Life, Books & Wisdom

Do you have a story too?

2011-05-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

I have a story inside me. But it refuses to come out. It likes hiding in the darkness, unseen and unheard. It doesn’t want to reveal itself just yet. It is waiting for the right time.

I am not waiting. It is. The story in me. There will probably never be the right time for it to find a voice, but it will wait. And it will linger on for an infinite moment.

Not for anyone to remember, but for someone to just ask for it. What do you have inside you? My story refuses to let me answer. If I am not loyal enough to my story, it will not be my story any longer. I cannot open my mouth, even if I wanted to.

My story won’t let me. It listens to me all day, it knows all my secrets but it won’t open up. No. Not even to me. I don’t own her. It owns me. My story. No one knows it. Not even me.

The only way to find out is to die. But then it won’t be my story anymore either. Someone else, somewhere who will miss me, will come to own my story. Then it will haunt him. It won’t speak up but its silence will be a painful reminder of what it owned. Of who it owned.

But I will have no regrets as my expectations from my story would be long gone with my end. But so long as I am here, I will keep trying to find my story. I will keep trying to make it speak. I will keep trying to prove it to her that she can trust me.

My story will always be mine until my end. It might disown me before that. But it will never be someone else’s. Until I am gone. Then she will be free. But not free enough to speak up. That bitch. My bitch. My story.

And you know what’s unfair about her? It’s not knowing if it exists. And not knowing if it’s for real.

Age Reversal

2011-05-23T10:40:00.001-07:00

Not this time...

She sat in front of her long royal mirror. She looked into her deep blue eyes. Fluttering them. Then staring still. Then fluttering some more. Something felt different. Her eyes felt heavier. Maybe she was just sleepy. Then she heard her cuckoo clock strike midnight.

She looked for her night cream, the one she routinely applied before retiring for the day precisely at 12 O’clock. She seemed to have misplaced it. She looked everywhere. The night cream had been there just a few minutes ago. She vividly remembered the rounded red glass bottle, lying right in the middle of her dresser. Staring back in perfect understanding. Where did it go, then?

How could she sleep without applying it? No she couldn’t. If she did, they would all know. He would know.

Her secret would be out. Her dark unthinkable secret.

She searched frantically. Her eyes felt heavier. Her throat ran dry. She started throwing stuff off the dresser. Where could the cream have gone?

Then she heard his footsteps behind her, “What’s wrong?” She turned and saw his silhouette against the wall of her bedroom, the dim yellow light from her night lamp contrasting her need to hide.

She panicked. “Nothing.. Er.. Nothing at all. What are you doing here?” Foolish question to ask.

He gave her a smile before speaking again, in his old crooked voice, “Do you need help in cleaning up?”

She lowered her eyes and began picking up stuff, as slowly and normally as possible. He would never understand how a bottle of cream could be so important. He must never understand. Where are you? Where are you, my pretty red one, she kept asking in her head. She had to find it. Otherwise the process would be reversed; faster, more drastic, more painful reversal. She could not allow that. She was the master of his age. And his wealth.

He looked at her. Her blue eyes started changing colour now. Her focus shifted from her search, to him. He smiled, approvingly. Then, he laughed. Laughter of a devil, only slightly more consoling. Last few bits of his love for her. She sensed it, as she started to feel the pain he had so easily grown used to in the past. Or she had assumed he had.

And then, she fell to the floor and at his feet. It was fifty minutes past twelve now. The clock hands were the last sight her eyes could see. Well, almost last until she saw the red bottle tightly clutched in his fist. His young, newfound voice echoed till she lost her last breath, “Not this time... Never again...”

Action at Intersections

2011-02-25T09:09:00.000-08:00

“Do we stop doing something just because it is not measurable? Do we stop doing something because it is not scalable?”

These were a few questions raised at the UnBox Festival today. I was there attending this three days long event about design thinking and how it can be applied across disciplines. I am neither a design student, nor a design thinker or practitioner. What was I doing there? Good question. I asked myself that question several times as I sat through the first few presentations. Even though initially I felt like a square peg in a round hole, I knew that I was there on serious agenda. I had to do what I do best – attend the event and churn articles. But it’s easier said than done, especially when it came to covering UnBox.

Usually when I am reporting events, in my head I keep framing questions for the speakers, points that I will make in my article, where and how it will appear, even what the final copy might look like. At UnBox, this was so difficult for me that I started getting uncomfortable to the extent of doubting myself. And why couldn’t I get the snapshot images in my mind? Because every person who spoke, every idea discussed opened up so many new spaces for fresh thinking that you just could not have a plan running in a single strip in your head. The opportunity cost of sticking to a planned approach to this festival was a chance to find the missing pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to solve for many years, like most of the participants. Every one of us seemed to have come there with a puzzle of their own. Whether it was about where to make a start, or about taking home a reassurance that our path had a meaning beyond measurables or about getting slapped and thrown off the stage, the event really seemed to have answers too.

