to each problem that you face in the workplace, sometime it is as simple as asking someone who has tackled the same problem. My advice to all of you is to continue working, continue moving ahead.

I would like to share some of my favorite "How to's?" These have been collected by years of reading wonderful writers and inspiring people.

How to become successful?
As Indira Gandhi said, she was told that "there are two kinds of people in this world - those who do all the work and those who take the credit. Try to stay in the first group since there is less competition there." No substitute for hard work.

How to make your dreams come true?
Write them down, make them your goals.

How to predict your future?
Create it.

How to change your fate?
Change your attitude.

Walt Disney talked about 4 Cs for success
- Curiosity
- Confidence
- Courage
- Constancy

I leave you with one last thought, a sure remedy for days when none of the above advice seems to work. LAUGHTER. Having a sense of humor about your life puts you back on the positive thinking track.

Potpourri - Book Review

2011-08-26T06:59:00.000-07:00

I am glad that the first Ruskin Bond book I read is actually a collection of "choicest stories from the treasure trove of the indisputable master story teller." The book features all the styles of writing that Bond is known for - ghost stories, memoir pieces, short stories - filled with love or comedy, poems and traditional tales. And what great fun it is to discover a wonderful new writer, new to me, but one who has stuck to his craft for decades, before finally finding recognition.

The ghost stories, are really short but filled with minimal detail, leaving the rest to the imagination of the reader while igniting that sinking, scared feeling in the pit of your stomach. I particularly enjoyed "Gone Fishing" and "The Overcoat". The love stories "Binya Passes By" and "Love and Cricket" are tenderly narrated. The very short story "Girl on the train" has a twist you just don't see coming while "Eyes of the cat" and "A Face in the Dark" are chilling tales.

The memoir pieces "Escape from Java" and "Our Great Escape" are lovely, told lovingly without pretension. The comedy pieces are real treats, "The Zigzag Walk" and "At Sea with Uncle Ken" being my favorite stories.

This book features the now well-known "Susanna's Seven Husbands", the story that gave the idea for "Saat Khoon Maaf" starring Priyanka Chopra as Susanna. Its not the best story in the book and I can't tell you how the movie compares.

The real gems are the poems and I leave you with one to think about. But not before I insist that you read this book, whether you have read Ruskin Bond before this or not.

"Do You Believe in Ghosts?"

"Do you believe in ghosts?"
Asked the passenger
On platform number three
"I'm a rational man," said I,
"I believe in what I can see-
Your hands, your feet, your beard!"
"Then look again," said he,
And promptly disappeared!

Custody - Book Review

2011-08-24T05:42:00.000-07:00

Manju Kapur has been described on the book cover as "the great chronicler of the modern Indian family". I know that she has done that in her previous books, Difficult Daughters and Home. Those books were family sagas, in fact "Home" reminded me of the long-drawn TV serial "Buniyaad" from a couple of decades ago. Custody is her take on contemporary urban Indian life and the shaking of the great institution of the traditional Indian family.

The book is about the disintegration of the marriage of the upwardly mobile Raman Kaushik, rising executive in a global beverage company. His stunningly beautiful wife, Shagun falls for his dynamic boss, Ashok Khanna, ex-pat extraordinaire, sent to rescue the company bottomline in India. The narrative cursorily describes the comfortable marital life of the Kaushiks, blessed with two gorgeous children, 8-year old Arjun and 2-year old Roohi, with extended family of grandparents living within reach but without the suffocating joint-family situation more commonly described in such family tales.

Most of the book is devoted to the years after the discovery of Shagun's infidelity by Raman using a detective agency for proof and the impact of Shagun's leaving, with her kids, to her lover's home. The chaos of the altered domestic scenario is captured realistically through the eyes of young Arjun; the disapproving but silent suffering of Mrs. Sabharwal, Shagun's helpless mother and the vicious comments of Raman's angry mother. Shagun takes the kids away one day and while all she wants is a divorce, Raman refuses to give in, filing for custody instead, with the help of his obliging lawyer cousin who leads a perfectly peaceful family life in comparison. When Shagun realizes that the only way to secure her freedom from Raman is to give him custody of the kids, she calmly gives them away, retaining visitation rights during holidays. In the meantime, the smart Arjun starts avoiding school in order to gain his mother's attention but ends up in an all-boys, elite boarding school in Dehradun, a spot he secures due to the fact that Ashok Khanna, the new man in her mother's life is an alumnus of the prestigious institution.

Somewhere midway through the book enters Ishita, a wronged bahu of a family that sends her back to her maternal home when they find out that she is unable to conceive due to a childhood illness which was not disclosed at the time of the arranged marriage. Initially Ishita is shown as a weak woman who finally finds a purpose in her life when she begins assisting a neighbor with her school for street children. Just as you start rooting for Ishita's independent streak, a bitter Raman struggling with the full-time care of two-year old Roohi enters Ishita's life. Conveniently for the story, the senior Mrs. Kaushik and Ishita's mother are neighbors and friends, bemoaning their respective fates that has brought divorce into the lives of their precious children.

And as Shagun builds her life as the glamorous trophy-wife of a business tycoon, Raman marries Ishita, assured that she will provide the motherly love and attention that his daughter needs. As the days pass, Arjun, an occasional visitor during holidays, en route to New York, causes unhappiness to Ishita as he seeks to poison his sister's mind by reminding her of her "real Mom". And therein starts the new equation in Raman's life, as the couple make up excuse after excuse to not send Roohi to New York at the court appointed visitation times. Arjun makes the trips alone and a vengeful Shagun ensures that Arjun does not get to see Raman, tit for tat, for keeping her daughter away. Between the two women in his life, Raman is torn between doing the right thing for his children versus doing the right thing for Ishita. He ultimately pays a price for keeping the semblance of a functional family at least for Roohi, a resolution that Ishita is only too pleased with and one that Shagun has to bear, as a punishment for her choice.

The book's strength lies in the strong story line and an unsentimental approach to the telling of it. But the main characters, Shagun, Raman and Ashok seem to be one-dimensional creatures with no nuances to mark their individuality. Shagun is a beauty, Ashok is the brilliant boss and Raman is a hard-working regular guy trying to rise through the ranks through his sincerity and hard work. Ishita for while seemed interesting as she came into her own following her divorce but quickly becomes a caricature wife, this time clinging to her only hope of motherhood, as the mother to Roohi. All the women fall into typical stereotypes, the anguished Mrs. Sabharwal, an accessory to her daughter's crimes, one who loses a good son in Raman, her daughter to Ashok and the grandchildren in the battle. Shagun appears the superficial gold-digger, looking for an excitement that matches her beauty, gratifying herself even as she is aware of its consequences. Other than the physical/financial aspects, it is not quite clear what forms the basis of her attraction and subsequent marriage to Ashok. Ishita is only too happy to ditch her new-found independence as a teacher of the slum children, once Raman proposes marriage. It is as if any other aspect of a woman's personality is of no consequence once defined by marriage and motherhood, in spite of previous trauma in that department.

Perhaps Manju Kapur has honestly chronicled the lives to today's Indian woman. But it does not give much hope for the masses.

Demonstrating leadership

2011-08-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

It is a highly debatable topic - leadership. Amazingly, the people who talk most about it are people with management backgrounds. But managing and leading are two different things. You can teach management in a classroom. Leadership you learn by experience.

In the business world, leaders are admired, the ones who lead the path to wealth-creation, are worshiped. Quite often, gaining public visibility as a leader comes at a price, one that most of us are unable to pay. The real question is if we can find ways to demonstrate leadership in our personal lives. Can we make choices that make us feel that we are forging a new way in this world, a way no one has chosen before because you are unique, gifted with an original set of attributes that makes you think a particular way?

I regularly read a blog by Pamela Slim (www.escapefromcubiclenation.com)and find her writing to be incredibly inspiring. In a previous post she wrote about how we can each make a list that demonstrates how we show leadership in our lives. Her list included items like
- Only doing projects that energize me
- Only working with people who energize me and who share similar core values
- Not working more than my body can handle
- Leaning into my market and listening for what they want
- Actively looking for fun and joy in work

I thought it was time I make my own list. Here are some initial thoughts:
I demonstrate leadership of my own life by
1. Always enjoying the work I do
2. Building a niche brand and reputation in my business
3. Ensuring I have time to appreciate life while I make a living
4. Passing on words of encouragement or wisdom to those who need or ask
5. Never being too busy for the important people in my life
6. Keeping enough "blank space" in each day for contemplation and meditation
7. Always learning

Leading indicates movement and as I grow, so will this list.

Of teaching and learning

2011-08-11T23:32:00.000-07:00

In my first semester during my Ph.D. at the University of Maryland, I had to take a class that began at 3 p.m. and ended at 6 p.m. It was the first class I was taking and I was understandably nervous. I had to leave at 5.30 p.m. in order to catch the last bus at 5.45 p.m. I hesitantly approached the professor to ask for permission to leave early. He seemed a little surprised at my request but agreed. As the class progressed, I noticed that in the small class with a maximum of a dozen students, people would walk in and out as they pleased. The professor kept teaching unmindful of the distractions. I wondered how such a casual approach to education was tolerated.

It was only months later that I realized that in America it was the students' responsibility to avail themselves of the wonderful education that the system provided. It was not the burden of the teachers or parents. Come to think of it, the teachers already knew the stuff - if you as a student wanted to learn, you had to first take responsibility for your time, show up in class, pay attention. If you chose to do otherwise, it was your loss. If you did well, it was to your credit and if you did poorly or dropped out, it was again a conscious choice.

I teach students in India now, post-graduate students. Most of them show up in class because their parents have paid the tuition and the institution demands a minimum attendance. Only a handful come because they think of it as an investment in their future. I can't make them "want" to learn. But I make sure I tell them this story. I also tell them that in my assignments, they are welcome to copy but it is a risk they are taking. A shortcut for now but a handicap for a lifetime. If they do not learn how to do their work by themselves and for themselves, they will forever expect someone to bail them out, first parents, then peers. But life does not stay the same and the smart students will indeed do better and rise higher and will definitely not want to bail out the ones looking for a shortcut.

I learnt when I was a student, and I continue to learn as I teach. I consider myself truly blessed.

Chanakya's Chant - Book Review

2011-07-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

Historical fiction is not really a genre that I prefer. But when the hefty 450-page paperback came into my hands, I started reading the first few pages, assuming that this book would leave soon. I read the Prologue and was hooked. It took a while to go through the entire book but each day I would eagerly return to the pages, so see how the bilayered narrative developed.

Chanakya's Chant is a story about the legendary Chanakya who begins life as Vishnugupta, son of learned Chanak of the ancient kingdom of Magadha. But Chanakya's Chant is also a Sanskrit verse that is described multiple times in the modern day story that parallels the original tale. Pandit Gangasagar Mishra, a modern day Chanakya uses the powerful chant to further the political career of his protege in the sleazy world of Indian politics. The two stories are told side by side and mark the steady progression of the potential rulers, Chandragupta Maurya as leader of a united Bharat in 340 BC under Chanakya's tutelage and of Chandini Gupta, aspiring to be India's Prime Minister under the training of Mishraji.

It is an extremely well-researched book with very tight narration that keeps you glued to the pages as you learn the smart and underhanded ways in which kings are mere puppets in the hands of the kingmakers. With the uncanny ability to process reams of seemingly unrelated information, predict the behaviors of the other sides, and ruthless precision, these Chanakya's steadily advance their proteges towards the desired goal. While the historical Chanakya leaves his long hair untied until he fulfills his prophecy of avenging his father's death, the motivation of Gangasagar Mishra is not quite clear.

The author, Ashwin Sanghi, has divulged many secrets commonly known to modern-day politicians and some historical secrets like the use of the many medicinal plants available in India which can be used to harm or heal. Preying on the vices and weakness of men, even men as powerful as the great Alexander, Chanakya and his counterpart Mishra, bring about the fall of emperors and ministers, all mere pawns in the race to secure the highest position of power. One striking aspect that stands out is the fact that the art of politics is truly the Arthashastra, the science of wealth, not governance.

A must read for history buffs but highly recommended for those looking for a thrilling read as well.

Sight Vs Vision

2011-07-12T06:50:00.000-07:00

I am at an age where I have to admit that sometimes reading fine print becomes difficult. For a voracious book worm like me, the ultimate punishment is to keep me away from my beloved books. I still read a lot more than most people in my circle but it is definitely less than what I am used to reading. Some days are better than others and so I carry on, refusing to get the reading glasses that would instantly alleviate my discomfort. It is pure vanity that makes me do this. It is possible that there will be a day when I have to capitulate but I would like to delay it as long as I can. So I have started doing some eye exercises that are supposed to strengthen the eye muscles and reverse the aging process. Doing this makes me feel a little bit in control, knowing fully that nature marches in only one direction - forward.

But growing older has its rewards. Perhaps with failing eyesight, there is compensation in the form of vision. We often use the words interchangeably, equating the action of a sense organ to the ability to look deeper, further into an unknown future, seeing it happen before others can. Is it age that makes this possible? Or experience? Or self-knowledge which then translates into wisdom? Vision is not the power to predict the future but sensing of what is ahead in the maze of life without having a map. It is an internal compass that guides but does not give a recipe. Vision is what builds value in the long term regardless of losses that may happen in the interim. Vision does not necessarily come with age, some are blessed at a young age. I am not sure how finely honed my visionary skills are at this time but I think it is better for me to acknowledge my yearning for acquiring vision even as I lament the loss in eyesight. As Helen Keller famously said "It is a terrible thing to see but have no vision."

One Amazing Thing - Book review

2011-07-06T02:04:00.000-07:00

Nine people are trapped in the basement of a building in an unnamed American city. This group of strangers are bound together for an unspecified period of time due to the earthquake that traps them in an unlikely place - the Indian consulate office. With this interesting premise, Chitra Banerjee brings together people of various races, religion, age and economic backgrounds to rally around their shared fate of being forced to stay together while they await rescue or death. The strange situation of spending time in a dark gloomy about-to-collapse building, makes the usually reticent strangers divulge their secret stories to a willing audience that amicably suspends judgement as it listens intently to each of them in turn.

Chitra Banerjee has woven together a reasonably plausible plot to explain the reasons for the stereotypical characters to want to visit India in spite of their apparent lack of connection to the country or their reluctance to do so, as the case may be. So we have Cameron, the African American ex-military man, a well-heeled Caucasian couple, the Pritchetts, a Chinese grandmother (Jiang) with a surly teenager granddaughter Lily, Tariq an angry Muslim boy, Uma a young single woman, and the two Indians from India - the consulate employees Malathi and Mangalam, taking turns to spill their stories into a room where a leaking water source starts flooding the floor, parts of the ceiling collapse and their hopes of rescue decline with each tale that is told.

I have read many of Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's books and I am impressed with her writing style. The prose is poetic and her metaphors are unique, underlining the beauty of each observation. But her strength has been in writing for a predominantly American audience and her stories border on a magic realism underpinning to narratives that superficially appear to be about contemporary issues. This hybrid genre unique to Indian writers writing about India from their location based in Western societies has spawned many authors and Banerjee is at the forefront among them. While she has been prolific in creating diverse narratives, this book is different from her usual formula. With the key ingredient of "exotic" India missing from the stories within the larger story, the book is at best a half-baked attempt to link what might have been better presented as a collection of short stories instead of a homogenous novel.

The individual characters don't seem like real people and the disjointed tales serve no larger purpose of moving the story forward. Perhaps the biggest disappointment is the ending which really is neither an ending nor a reasonable denouement for a novel. Although an attempt to explain the title is made in the last few pages, it fails to register. The book is not in the same realm as any of Banerjee's previous writings and appears to a half-hearted and shoddy attempt at publishing within a deadline.

Late bloomers

2011-07-04T04:43:00.000-07:00

It was Wimbledon finals this weekend with surprise victories with ever younger and newer talent taking the spotlight. In the arenas of sports and entertainment, it seems like the winners are getting younger each year. Fortune seems to bless only the early birds, the child prodigies, the tender saplings that are nurtured by ambitious parents and blessed by lady luck soon after birth. This seems consistent with the public interest in fresh news stories and fresh faces to look at, novelty is the first priority for an audience that has attention spans shorter than that of toddlers.

But what about arenas where age and experience blend to create masterpieces that depict the depth of the creator's talent. Performing arts require years of practice. So do the visual arts like painting and sculpture. Great literature demands the writer to dive into the world and ferret out pearls of wisdom and then fashion them by his/her talent and fluency of language into classic works. A young writer may have voice that is unique to his age and generation and certainly carry contemporary lingo with ease, but does the work have the ripeness of a rich life behind it? If publishers seek a young and marketable author to produce bestsellers, where would the writers who have toiled for decades on honing their craft and polishing their storytelling skills go?

This weekend's The Hindu's literary supplement carried an article about four senior women writers (above 70 years of age) whose initial works have been recently published by Leadstart Publishers. The women featured were Gouri Dash, Dhiruben Patel, Ambika Sirkar and Meera Sashital. What is common to these women is their ongoing interest in reading, a trait they cultivated during the years they handled traditional responsibilities. What is unique to these women from a generation where their roles were gender-bound, is their assertion that writing is as natural as breathing, it is what makes them feel young, it is their companion as they face the challenges of their age. They write for one reason - it makes them happy.

Seeing their words in print has taken them a lifetime. But they persist, they persevere, they still read and of course, they write. Their motivation is not public adulation, accolades and prizes, but a desire to share their gift through the medium of the written word. And one day, the audience shows up.

It is reassuring to see that there is a place in this world for late bloomers as well.

Mistress - Book Review

2011-06-29T05:24:00.000-07:00

The prologue of the book begins with "The face. Yes, let's begin with the face that determines the heart's passage. It is with the face we decode thoughts into a language without sounds. Does that perplex you? How can there be a language without sounds, you ask. Don't dent it. I see the question in your eyes."

I put the book away after the first page. Not because the prose was difficult or the story hard to follow. But because it required effort from me. As I approached the book once more, with greater commitment, I understood why. The central character is Koman, an elderly Kathakali dancer, an artist wedded to his art. He is Uncle to Radha, his niece who lives at the adjacent resort, Near-the-Nila, with her husband Shyam. The novel unfolds with the arrival of Chris Stewart, a foreigner ostensibly interested in capturing the story of Koman's life, to understand the man and the veshakaran (actor).

Split into three parts, Anita Nair tells a spellbinding tale of the exciting life of Sethu, Koman's father, who returns to India after running away from home as a teenager to Colombo. He makes a life with the kind Doctor Samuel who rescues him and Sethu (as Seth) becomes a devoted assistant. Fate takes Sethu to Arabipatnam, a mirage-like place populated exclusively by Arab descendants where he meets Saadiya. Koman, the son born to them is left in the care of a caring Christian woman until Sethu takes him in and gives him a home along with his other two sons born of Devayani.

Why does Koman begin the story with that of his parents? This is explained through the medium of Kathakali that becomes Koman's life in his teens. Kathakali requires the performer to interpret, says Koman; and to do that, he has to imagine and interpret not just his life but the lives of all others who have been a part of his life.

So the reader gets to meet all the characters that shape Koman's life, his brothers Mani and Babu (Radha's father), Aashan (his Kathakali guru), Dr. Samuel, Lalitha, Angela and Maya. Just as the book is in three parts, the narrative is from three points of view, Uncle, Radha and Shyam. And each part of the book begins with an introduction to the nine emotions, Sringaram, Haasyam, Karunam, Raudram, Veeram, Bhayaanakam, Beebhalsam, Adbhutam and Shaantam.

Superficially the story is about the undeniable attraction between Radha and Chris as Uncle mutely witnesses the ecstasy and inevitable pain that follows. But what is the book really about? Is it about "Art being a demanding mistress" or the fleeting nature of love that devours mere mortals in a tidal wave but soon passes? Is it about an artist's devotion to art, like Aashan's, that leaves him with no reason to continue living when he retires? Is it about the social conscience that seeks to legitimize man-woman relationships? It is a difficult question to answer.

All I can say is that Mistress is an exquisite book. With her genius for showing us the truth in everything we see, Anita Nair has created a performance with words that is as breathtaking as a Kathakali dance. I don't know what I should praise and what to leave out. The exquisite descriptions of the facial acrobatics required to create emotions in Kathakali, the soul stirring feelings that new love creates, the passive ways in which relationships continue to wither, the exciting story-telling (specially the part about Arabipatnam and each of the performances with the mythological context) or the detailed etching of each character?

I made slow progress through the 400 or so pages of this book and only at the end I realized why. Uncle tells a friend, "Classical art requires an effort from the audience. You don't become a connoisseur overnight. You need to imbibe it. You need to educate yourself, and it takes time to reach a level where you can understand the artist's imitation." It took time for me to savor this epic, time to get into the rhythm of the storytelling and time to get into the skin of the character.

Through this book I learnt the difference between an artist and a performer. I questioned "What is now?" I touched the ephemeral nature of art and the divine pursuit of it.

For all you readers, I leave you with one warning. Mistress is a demanding journey.

Keep the Change - Book Review

2011-06-22T09:56:00.000-07:00

The protagonist B. Damayanthi leaves behind a boring life with parents in Chennai and jumps into the cauldron of corporate life in Mumbai in this debut novel by Nirupama Subramanian. An only child of doting parents who are desperately trying to "settle" their only daughter into matrimony don't agree with the plans of apparently demure Damayanthi who harbors a wicked side, one that is revealed in her letters to her friend Victoria. Through this regular correspondence with Victoria we get a glimpse into the naughty workings of Damayanthi's mind as she pulls off a major coup by landing a job with First Global in Mumbai.

In what seems like a fairytale transition, the sheltered Damayanthi finds her feet in the world of corporate banking set amidst the landscape of the cosmopolitan urban jungle that is Mumbai. We meet characters such as the lovable Jimmy Daruwalla, her colleague and comrade-in-arms at First Global, CG - a management consultant hired for the special project that Damayanthi and Jimmy are relegated to and the too good to be true Rahul that Damayanthi falls for. Damayanthi's female accomplices are a sympathetic friend Sumi who periodically gives her gyan while obsessing about her soon to be fiance, while the "other woman" Sonya Sood, the hot roommate becomes a thorn who continually assaults Damayanthi's self-esteem with her suave and sophisticated ways.

The author skilfully portrays Mumbai through the eyes of a newcomer and deftly sketches the characters and plot with an easy touch of humor. There are laugh out lines in many places, particularly while describing the weird ways of doing business that seems to be the specialty of large corporations. The protagonist is a lovable character full of spunk and self-doubt, a mix of traditional values trying to find its place in a new world of fast lives and loose morals. There is not much in the way of a story, the plot is simple, moves forward steadily through the chapters and ends on a predictable note.

A simple, funny travel read.

Monsoon memories

2011-06-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

I was in Mumbai last week. The sky reflected a profusion of dull moisture-laden clouds in the puddles that lined the streets outside Mumbai airport's terminal 2. The vigorous wind blew my hair across my face as I struggled to find my name on the sign board of the hotel that was offering me a complimentary airport pickup. The sky continued to be same monochrome grayness of freshly poured concrete, interspersed only by the frequent showers, drenching passersby who hurried to dry shelters. The view from my window was depressing, the under-construction metro flyer coming up within touching distance of this fancy hotel did not do much to improve the ambiance. I wondered if the foreign business travelers would continue to patronize this hotel once metro trains roared outside their windows.

But monsoons in Mumbai have always been a time of pleasure and pain. The rains signaled the end of summer holidays that stretched endlessly and the beginning of a new school year. The skies poured liquid relief on the residents hassled by a long, unrelentingly humid summer. New books, uniforms, plastic shoes and click raincoats. Catching up with friends, braving the lashing rain that made the spanking new book covers into soggy messes and ensured everyone had a bad hair day. I remember reaching college completely drenched and leaving the umbrella in the back of the classroom to dry. With 100% atmospheric humidity, neither the clothes nor umbrellas would dry and another deluge would be waiting to accompany us on the bus ride home. Home would be a warm and welcome place where you could strip off the dripping clothes and unload the unsuspecting creatures that had hitched a ride with you - earthworms, small frogs and gods other creatures that visited us annually.

My brothers and I would sit around enjoying hot food or steaming cups of tea, exchanging war stories on our day and how we scored a victory (or usually lost to) over the rain gods. As much as I remember the monsoons, it has been a constant witness to the millions who make this maximum city their own. Learning to live with and in spite of the incessant rains, is a rite of passage that has shaped all of us who consider this place home, even when we do not live there.

I am not sure if I can become a resident of Mumbai once more. In its crazy growth the city seems to have forgotten me. Or is it me who has been banished for leaving the comfortable folds of a big city, I who once knew the bus routes and train stations on the western and central railway lines? Even as I see new flyovers, connecting roads, buildings of glass and steel that were not around when I was a little girl, Mumbai still feels like home. And I still wonder at the feelings that come up when I witness something as awe-inspiring as the monsoon in Mumbai.

My experiments with meditation

2011-06-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

After many years of curiosity regarding meditation, I finally accomplished one of my goals for the year 2010 (almost a year late) when I completed the 7-day introduction to Raja Yoga meditation course taught by the Brahmakumaris organization in April. I had been watching the show "Awakening with Brahmakumaris" show on Astha channel for several months and found their philosophy, as explained by the articulate Sister Shivani, appealing to me on many counts.

As a scientist (translates into "skeptic"), I have always been wary of the multiple Baba, Matas and Devis of our country, each with their crazed fan following. As someone told me once, the two lucrative "businesses" in India are education and ashrams. I have found it difficult to blindly follow the teachings of any single human being, however great they may be, because they are, like me, merely mortal. More disappointment comes from finding out that the venerated "gods" have feet of clay than from any flaw in their teaching.

The Brahmakumaris philosophy seemed simple and logical, to my analytical mind. Our destiny is created by our thoughts and with a minor change in our thinking, we could change our life! Raja Yoga meditation is the route to communing directly with the Supreme source to rejuvenate our human lives and bring meaningful transformation. In the 7-day course, the basics of the philosophy is explained for an hour a day with guidance on the technique of meditation. There was no major "enlightenment" during the week that I went to the center. But I knew that the road was one that I had to travel alone.

So I tried. Woke up at 4.30 a.m. and tried to quieten my thoughts at that hour of the morning. I was amazed at the ability of my mind to speed through multiple unrelated thoughts even as I was physically waking up my body. But the moments of quiet reflection were a good way to begin the day. Sometimes I went back to sleep, sometimes I felt alert and ready to get started with the day.

But I had the most amazing experience two weeks ago at the Brahmakumari Shanti Sarovar retreat center. Every evening from 6.30 -7.30 p.m. they meditate. The room is large, dimly lit and serene. As the sun set, the moisture-laden clouds crowded in and with the background of the natural premonsoon breeze, the sky changed colors. As the evening progressed, in that atmosphere of group meditation, I clearly heard a message "From now everything will be easy. You are not alone. I am with you."
I don't think these were verbalized but the message was clear, memorable and distinct. When the session ended, I felt lighter, happier, more alive. I felt safe. Secure. I felt loved.

It is two weeks since that eventful day and I returned the following weekend as well. I have felt other similar messages coming to me. While my meditation technique may not be perfect, my intention is sincere. All it seems to need is the peaceful atmosphere of the center and good vibrations from the other peaceful souls congregating to commune with god. With such catalysts, I am sure I can create a future for myself that is more peaceful and meaningful for me.

Marrying Anita - Book Review

2011-06-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

As the title suggests, this is a memoir of the time period spent by author Anita Jain in India. In her early thirties, Anita takes up a job in New Delhi and returns to the land her father left, coincidentally at the same age to seek their fortune in America. But Anita. a Harvard-educated, well-traveled, independent woman, comes to India for a different reason - to find a husband.

Anita's journalist background is displayed both in her writing skills and her analysis of the India of the new millennium in the chapters that describe her on-off relationship with India in the years of growing up in USA. Her self-proclaimed " A quest for love in the New India", as the byline reads on the cover page of book that shows a pair of hands covered with mehendi leads Anita towards several young people. While she finds many kindred souls, particularly when it comes to consuming copious amounts of alcohol and cigarettes, even hashish, in the racy bars of Delhi, Gurgaon and Noida, they all seem to fall short of her requirements for a spouse.

Along the way we meet many characters including the couple who host her during her first days in the capital, Nandini, a small town girl gone wild in the freedom provided by the metropolis, Anita's parents and their relatives, her outspoken maid Chandra and some other unique characters like the members of a band and members of the gay fraternity. In terms of prospective grooms, she comes close to a couple of guys but for some reason things don't materialize to the much-awaited four words "Will you marry me?"

Anita candidly shares considerable details of the lives and motivations of her parents immigrant experience as well as her own life as a single woman who gets tired of her dating fiascos in New York city. There are way too many details of her interactions with men of many nationalities and the complicated rituals of the dating scene which only fosters greater emptiness in Anita. While we feel sorry for her unfortunate dalliances, Anita comes across as a bold woman not afraid to share her growing desperation at her loneliness.

The book reminded me of a work of fiction "Sharmila's Book" by Bharti Kirchner where a woman comes to Delhi to marry a suitable boy but ends up marrying someone else instead. I did not much like the novel for its superficial treatment and point of view which was written for a Western audience. At times, I thought of "Eat Pray Love" one of my favorite books in the memoir genre about a woman's year of soul-searching with the specific intent of not being with a guy. Though not of the same caliber as Eat Pray Love, this book certainly is an honest investigation and analysis of the reality of finding a mate in these days of internet matrimonial portals and global range of choices.

At the end, Anita is not looking for a bigger pool to choose from, but like everyone else, she is looking for one soul mate. And I wish her well as her quest continues.

Construction Alert

2011-06-01T10:03:00.000-07:00

I am face to face with the worst fear of a new house(rather apartment) owner - no, its not rodents, termites or other crawling creatures, it is not even barking dogs in the adjacent apartment or youngsters having wild parties at all times of the day and night. It is the beginning of a new construction right outside my window!

I had savored the pleasure of sitting in my balcony with its clear, unhindered view of a few hundred yards, only a few times in these six months since my move. But those early mornings of looking outside, enjoying a cup of tea in solitude or those precious minutes before dusk while I read in the soft natural light before the falling darkness and raving mosquitoes drove me inside will soon come to an end.

Last week a huge orange truck with its drilling paraphernalia proudly mounted on its back spent the better part of a day penetrating the earth in search of water. After a few false starts, they found the elusive life-giving liquid. The next morning I awakened to the sounds of tens of trucks parked next to each other as a gigantic earth mover dug into the ground and loaded the trucks with mud. The same process continued each day and what began as a gash in the ground turned into a huge gaping hole. Everything in its path was removed - mature tree and beautiful rocks. Even the family of stray dogs that used the space to camp for the night fled to safer surroundings.

While the prospect of another residential building so close to mine is not pleasant, it is not just the impact on natural light and evening breeze (which I currently enjoy) that bothers me. It is the endless months of mind-boggling labor, dust, noise and other kind of pollution that I will have to withstand that is a concern. And without the kind shadow of the trees that graced the property not so long ago, I wonder who will take the onus of balancing the acts of mindless construction that is rampant everywhere in India. Can we not have rules and authorities with the power and ethical principles to uphold the rules? Can we not mandate a corresponding addition to the green cover for every square feet of land that is developed to create urban wastelands? Can rain-water harvesting not be made a prerequisite for obtaining building permits?

These and other questions will continue to haunt me as I observe the frenzied pace of work next door. Stay tuned for more.

Aparna's column - Puppy love

2011-06-01T00:58:00.000-07:00

One celebrity with a heart - actor Nagarjuna’s wife, Amala Akkineni. Blue Cross was set up in an attempt to rescue and provide shelter for injured street animals. Now home to hundreds of stray dogs, cats, cows and other creatures; Blue Cross has its own ambulance to save hurt, dying animals. The wounded animals, kept in fenced enclosures, are treated by experienced doctors and are looked after carefully until recovery. After healing, some are kept as regulars, some are left where they came from, some are put up for adoption. Probably not the most hygienic conditions for these abandoned little things, yet there is nothing more they could want. It’s the best life they could ever live-without the threat of abuse and accident. At Blue Cross they have a volunteer system, where anyone can sign up to render their services as an animal-lover. I have wanted to go to Blue Cross for a long time now, but the time never seemed right. Finally, I decided, what better time to go than now? So yesterday, along with two friends, I helped remove ticks from puppies, cleaned them up and played with them. They were all patient as we poked and prodded them. We made friends with the animals, coming down to their level and talking to them. They responded with friendly eyes and grateful, loving gestures.

All the puppies wanted to be touched and cuddled. They had pretty, charming, bright little eyes that one just couldn’t help but be mesmerized by. They would try to jump out of their compound, reaching towards us. One particularly impish puppy squeezed through the gap between the gate and the wall and escaped out. It liked the freedom, strutting around in the yard. We would keep dropping it back inside, and it would keep squirming back out. At one point, its head got stuck there in the gap and it wasn’t able to pull it out either way. It was squealing in pain; helpless. My heart broke to hear its pain and not be able to do anything. We brought help and finally the puppy was pushed inside.

After my time spent there, I realize how it makes me happy to be amongst dogs, petting them, interacting with the animals. Everything else is forgotten at that time, it is only about helping the puppies, giving them company. The best part is that it doesn’t even cost any money, just your time. The animals aren’t asking for anything else except your attention. Perhaps I will go there every week for two hours of pure joy.

A poem I liked

2011-05-26T03:41:00.000-07:00

Conversations
by
Keyur R. Patel

When we meet again,
You shall as always
Say
How life weaves a
Net of grief
And traps us in.

You hardly talk more
Than that and almost
Always add –
“This journey of becoming
Adults and unbecoming of humans.”

Perhaps you’re shy
And words born
Deep in your mind
Perch on your lips
With great diffidence
Gazing intently
At the vagaries of life,
Yet holding back
Their deep wisdom

Ah! Remember
How you once jokingly said
In the tone of a sage –
“Let these winds of
Wisdom caress you into
Enlightenment…”

And how I reacted
In awe and wonder
At this depth of reflection –
Like dust caught in
Swirling winds on forlorn
Streets of empty towns,
You capture moments of
Ideas and thoughts with
Tenderness of words

You know that you
Want to love me to
The fullest of depths
And yet,
You cunningly deny
With an abstract
Expression on your face

I know how stubborn affection can be
To show its intent openly,
To show its concerns.

I can wait forever –
Forever is a small inconvenience
To love and listen to you.

Tender Hooks - Book Review

2011-05-25T10:17:00.000-07:00

I recently read an interview with Pakistani author Moni Mohsin regarding the launch of her new book "Tender Hooks" and was intrigued enough to pick it up at Evening Hour. This is her second book after the huge success of "The diary of a social butterfly", based on her popular column in the newspaper.

The premise is simple. The protagonist, assumed to be "Mrs. Butterfly" is from an elite, well-do-to Pakistani family with an enchanted life - a large house, many servants, an adorable son and an Oxford educated (referred to fondly as Oxen) husband who lets her be herself. Butterfly observes the world through her rose-tinted glasses and her nose in the air, considering her place in society. Through her liberal use of grammatical errors (Thanks God), homophones (waste deep in snow), spelling goof-ups (good baggrounds), good old funny takes on known institutions (works in a bank Golden Sacks), slightly off the wall phrases (good radiance) and the like, Butterfly maintains a running comic monologue. I burst out laughing at least once in each chapter.

The chapters are short and begin with a date and what is presumably a newspaper headline. The book is not just about an airhead's view of Pakistani high society but a tongue-in-cheek critique of life in Pakistan today. Butterfly's breezy views on the army versus taliban, honest citizens versus the smugglers are put forth in an understated manner without ruffling any feathers.

In this book, Butterfly has the task of finding a bride for Jonkers, her cousin, by his overbearing mother, Aunt Pussy. Finding the right girl from the appropriate background is not as easy at is seems to be and we meet an endearing cast of characters in hilarious situations as we hurtle towards an unexpected ending. Butterfly operates from her superficial principles in most situations but is actually a feisty and sensible woman when push comes to shove.

I think Moni Mohsin has brought the right balance of humor to a lovable protagonist to highlight current issues in Pakistan with her breezy narration and wonderful wit. Definitely a must-read.

First Proof Volume 6 - Book Review

2011-05-23T10:14:00.000-07:00

The Penguin Book of New Writing Volume 6 contains a selection of non-fiction, fiction and a couple of poems. Reading an anthology reminds me of the famous words uttered by Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump in the eponymous movie "...like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get." The collection is a little erratic, with some excellent writing, some fantastic translation from regional languages and some run of the mill stuff.

The first non-fiction piece is a beautiful but heart-wrenching tale, "A Young Man", by Sunanda Sikdar, who has excerpted and translated from the original Bangla "Dayamoyeer Katha" by Anchita Ghatak. It deals with the barbaric practice of making young widows shave their heads and lead an austere life upon the death of their husbands, whether or not the marriage was consummated. The generosity of these women who were doomed by the prevalent customs with no way out is sure to bring tears to the most cynical among readers. Chatura Rao's three vignettes titled "By the Ganga one winter" has a memorable piece on the momentary fame experienced by an ordinary person and how one can live on a long-forgotten memory that lights up the monotonous present, if only fleetingly. In "Cabbie", Anindita Ghose poignantly captures the nuances of an unlikely friendship between a graduate student in New York and a Pakistani cabbie, how class differences may blur in a strange environment but only momentarily.

In the fiction section, Triptych by Ranjan Nautiyal describes the advent of rain and its effect of three young children with a loving touch in "Forgotten friend". "Soul Mates" by Kanchana Ugbabe is an extremely believable tale of a freeloader whose unwelcome stay creates problems in the household. Through "Aaba and other mysteries" Deven Sansare relates the effect of the prolonged mill workers strike that ended the industry in Mumbai and changed forever the lives of the workers and their families through the eyes of a young boy who comes of age in this period. Two wonderful stories of families with children abroad and the effect on the family members left behind are worth reading as they express the same sentiment through different protagonists - "Mrs.Dhillon" by Purnima Rao and "A 33-1/3 LP" by Somnath Mukherji. "Stink" by D. Rege is a hard-hitting tale of hijras and how their life does not become any easier even if the government passes article 337 in their favor. Of the two poems at the end of the book, I loved Keyur Patel's Conversations.

I am not sure what criteria was used by the publishing house to pick these stories amongst the myriad others that are available. A brief introduction to the authors is provided at the end of the book. It is clear that many of the authors are established in the writing profession, either as reporters, translators, screen writers, ad writers and such. Perhaps it is their level of proficiency that impacts the quality and feel of their words. What would be a worthwhile effort for Penguin is to bring out genuinely "first" writing by budding authors.

The Vague Woman's Handbook - Book Review

2011-05-21T10:40:00.001-07:00

Lately I have been having difficulty in figuring out the relationship between the title of a book and its contents. This debut novel by Devapriya Roy falls into that category. The brief description at the back sounded interesting, about an unlikely friendship between a newly-married young woman and another one, almost three decades her senior.

We are introduced to a hare-brained Sharmila Chatterjee, twenty-two years old, helplessly late for a job interview, having taken a break from her studies to financially help the dire home situation. Her husband, the idealistic Abhimanyu Mishra is pursuing his Ph.D. in an obscure subject, having given up the prospect of a Ph.D. in the USA. Consequently the two have eloped and married in Delhi, much against the wishes of the parents living in Calcutta. When Mil (Sharmila)is hired at the Indian Academy for Literatures, she meets Indira Sen, a senior government officer with whom she hits it off and thereby is supposed to begin a tale.

There are some vivid descriptions of New Delhi as the seasons change and some introduction to the mysterious working of the Indian governmental bureaucracy. However, there isn't much of a story to tell in the 300-odd pages of the novel. Indira's life seems to be one where an interesting plot could have evolved, given her strange home situation with a domineering mother, an obsessive-compulsive mother-in-law and a quirky Uncle along with a headstrong teenage daughter. But they seem to carry on with their weirdness, contributing nothing to Indira's life or to the novel. Mil helps Indira with her mounting, incomprehensible credit card debt while Indira seems to do nothing more than share junk food with the younger woman.

The characters seem two-dimensional with no significant inner angst other than the obvious daily difficulties of urban life; money problems, maid issues, interfering landlords and in-laws. As I mentioned earlier, the title and the story did not match but I can attest that the author seems as vague about what she wanted to convey through her characters and it is perhaps Devapriya Roy's handbook as a vague woman herself.

Kodai Day 3 - Off the beaten path

2011-05-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

Have you eaten yellow raspberries? I did not even know such fruit existed until this morning. We set off on a nature hike with our guide Mr.Vijay around 9.30 a.m. We chose a relatively easier trail that even the six-year old in our midst could attempt and walked through the western ghats. The terrain was uneven as we walked around a wattle forest at about 2000 meters above sea level. The silence enabled us to hear the laughing thrush, the bush chats and mynas. We saw medicinal plants like the foxglove growing wild, along with eucalyptus and brahmi. In untidy thorny shrubs we saw yellow raspberries growing in bunches. We tried some and they were delicious.

At a little stream, we saw crabs and frogs and lots of tadpoles, on their way to becoming frogs. At a clearing in the forest we saw, the bones of a bison, eaten through by the jungle ecosystem, probably killed by a pack of wild dogs. The kids thought this was totally cool. We took deep breaths of the clean forest air as we traversed terrain with amazing biodiversity. We did not come across any wildlife or to many humans either. We had a lovely time hiking through the silent green slopes, a path we might have missed if we had not met Mr. Vijay. He provides these guided tours for those inclined towards nature and a wish to meander off the beaten paths that are crowded with loud and uncaring tourists. More information can be found at http://www.nature-trails.net/contact.html

We were leaving the next day so we decided to have another bike ride by the lake. But before that we shared a cup of coffee with Vijay at a quaint restaurant called Cloud Street. We had delicious lemon cake and brownies which the kids slurped down with glasses of lime juice. As we walked towards the lake, we came across Pottery Shed, selling locally-made pottery, a rare find in streets which have stores that you have seen in a thousand places before, stocked with machine-made junk that has flooded markets all over India.

Day 2 - Kodaikanal

2011-05-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

Today we rented a car that took us to Berijam Lake, about 30 km outside of Kodai. This natural lake is a protected area where only a limited number of small vehicles (such as cars, vans and even mini-buses) are allowed each day, after applying for a permit. There are no shops or eating places and people taking food and beverages are supposed bring back their trash with them. The lake was pristine and quiet even as loud tourists jumped off buses and headed to the water, scaring away groups of monkeys diving off a low tree branch into the cool water. Small fish nibbled at our feet as we stood in refreshingly cold ankle-deep water. A few heron perched on the opposite bank while a couple of baby mallards swam around aimlessly with their spiky hair.

While the scenery was picturesque, equally riveting was the sight of orange and blue Lays chips packets, abandoned by tourists at the water’s edge. Plastic water bottles bobbed in the water, remnants of thirsty tourists uncaring of their contributions to the lakeside. Pepsicos contribution to the Indian environment can be found in any remote town and village. Even responsible hill-stations like Kodai and Munnar which have sensibly banned plastic, are not able to get rid of the scrounge of plastic wrappers that Pepsico’s marketing might has ensured touching lives in the most remote places within India. If an influential international giant like Pepsico would take even one small step to investigate biodegradable alternatives to food packaging, it would make the world a better place for everyone. Corporate social responsibility does not lie in setting aside sums of money for charity, it begins with looking within to see how you can incorporate sustainable business practices that are gentle on the world that you live in and make it part of your vision. Are you listening Indra Nooyi?

A well-deserved break - Kodaikanal

2011-05-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

Day 1

Beautiful Kodaikanal, the bracing air at this altitude, is finally erasing the scorched scars of Hyderabad summer from our bodies as we open the windows to natural air-conditioning. Aparna and I are here with our good friends from Hyderbad, Radha and family, to spend 4 days of the summer break from our taxing work schedules. Radha and her husband are entrepreneurs too, with punishing work pressures while balancing demands of families. Here we decide to make vague plans just a day ahead and keep our plans flexible, our main goal is to just relax.

We went to Kodai lake, rented bicycles and rode around the periphery, stopping to admire the view, or enjoy freshly picked tender carrots or melt in the mouth cotton candy. Our lunch was corn on the cob followed by orange bars and chocobars from the local Arun icecream cart. We took a leisurely boat ride with brief commentary by the friendly boatman who made it clear that the tourist trade was not as brisk and therefore expected a generous tip for his services. These included pointing out some huge lakeside properties belonging to business families, stopping the boat to let us pick purple waterlilies and making one quick garland with the long tubular stem for the youngest one in our group. We took turns wearing this organic “garland of honor” through the day while carrying the bunch of water lilies like tourists as we walked through the lanes. Bryant Park located adjacent to the lake was a little bit of a disappointment with its ill-maintained lawns and uninspiring landscaping. A profusion of flowers including delphiniums, hydrangeas, zinnias and marigolds graced a couple of flower beds. The highlight of the day was the tea at the Carlton, which maintains its title as the top-ranking hotel at Kodai even after 20 years.

Almost Single - Book Review

2011-05-04T03:43:00.000-07:00

One more in the ever-growing genre of Indian chick-lit, this book has one strength. Humour! The novel breezily captures the life of the protagonist, Aisha Bhatia, almost thirty, very single and surrounded by friends who are in a similar situation.

Most of the book is devoted to the single-minded pursuit (or discussion) of booze, cigarettes, available men, not necessarily in that order. Aisha's best friends,a very available and always on the look out, Misha and Anushka, undergoing the throes of divorce, provide able support to her angst as she works in a fancy hotel with its dark underpinnings reserved for the rich and the minions who serve them. It is not clear what the other two girls do for a living as they brunch at five-start hotels, discuss expensive shiatsu massages and consume copious amounts of branded liquor. Comic relief is also provided by a pair of gay characters who appear to be in a monogamous and committed relationship while the straight women ogle every specimen of the male species.

Of course, there is Aisha's consistent love interest, the hunky NRI Karan who has all the required attributes of a eligible bachelor and the multiple unfortunate liaisons of the intrepid Misha to spice up the narrative. The women seem be connoisseurs of wine but can't tell daals apart. Their redeeming feature is their closeness and camaraderie.

The novel is light-hearted and fun, with the devil-may-care attitude of the urban youth that laughs at tradition but is not averse to clinging to weird gurus and rituals when the situation demands. It is well-written but by no means a literary marvel. What saves the book from being mediocre is the irreverent humour that makes light of every dark situation, including the majestic institution of marriage.

Aparna's blog - A true dog lover

2011-05-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

It was Avani’s party the next day and I was finishing up school work before I went to bed. It was then that the phone call came. 9.30 PM, January 16th.

11th September 2005. I was eight years old. Dogs fascinated me. We had bought a large yellow poster of dogs and their breeds; my dad and I. That day, we drove down the dusty road that led to Kalpana Kennels and drove out with a dog in hand. His fur was soft, his ears small, his eyes bright. His sister and brother were adorable. But we had our hearts set on him. I still remember the car ride back home. He was skittering all over my lap in the backseat, his nails digging into the cotton of my skirt. He was so small, so fragile, so beautiful.

Sharky was baby Pinocchio. His nose grew and grew to such an extent that he couldn’t even reach his tongue to his own nose. He had difficulty eating and would be extremely protective of his food. He would have sudden mood swings and bite randomly. But we still loved him. We had brought him home to keep. We could not give him away.

Sharky. The name still tingles in my head. It brings back bitter-sweet memories. Me and him; running around the house, him falling into the pool and showing off his swimming abilities, his on-and-off girlfriend-the next door neighbor Blackie. The last time I saw him-several hours after he had died-lying on his bed, stiff and hard. Traces of blood in his mouth, his ears firm against his head, his tail rigid. His black body that was usually so soft and welcoming now seemed dark and ugly. They dug a 1ft. deep pit in the backyard at the foot of the mango tree, where all the cats he used to chase could see him.

He had choked on his food that night, Sharky. He suffered on his own though, not letting anyone help.

I cried like I never had before. After I had cried my eyes out, I didn’t know how to feel. Was I supposed to be sad all the time or was I supposed to just be happy and pretend like nothing was wrong? Would people mistake that happiness for ignorance; indifference?

But maybe the purpose of Sharky’s existence in my life was to teach me how to love. And once he had accomplished his mission, he had left. Right now he is probably teaching some other little girl, in some corner of the world, how to love.

Oreo came exactly a month later. He was different. I found myself comparing everything he did to Sharky. It will never be the same; Oreo will never replace Sharky, but he deserves my love just the same. The loss of a first pet is never easy, but there are harder things in life and I know it is these experiences that will help me get through them.

Break vs breakthrough

2011-04-30T10:12:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-29T22:47:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-24T09:21:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-19T09:55:00.001-07:00

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

2011-04-16T09:13:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

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.
_________________________________________________________

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

2011-04-15T09:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Right fit wrong shoe - Book Review

2011-03-27T10:14:00.000-07:00

In one sentence, Mills and Boon meets Bollywood.

A breezy light-hearted love story set in small town India, Kanpur to be specific, features (rather, stars), pretty young girl-next door, Nandini and tall, loaded and handsome, son of neighbor, Aditya, in typical Bollywood setting. It is a desi version of the good old Mills And Boon stories that I used to read in my youth. It was refreshing to see the standard love story ingredients set in contemporary India with a jilted young man returning to wreak revenge for the wrongs done by ex-flame.

I read this book on my train journey to Bangalore last week, as I headed to attend my cousins wedding. I finished the book by the time the train stopped at Bangalore city station. Varsha Dixit has churned a "cute" book with the regular cast of characters common to any movie script; loving parents, perfect relationship with extended family, absolutely devoted friend, doting neighboring aunties, including one referred to as "Badi Maa" etc etc. For a change, Nandini appears to be a feminist who is not afraid to voice her opinions. The dialogs with Aditya are quite corny while the liberal Bollywood masala sprinkling which predominates the interactions with her friend are quite funny if you understand the context.

Nandini is a lovable, if superficial character and the cliched intimate moments with Aditya are hilarious. The book is a reader's version of the Bollywood movies that it seeks to imitate. Worth one read, no stress on your grey cells.

Looking for success

2011-03-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

Everywhere you turn, it seems like everyone is looking for the same thing - success. Although the definition of the word may be unique to each individual, the general consensus seems to be that pursuit of success is a worthy goal.

On Sunday I attended a one-day seminar on "Secrets of Success" by Dr. Girish Patel, a well-known psychologist who integrates several scientific concepts into a spiritual quest from his position as the head of the medical wing of the well-known organization of Brahmakumaris. The large auditorium on the Shanti Sarovar campus in Gachibowli, Hyderabad was more than half-full on a hot March weekend. To his credit, Dr. Patel reached every member of the audience, kept them engrossed in his talk with simple stories, made us stand up and say our affirmations loudly and with lots of physical energy to infuse enthusiasm into our aspirations.

A surprise visitor during the proceedings was none other than megastar Chiranjeevi, in a slimmer avatar, who kept a low profile. When asked to speak, he gave examples from his own life where simple strategies like visualization played a vital role in achieving his dream of becoming a celebrity. It was heartwarming to hear his story in a few words, totally within the context of the topic. I must admit I was impressed by his sincerity.

Many of the approaches to achieving success that were shared have been described before, in self-help books and how-to guides. The difference here was the emphasis on spirituality. We were led through a few meditation sessions which calmed and energized the audience.

Did we learn any new secrets that day? Yes. Will each member of the audience succeed? Who knows? The proof really is in honestly applying what we learned towards our individual goals while holding on firmly to the belief that God will enable us to achieve that which is good for us and in harmony with the Universe.

Aparna's column - The Inevitable Monster

2011-03-14T09:54:00.000-07:00

I have asked my teenage daughter, Aparna, to write a weekly column for my blog. She has agreed (after a lot of convincing). Her introduction, 13 year old, DPS kid, born in the USA, Hyderabadi today. Her writing has won a few contests and some articles have appeared in the Times of India Student Edition. Here is the first one, on moving to ninth grade after spending a great year being a "eighthie".
_______________________________________________

There’s that time of the year, every year, when it’s time to move on from the old to the new. Time to adjust to new classes, new teachers, new friends. And every year, I feel bitter about it. I leave my old class with a mixture of emotions-sadness about leaving what had become such an important part of my life, along with happy memories of good times. But I wish I didn’t have to go through this change every year. The pain and memories it brings back. I suppose you could call me resistant to change. But change is inevitable. And every year, I hope that the transition will be easier, smoother, but it just seems to get worse.

With each new year, each new friend, the attachment gets stronger. The harder it is to leave my comfort zone and welcome the fresh experiences that I will soon encounter. I can only hope that the next year will be better. The nostalgia is nothing new. It’s gotten old now. There is a sense of excitement, anticipation, of the coming year, but in my case, mostly reminisces of the past year. You cannot possibly expect me to forget the amazing year that has gone by. Time just flies. You can’t even tell.

During the academic year, I usually hate my teachers and class, but toward the end, I begin to look at them differently; I begin to like them, love them and I cannot imagine moving away from them. Some of my close friends are leaving school this year, and it is unbelievable how much I will miss them. I cannot even entertain the thought of doing so myself. I have been in this school for eight years now and I have grown to love it so much, I can’t bear to stay away from school. I love school. I don’t know how I am going to take the pain of leaving school after tenth grade.
But I guess I am going to have to find a way to get used to it. Like Mary Engelbreit said, “If you don't like something, change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it.”

Holiday at home

2011-03-12T05:57:00.000-08:00

About 6 weeks ago, I thought I would spend this week (second week of March) in Singapore. Aparna had a break from school, the weather would be bearable, the tourist rush would not have begun. It was just a matter of getting all the arrangements made - visa, tickets, hotels etc. But I just could not gather enough energy to plan this holiday. Perhaps it was the cumulative effect of multiple business trips in the first few weeks of the year. I was exhausted and traveling itself seemed like too much effort. So I decided that I needed a break, but wanted to just stay home.

So this is what we did this last week - read books, watched movies, went for a laid back lunch at Novotel, took afternoon naps, played badminton, made gulab jamuns, gorged on chaat and ice cream, went for evening walks. I spent some time each morning sipping a refreshing cup of tea enjoying the morning breeze on my balcony. I did have a list of things to do but was not to crazy to strike everything off the list.

Most importantly, I spent time with Aparna. It was a good holiday.

Well Done Abba - Movie Review

2011-03-10T05:26:00.000-08:00

Armaan Ali the lovable, simpleton played by Boman Irani in this movie is someone I see everyday. His endearing Hyderabadi Hindi/Urdu, his mannerisms, pious and sincere nature are similar to the many drivers, helpers, shopkeepers that I come across in Hyderabad.

So the hilarious story of the reason why Armaan disappears for 3 months from his job as a driver in Mumbai is extremely real and believable. Of course, being a Shyam Benegal film, it captures the reality of heartbreak that is part of the daily lives of people in small towns in minute detail. Armaan gets into a scheme that allots him money for digging a well on his property. Burdened with a good-for-nothing twin brother and his wife, a spunky daughter Muskan (played by Minisha Lamba) and barren lands, he earnestly follows the directions of the corrupt officials right from the sarpanch's husband, the district officer, engineer and even the photographer to get his due. He is left with nothing to show since all the money disbursed to him goes to grease the palms of the bureaucracy.

Then comes the turning point at which Muskan comes to the father's rescue in securing the well that rightfully belongs to them by filing a complaint of a "missing well" with the police. The movie then takes an interesting turn as all the individuals involved in the scam have to explain the missing well. Muskan's love story with Arif is a parallel track which is handled with finesse. The movie is great fun to watch with fantastic understated performances by all the actors. The scenes reflect small town contemporary India and the problems faced by simple folks. The movie totally belongs to Boman Irani as he steals every scene with his mannerisms, his language and most importantly, his humanity.

I highly recommend this movie for all movie watchers, whether you live in Hyderabad or not.

A Place Called Here - Book Review

2011-03-09T23:02:00.000-08:00

Cecilia Ahern is considered a bestselling author for her earlier novel, PS. I Love You. I haven't read that book but watched the movie version with Hilary Swank as the central character. While the movie was a mushy romantic comedy,I think Cecilia Ahern is a good writer with a knack for telling a story.

Sandy Shortt, a six-foot one, Irish woman from a small town who becomes obsessed with finding things, probably as a consequence of the mysterious disappearance of her classmate and neighbor Jenny-May Butler at the age of 10. Sandy seems to be a complicated person who runs an agency that helps find missing people, after a stint as a cop. She distances herself from her loving parents and is unable to sustain any meaningful relationship with the opposite sex, thanks to her maniacal obsession with finding out where people or even mere objects like socks or toothpaste disappear to.

Then one day, she herself disappears as she embarks on a search for Donal Ruttle, the younger brother of Jack Ruttle, a man unable to live with himself even though a year has passed since his brother went missing. Sandy and Jack don't really meet each other but Sandy's disappearance drives Jack into an intense search that is hard to explain to his family. Bits and pieces of Sandy's life are revealed as she assesses her current "lost" situation with her penchant for finding lost items.

Ahern leads us into a magical place called "Here" which is inhabited by things and people that seemingly drop out of life in inexplicable circumstances. Whether it is lost airline luggage or a missing box of doughnuts, your friendly neighbor or his child, these are the ones whose faces peer at you from newspapers and posters labeled as missing, who live Here. As Sandy spends time among some of the people she has vainly tried to find, she reconciles her irrational obsession with disappearing objects and the significance of loss in the lives of the people who are lost and those that are left behind.

The book is full of interesting characters, both in the real world and Here, many of whom remind you of those you know or parts of yourself that you see reflected in the facets of their characters. But what struck me most were the words at the end of the book where Ahern says, "We all get lost once in a while, sometimes by choice, sometimes due to forces beyond our control. When we learn what our soul needs to learn, the path presents itself."

Metamorphosis

2011-03-08T00:26:00.000-08:00

An insignificant paragraph in the newspaper mentioned that "the city had registered a rise in daytime temperature," a high temperature of 38 degrees Celsius had been recorded yesterday. Compared to the normal expected temperature of 34, this sharp rise heralded the beginning of a long summer. It is the same each year, the cool first few weeks of the New year give way to warm rays of the sun right after Sankranti. Nature then turns on the thermostat on the occasion of Mahashivratri, which was celebrated last week. Now comes the final whiff of moderate heat before the sun god, ably aided by the wind, takes a deep breath on the day of Holi and showers us with a great puff of hot air along with the delicate colors of spring.

I don't need a weather report or a thermometer to tell me when summer arrives. My internal sensing mechanism kicks in around this time each year. Severe pain in the neck and shoulders, migraines and sinus pains are the signs that help me get into my metamorphosis mode. I am not a caterpillar that spins out of a chrysalis to become a butterfly but more like a lame bumble bee who turns into a bat each summer. From a diurnal creature I turn into a nocturnal one. I strictly stay indoors during the hours of 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. and venture out tentatively only when twilight sets in. In case I absolutely need to step out during the day, I cover my head with a cap or my faithful dupatta, wrap those brand new Fastrack sunglasses around my eyes and armed with a cold bottle of water, I get into my air-conditioned car to get to my destination.

I give up my favorite morning cup of tea and take to unlimited servings of lime juice, coconut water and buttermilk instead. I eat less, obsess about hydration and SPF. I pray for the monsoons to arrive. And if all else fails, I leave the city for cooler locations. Last year I was fortunate to run off to the US. Where can I go this summer?

Perhaps the weatherman has sent me a veiled message with the weather report - time to make travel arrangements!!

Happy International Women's Day

2011-03-07T23:11:00.000-08:00

It began early this morning - emails and text messages wishing me on this day that has been set aside to celebrate women. Some congratulate me on being a good mother and ask me to forward it to other mothers. Some mushy messages claiming "life is incomplete without women" arrive from people I hardly know. There are some that emphasize the differences between the genders and highlight only the good part of being a woman.

I wonder if all this fuss is warranted. After all women make up half the human population on this planet. We really are not an exotic species. And while we have specific emotional characteristics which make us the nurturers, we are as fallible as the next man, afflicted as we are with the common imperfections of being human.

I think it is best that we celebrate not just womanhood, which is a part of who we are, but our own identities as individuals, trying to do our best with our life; by being kind, humble and grateful for our blessings.

My best wishes to all women today - May your day be as unique and special as you are.
(quoted from my favorite email of the day)

Eat Pray Love - Movie Review

2011-03-06T20:50:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I watched the motion picture version of Eat Pray Love, a book I had enjoyed reading almost a year ago, at Evening Hour. It is an author's job to bring her character's to life, in the imagination of the reader and as individual readers, we have unique visuals for the same written word. So is the case when one director chooses to make a movie based on a book, the reader is curious to see how another person has visualized the same written word. Of course it helped that Julia Roberts was playing the central character, Elizabeth Gilbert, the author, whose year-long spiritual journey had been chronicled in the book.

The thought that crossed my mind as the final credits rolled, with Liz sailing off into the sunset with her new beau was that the movie was too long. The highlight of the movie was the fantastic cinematography where the essence of the three exotic locations Italy, India and Indonesia (Bali, specifically) were captured lovingly in the frames. Julia Roberts pulled off the character of the tormented Liz who escapes her New York life (a city that seemed bereft of its normal vibrancy, reflecting the mental state of the heroine) to find herself. In the darkened frames in various cities Julia appears far from her "Pretty Woman" image but she does justice to the part nevertheless. Interesting characters cross her path, from Sofi,Giovanni and Luca Spaghetti (really!) in Rome to Tulsi and Richard from Texas at the unidentified ashram in India and of course, Ketut, Wayan and Felipe in Bali. The movie comes across as serious cinema with a sprinkling of comic elements, romance, heartbreak and friendships. An honest depiction of human life and its similarities across the globe. But it felt too long.

I had not thought of the book as being too long but the book did have 108 chapters (of varying length) dealing with the major parts of the story. It is unfair to compare the movie with the book and to judge it inferior, not because it strays from the story (which this one does not) but because it does not match your visualization of it. In my opinion, where the movie falls short is in reflecting the dark humor and sometimes, the irreverent amusement that Gilbert infuses into her book when she describes her experiences. I missed some of the other characters in the book that do not show up and also some of the key turning points in her journey.

If you haven't read the book, please watch the movie. And if you have already read the book, perhaps the movie will make you do the same thing that it did to me - want to read the book again.

From me to you - Book review

2011-03-05T09:12:00.000-08:00

It is not really a book. It is a collection of articles written by Sathya Saran, ex-editor of Femina who wrote the eponymous column over a period of a decade. The tagline says, "Writings on love, life and learning" and the collection stays true to this promise. Divided into sections named Encounters, Musings, Cityscapes, Tangents and perspectives and Reflections on nature, we get a glimpse into Sathya's mind as she wrestles with several issues. Most of her inspirations are taken from her daily life. As a resident of Mumbai, there is mention of encounters in the ubiquitous local trains, musings on human nature when it comes to destroying mother nature's bounty, common people who trigger uncommon musings in this thoughtful woman.

Sathya Saran comes across as one among that rare species of famous woman who has a heart and is not afraid to wear it on her sleeve. Her penchant for saving trees lined up for ruthless cutting, or her fanaticism about not encouraging the use of plastic bags make her a lovable activist since she also allows us to glimpse into her fallacies as the time she has to face the reality that she needs reading glasses, or when she discovers that she has turned into someone she does not recognize and wants to find herself. I identified with so many of her articles, it was almost like hearing a close friend narrate an incident from yesterday until you come across her writing about meeting Gloria Steinem or Maharani Gayatri Devi and you realize that Sathya Saran hobnobs with the beautiful and famous. Which makes her wonderful writing all the more precious. To move among the rich and royal, in a world focused on outer beauty and show, to keep alive the flame of a spirit that cares, for nature, for regular people and turn an ordinary daily event into one that is memorable is indeed a formidable accomplishment.

Sathya Saran's writing is extremely poetic, each word chosen precisely and lovingly, considering that the column must have had a word limit. I wished some of the topics had been dwelt upon longer. The other possible improvement could have been the quality of the paper and printing, by Westland. But this slim book is a treat, both to read and to treasure for reading over and over again, whenever you feel jaded with the monotony of life.

Gulzar says in the blurb on the back cover that "Sathya Saran could have been a poet..... should have been a poet", I could not agree more.

Food fight

2011-03-05T08:41:00.000-08:00

These are times when everyone with even an iota of talent in the performing arts appears to be on TV, battling with other mediocre contestants to win dance and music competitions. The judges usually are as insipid as the anchors and the elaborate sets and loud orchestra cannot cover-up the sad performances. Then you switch channels and come across some crass reality shows with people choosing their mates or hurling abuses at roommates. And you wonder about the marvels of digital TV that brings into your home, unlimited choices of low quality, mind-numbing, so-called entertainment.

But there is one competitive show that I really like. It all began with Masterchef Australia. The three famous chefs first selecting from a large group of amateur cooks and then challenging them through a series of pressure tests, invention tests, team challenges, mystery box challenges and encounters with celebrity chefs to transform them into professional chef material, made for excellent TV viewing. The accomplished chefs managed to bring a combination of passion, mentoring and true interest to influence the motley group of eager learners, many of whom dabbled in cooking as a hobby prior to trying that hand at being Masterchef. The futuristic shiny steel counters, large pantries and refrigerators, the top quality ingredients used to make and present food that looked like artwork, too perfect to eat, was a great treat just to watch vicariously as the judges sampled the dishes, gave their opinions, sometimes praising lavishly, at other times harsh but specific in their criticism, always with a view to help the contestant improve.

I was disappointed when the show ended with Adam as the winner. So when Masterchef USA began on StarWorld, a couple of weeks ago, I was happy to once again get caught up in the excitement of choosing another winner. This show was a little different, at least the parts that were shown on TV. Reflecting the multicultural society of America, the contestants were from different races and backgrounds including a woman of Indian origin who made it to the top four. But the celebrity judges were very rude, there was a lot of swearing (beeping), with the rounds moving fairly quickly. There were hardly any "masterclasses" where invited chefs came and revealed their famous recipes and trained the amateurs. But this show also came to an end, a little too soon, I thought, with 22 year old Whitney, a girl from Mississippi, who won fair and square. It was a happy moment to see how a young person from a small town, with a passion for food and the ambition to start her own catering business could get to the top prize with sheer determination and single-minded focus. It was a lesson I hope other young viewers also take to heart.

At such times, the idiot box redeems itself.

Queen of Dreams - Book Review

2011-03-03T08:51:00.000-08:00

After a long time, I found myself reading a novel by an NRI. I have admired Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's work for a long time, specially during the years when I was an NRI myself and developed an interest in writing. I have read most of her novels and am a great fan of her poetic style of narration. Like all authors, she has figured out a formula that works and keeps churning out novels that are interesting, on seemingly diverse topics while keeping the core theme common. Her earlier novels like Mistress of Spices and even the more contemporary ones like Sister of My Heart and Vine of Desire, have a magic realism element where the unexplained old traditions of the old country (India) lie side by side with up-to-date descriptions of freeways and bridges of the United States.

Queen of Dreams reads a lot like Mistress of Spices, right from the title itself which to me sounded uncannily similar. But true to the formula, the story begins deceptively as the life of painter and single-mother Rakhi who also co-owns Chai House, a eatery in Berkeley, California with her Sikh friend, Belle. The monotonous life of American-born daughter of immigrant Bengali parents who refuse to talk about their country of origin would have been a dreadful bore if Rakhi's mother had not been a "dream teller". A novel concept of people who have the gift of dreaming the dreams of others and can be trained by cult of women is brought into the narrative through the dream journals kept by Rakhi's mother who has this gift. Rakhi's father appears to be a bystander, largely ignorant of this part of his wife's life and only an incidental character in Rakhi's formative years when her mother's mysterious aura captivates her completely. Jona, Rakhi's little daughter and Sonny the ex-husband play important roles which are lovingly described in the chapters. Rakhi's ambivalence towards the relationship shared by her ex-husband and child, the fascination for India, the mysterious country that is not spoken about, the frustration of dealing with the creative dry spell in her paintings and the competition small neighborhood businesses face from large faceless corporations are dealt with finesse.

The writing is beautiful. Some of the prose reads like poetry, Banerjee liberally uses similes and metaphors that say a thousand words. Some examples that stayed with me were "Inside me the thoughts I have been battling wait like submerged rocks in a river", "When I opened my eyes, the house was in front of me, like a woman kneeling with her arms open." For the most part, the story moves a tad too slowly. After a fatal road accident, while translating the dream journals from her native Bengali, Rakhi's father starts bonding with Rakhi as they both discover the secrets of the woman who was a central but aloof presence in their life. It is Rakhi's father who helps her find the elusive recipe for making her eatery a success and deal with the aftermath of the attack on the World Trade Center that affects all non-white immigrants in America.

The book is an interesting read, written predominantly for a westernized audience, with liberal doses of mystical masalas that are implied as being part of the lives of Indians in India; a cocktail of flavors that always satisfies its hungry audience of readers, both resident and non-resident Indians.

2011-03-01T09:24:00.000-08:00

Why is it that we overlook the magnificence of our neighborhood and venture to faraway lands to find natural and man-made wonders to appreciate? The thought crossed my mind while standing on the first floor of the Charminar and looking at the bustling old city which must have been new in the 15th century when the Charminar was constructed.

Thanks to my friend Anupama's insistence that we visit Charminar, we spent a leisurely Sunday, admiring the artistic elegance of the Charminar and appreciating the grandeur of the Nizam's as we toured the Chowmohalla Palace.

Enjoy some pictures.

Aftertaste - Book review

2011-02-22T06:57:00.000-08:00

Reading a second book by an author is much like watching a movie sequel, the reader's expectation is a greater barrier for the author to scale than merely a plot or a narrative. Namita Devidayal's first book "The Music Room", a memoir with a twist, featuring the life and times of her music teacher as the centerpiece was a wonderful debut for this journalist.

Like the earlier book, Aftertaste also has a central theme, not music but something more primal, food. Specifically, the heavenly mithai that the matriarch of the Todarmal family has converted into a thriving business. Mummyji, as the powerful old woman is known, is in the hospital, suffering from a stroke from which she is not expected to recover. The book chronicles the effect of this event on the condition of her four grown children and the impact her impending death has on the family dynamics.

The narration moves back and forth between the days prior to Mummyji's stroke in the lives of Rajan Papa, the oldest son, who is in a financial crunch which his doting mother is aware of but does nothing to alleviate; Suman - the once-beautiful elder daughter who preaches spirituality and detachment but is firmly entrenched in the material world, Saroj - the unfortunate, dark-skinned younger daughter struggling with her personal tragedy compounded by Mummyji's tyranny, and Sunny the youngest spoilt son who is juggling an extra-marital affair while dealing with business problems.

Through the lives of one family, the book shows the obsession of business families with money and its constant pursuit which becomes an end in itself even as the family ties chafe under the eternal pressure to maintain wealth and more importantly, social standing. Mummyji transforms the sagging fortunes of her husband by using her skill at making mithais, and as she traverses the traditional barriers, she picks up the family honor and the power that accompanies her actions. A strategy of bribing her kids either with food or money leaves a devastating trail in the dysfunctional family, spelling doom even for the next generation.

The story is fairly interesting but the author's use of similes and metaphors about food leave a bad taste. Instead of the gentle "show, not tell" style of the Music Room, there is judgment and justification for each character's action, an analysis of events from the author's point of view about the reason the characters behave the way they do. While a few loose ends are tied up at the end, it was heartening to see the surprise unresolved piece which is apparent but invisible to the ones who clamor for it.

I was reminded of a similar family saga "Home" by Manju Kapoor which focused on the lives of three generations of a business family that settles in Delhi after the partition. Both books read like polished versions of the family soaps more popular among TV viewers. Perhaps it is in this element that as serious reader I am disappointed.

Dance like a man

2011-02-19T09:36:00.000-08:00

Today I went to see the whirling dervishes from Turkey perform at the Global Peace Auditorium. The flaming Spanish flamenco earlier this week, was followed by a traditional Kuchipudi performance by the Raja and Radha Reddy's Natya Tarangini troupe yesterday. The 1 hour show presented one piece "Mahanatam". The young dancers ably supported their gurus in their spectacular choreography with focus on excellence. Perhaps the only disappointment was the lack of a live orchestra.

The Sema, the whirling dervish dance was performed by a troupe with four dancers and four musicians. Wielding unusual instruments such as the ney, oud, kanun and kudum, the program began with the flute-like instrument instantly transporting us into another world. When the dervishes appeared on stage, wrapped in dark shrouds, the atmosphere became almost ethereal. In tune with the music, they gently unfolded their crossed arms to reach out with their right hand open towards the sky while the other hand faced the earth, bringing blessings from the divine into this world. The dancers spin around gently and continuously, never missing a step or losing a beat. Their heads are titled, eyes closed as they commune with the spiritual world right there on stage. The gracefully billowing white skirt, the outstretched arms and beatific expressions on their faces could only give us a glimpse of the bliss that the dancers experience.

What was striking about today's performance was that this was not something purely entertaining. This was one performance which made me wish to try twirling like them, just to get an insight into their mystic communion. It reminded me of the times I have attended aartis at ISKCON temples worldwide. In every temple I have seen a few fervent followers slip into an unending blissful chant of "Hare Krishna", making all others feel totally excluded from their personal connection with Krishna. The dervishes, followers of Mevlana Rumi, appeared to be the lucky ones, knowing the direct path of spirituality, attained through their dance. I felt fortunate to just watch them. Right here where I live.

Cloud 9 minus one - Book Review

2011-02-17T09:23:00.000-08:00

Here is another book which is perhaps a thinly disguised autobiography, a debut novel by an author (Sangeeta Mall), writing about fictional characters set in her real-life alma mater IIM, Bangalore. Is it a female version of Chetan Bhagat, a wannabe chick-lit, or serious literary fiction? It is hard to classify this novel about Shruti Narayan (nee Malhotra, aka Ruts), ex-IIM grad, now NRI, who is visiting Bangalaore for a weekend reunion, twenty years after leaving the place.

The book is well-written and neatly flashes back and forth from the present to the past, as the skeletons emerge with old classmates coming into the scene. The language is realistic and dialogs authentic. The story is utterly believable and told in an unselfconscious first person narrative that is laced with tongue-in-cheek humor. We meet a whole bunch of characters from the past with quirky nicknames like Rats, Captain, Curry, Jaggu and Paxi. The central theme of Shruti's discomfort with th whole idea of revisiting IIM is revealed in bits and pieces as the story about her friend Priya unfolds. College friendships, the urge to try something new and exciting when stepping outside the comfortable boundaries of home, the naive belief in good-bad, right-wrong, dealing with conflicting feelings of loyalty and jealous, are seen in the petty rivalries and competition in the college campus.

It is heartening to see Shruti's struggle in trying to find her old (or is it young) friends in these new middle-aged creatures that she confronts. Some things have changed, much hasn't. The story is not just about what has transpired to make the once-rebellious youth into conformists but about finding that core characteristic of each individual that made them your friends (or rivals) and reconciling to the new reality.

While Shruti's perfect marital situation with an understanding husband and well-behaved kids gets a little jarring, it is Shruti herself who comes across as a regular person with her quota of diffidence and insecurities. The strength of the book is not the story which is fairly pedestrian, but in the telling of it. It is a comfortable read, interesting enough to keep you turning pages but a tad too long.It is a coming of middle-age story.

In the final analysis, personally, this book seems to be new wine (of the chick-lit variety) packaged in an old bottle, with huge doses of nostalgia and the wisdom that comes from hindsight. And it tastes pretty good.

Ice and fire

2011-02-17T09:05:00.000-08:00

In my quest to smell the roses even if I don't time to stop, I have enjoyed the last two evenings right in my neighborhood, spending my time in doing something that brings me joy. The "Parampara" series of dance shows, featuring internationally acclaimed troupes is performing at Shilpa Kala Vedika, the wonderful auditorium located right next to Shilparamam in Hitec City. We have the opportunity to watch fantastic dance productions for free, right here in Hyderabad!

Yesterday was the Moscow Classical Ballet troupe that mesmerized the audience with their graceful performance. It was my first time watching live ballet and it was an out-of-this-world experience. The soothing strains of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake filled the half-empty hall with the smooth, fluid movements of the artistes. The petite ballerinas in their gossamer outfits glided across the stage like dainty fairies and comets while performing lifts and twirling on tiptoes for moments that seemed to go on forever. They almost did not look like discrete human figures, but resembled the soft, gentle strokes of a painter's brush, floating across the canvas of the stage. The emotions displayed were universal and felt collectively by the audience as they continued to impress with their finesse.

This evening I was once again fortunate to attend another spectacular performance by Flamenco dancers from Spain. In contrast to the icy elegance of the ballet, this Andalusian dance form had all the fiery passion that Spain is famous for. Jose Parcel was superb as he performed solo footwork that was mind-blowing. The dumbstruck audience responded to his performance with thunderous applause and whistles. The live musicians sang soulful ballads and rousing numbers which in turn energized the dancers who seemed tireless as they stomped around with their flouncy long gowns, their furious footwork a source of intense fascination. I watched unblinking, totally captivated by their grace, their controlled passion and their love of this wonderful energetic dance form.

I was reminded of Malcolm Gladwell's central premise in his book "Outliers" that those who perform exceedingly well at any given task, have at least 10,000 hours of work behind them. While this is apparent in sports, nowhere is it a greater delight to watch, than in the arena of performing arts. Each of these artists have put in thousands of hours of practice in their pursuit of perfection. In the presence of such dedication, all that one can do, is feel humbled, and grateful to be a witness.

Love, my friend, is not Easy - Book Review

2011-02-13T00:06:00.000-08:00

There are books that you like instantly, some that grow on you and some that you dislike so much that you can barely read it. This book does not fit in these categories. The short version of the review - the book is totally pathetic.

Perhaps the acknowledgments in the front of the book should have given me a hint. It is basically a story written in a blog, in bits and pieces, over a period of time. The book, in its final finished form reads like a blog, not like a novel. The story is cliched, not copied from one known story or movie, but from many movies. Aditi, the main character, having to grow up all to soon after the sudden death of her father, seems competent to manage the lives of her family members but totally incapable of having either a stable thought or logic while managing her own. She is supposed to be a finance whiz-kid but cursed with the absolute worst luck, two great guys wooing her simultaneously. And how much better can it get, when she is pregnant with one's child that the oher marries her, a la Amitabh in Silsila. But there is no great drama with a love triangle involving another woman here but just poor sucker number one who runs off after finding out that his life is limited, like Rajesh Khanna in Anand.

The grammar is poor, the prose is pedestrian. There is no sign of an editor anywhere in the vicinity with sentences like this "I had always been a thinking person if not not a thoughtful one, and the buzz in my mind has spiralled to an all time high crescendo. I plunged into work even more deeply than ever before." The story-line is jerky, the narrative simultaneously exists in past, present and future tense. There is no depth to the writing, no insights, no takeaways. It is an example of how low chick-lit can go.

There is one thing that this book makes me want to do - read Chetan Bhagat!
I can't help but end this review by saying, "Reading this book my friend, is stupid. Don't do it".

3, Zakia Mansion - Book Review

2011-02-12T23:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I go on a binge - I read all the books written by an author. While it is great to keep reading someone who writes well, it is difficult to evaluate the different books in an unbiased manner. Sometimes the characters look familiar, even identical to characters of other books, the situations seem all to similar and the dialogue can sound repetitive. But this time, I was pleasantly surprised.

I picked up Gouri Dange's first novel, 3, Zakia Mansion, after reading her more recent "The Counsel of Strangers". It is a brief novel, hardly 160 pages or so but tells the story of Shaheen Adamji, born as the oldest child of the Karimali family living at 3, Zakia Manion, in a household made up of parents, two siblings, an orphaned cousin and a loving grandmother. The story begins with 14 year old Shaheen and appears to be a coming-of-age novel at first. The level of details in the narrative are just enough to illuminate the everyday events of a family that had seen better days while continuing to live in an ordinary life in a city.

The story takes a unexpected turn with the arrival of a cousin from Junagadh, a turn that breaks apart their humdrum existence and plummets all the three children into a dismal spiral. Shaheen is the first to escape, by marrying Ayaz, a Mama's boy, who is unable to balance the two women in his life, a state that does not improve even after the arrival of another female, his daughter, Juhi. Shaheen's siblings, Ayesha and Farhan suffer longer at Zakia Mansion and head towards their own private hells. Ehsaan, the cousin who grows up with them, flies off to America and is relatively spared the sad details of those he holds so dear.

A large part of the novel deals with spunky Shaheen's life as she weathers the storms and one day finds herself a divorced woman without custody of her teenage daughter. Dange has done a fabulous job of capturing the thoughts and the nuances of teenagers, whether it is Shaheen's feelings or the more vicious sentiments of Juhi towards her parents. The story meanders along for a brief while until Manas, a young man, appears in her life. From this point till the end of the novel, the story keeps you riveted with the brisk storytelling style that moves the plot forward without sacrificing deeper insights into the various characters as they learn to take risks and enjoy what life brings them.

There is no comparison with the later novel that Dange wrote, the originality is refreshing, as is the writing. This novel, is a great read, with characters that are real people who we all know, characters that show us that life, after all, is worth living, even as it pulls you in myriad directions.

Das Auto

2011-01-31T09:12:00.000-08:00

Here are pictures of my new car - my first automobile.
Das Auto. The Car. Mine!

Employees First, Customers Second - Book Review

2011-01-27T09:15:00.000-08:00

I chose to read this book which I first noticed in the "Management" section of the airport bookstore. I usually stay away from the MBA type books because, as all true scientists, I find it a little too esoteric for my taste. But the title intrigued me because conventional MBA philosophy advocates the opposite; "customer is king" is the mantra that is sold under different labels. It seemed a little contrary to my usual bias and I was curious to see what was inside.

Vineet Nayar, the author, took charge as CEO of HCL Technologies in 2005, at a time when the company was doing quite well in its stable position among the major IT rivals. Five years later, the company is one of the fastest growing companies which tripled its revenues, halved its attrition rate and grew its customer-base five-fold. All this in a period marked by one of the most severe recessions in recent history. The book provides the blueprint for this transformation.

In retrospect, a clear formula emerged for this radical transformation which included phases such as Mirror, Mirror; Trust through transparency; Inverting the pyramid and Recasting the role of the CEO. But the journey to transform a large, profitable company into a dynamic, forward-looking organization required a lot of courage and faith in its employees. Nayar shows through his simple narration, how it is possible to come up with totally new strategies that are focused on employees who are in the so-called "value-zone", the critical interface with clients.

With several initiatives with catchy titles such as Smart Service Desk, U&I,employee first councils and a revolutionary way of implementing 360 degree feedback, change of a unprecedented magnitude was enabled in a company with 55000 employees. With employees fully engaged and trusting, it is no wonder that HCLT is hurtling towards even greater heights.

Personally, it took me while to complete this book, but I also did not want to read it only half-way. As a former disgruntled employee of large corporations where I felt the greatest threat was in disengagement, the first symptom of further failure, I knew how little the management cares or can do about this. This book points to one option of how turning the entire management philosophy upside down, can work wonders.

For all you cynical workers and managers, here is book that shows another way.

The Counsel of Strangers - Book Review

2011-01-26T08:45:00.000-08:00

As the title suggests, this is a novel about strangers, 6 strangers of all ages, occupations and social class, who happen to meet at a wedding. It is not so much a novel as a collection of six short stories that merge one fateful night. The night where wedding revelry is only a backdrop to these guests who find themselves reluctant invitees to the pomp and show. Instead these characters spend the evening in each others company, divulging their past lives and current predicaments.

On the surface, the characters appear unique and quite different from each other. Wing Commander Brahme, a retired Army Officer, Kartik, the young teenage boy, Anandi-Mohini, a single woman with a past, Sahil, the news reporter, Sajani the nurse and Professor Natrajan. Their stories cover different aspects of the human condition, from dealing with late-life romance, to lack thereof, from being alone to being watched continuously, seeking meaning to seeking affection. But there are common threads that repeat, the USA connection for three of the 6 characters, the Mumbai connection for another three.

Dange does a fantastic job of getting the thoughts of the aging and elderly just right but falters with the first person narration of the little boy who resents being under the microscope of his family, afraid to repeat the delinquency of their older child. Nurse Sajani's voice is much more believable as a woman who has spent her years caring for other bodies, but craves to be free from her duties as she ages alone. The lines spoken by the educated elite ring true and is the voice that the author seems most comfortable with, whether it is the moral superiority expressed by the NRIs settled in the US or the intellectual snobbery of Professor Natrajan who uses it as a shield to distance herself from her only son.

The stories are laced with wry humor and true-to-life situations. I loved the first chapter about Wing Commander Brahme and identified with Anandi-Mohini's theories about marriage. The writing is liberally sprinkled with quotes from Ezra Pound and lyrics of well-known Bollywood songs. It is a light and engaging read, particularly a good book to while away the time in airports and train journeys.

The technique of telling many different stories in first person narration as chapters in a novel is not new one, it has been successfully used by other Indian authors such as Anita Nair in Ladies Coupe and more recently by Chitra Banerjee in One Amazing Thing. But this is one novel where the oft-repeated lines from Bollywood movies also undermine the story by the obvious effort and insistence on trying to tie things up nicely at the end.

The novels strength is in its life-like characters but they turn into mere caricatures as they sprint to the anticipated happy ending.