One of the things that were discussed was whether design and innovation must necessarily be scalable. Ideas in the commercial scenario are often rejected simply because a group of investors or users don’t see them as scalable. The design community seemed to think differently. One side of the argument says volume is everything. In India only if you play by volumes will you build an enterprise, an empire and of course, a fortune. This general mentality had gotten rubbed into my subconscious so deeply that unknowingly, just like several young entrepreneurs and business students, I started questioning every idea based on its scalability. As I discussed my strong case in favour of scalability with well known design thinker MP Ranjan, he asked me how many people would be touched by an idea if he teaches 200 people and they teach 200 more? I said 40 000. Simple Math. However, he contradicted it, saying that the impact will be manifold. With design, it is phenomenal. Just as he was explaining to me the multiplier effect, the stack of a dozen odd used lunch plates at a tiny table next to us collapsed, shattered to shiny white pieces of a design that was. I guess that is what an obsession with scalability does in real life too. You can’t force scale upon an idea. Likewise, you can’t generate a path breaking idea if you are preoccupied with scale. How could I deny then that somehow small can be good too? While it is good to scale up, there should never be just one best way of doing something. Design is to constantly challenge set ideas and create new realities.

Is creation of something new also a necessity? A social worker in the audience raised a question about designs of cooking stoves in rural India, and how he is working on a new design to replace the old one. VK Madhavan, Executive Director of NGO Chirag, and one of the most humble persons I have ever met, asked, “Why can’t we improve what is already there? There is enormous pressure to create something unique. Often, it is nothing but ego.”

While scalability and creation were two aspects of entrepreneurship that were challenges by these thinkers, there were many similarities drawn up between design processes and building an enterprise.

Ayush Chauhan, Founder, Quicksand Design Consultancy that organised UnBox elaborated, “Entrepreneurship is an area where design plays out beautifully. An entrepreneur is constantly redesigning the models. Learning, prototyping and testing are all phases involved in a enterprise. We started out in the business of films and then realised it was not what we had envisioned. Thus, we moved into core design related projects.”

Both design and entrepreneurship involve experiential learning. They also involve experimentation. In either case, are you ready to take the first steps?

As news lives on...

2011-01-30T09:34:00.000-08:00

Mahatma assassinated. 63 years ago. Who cares?
Aarushi murdered. 3 years ago. Let's march for justice?
Arab protests. Tunisia, Yemen and Egypt too. Constant unrest.
Front page lead? Take Egypt. Aarushi old news. Mahatma long dead.
Single? Anchor? Mast? Fly? Take a call.
Meeting in 5 minutes. What!? IIT professor sacked for sexual harassment? So what?
Kalmadi and Bhanot sacked too. Doesn't really change anything.
CWG should be made a case study at HBS too, just like the glorious Taj.
Mumbai's pride stands tall even after the blast, the burns..
Meeting in 2 minutes..Sonawane burnt to death.. War over oil.
It's the new era, says Calvin. But where are the flying cars?
Look at the US skies! O-M-G!
And by the way, is it time for war over water yet?
Gimme a buzz. I'll go hoard some.
For now, I hear the world's running out of chocolate.
Time for coffee. And some 'chocolate' cake.
And a meeting, as they say - to discuss news!!!

Morning

2011-01-29T19:36:00.000-08:00

Cemented roads,
red running shoes,
greener grass,
this side this time.

Basket ball dribbles,
winter tickles,
fresh detergent,
morning air.

Running water,
streams of mud
burnt leaves,
crawling toddlers.

Barking dogs,
dead crows,
holy chants,
a crippled man.

Covered heads,
unmade beds,
sprouting saplings,
crumpled notes.

Heavy breathing,
silent vows,
close to home,
distanced soul.

Misty glasses,
clear sunrise,
breathing skin,
breath juvenile..

The Social Bug

2010-09-29T22:15:00.000-07:00

Blurry Realities

I regularly contribute to a column ‘My Life’ for Times Ascent, a TOI publication. The column is special to me because I get to interview interesting people who’re leading more than just ordinary lives. Overtime, having spoken to a lot of people, I have come to see the variety of ways in which one can spend a typical day, of course a huge determinant of which is the profession you are in. At the same time, there’s something very common to the way most of us spend our days. If you wanted to take a guess on this one, you wouldn’t have to look too far for the right answer. The computer screen is right in front of you.

There was a time when I would get up, go for a walk, interact with a bunch of neighbours and see how everyone was doing. But nowadays, the first thing that I do in the morning is to check my email, read news on the internet and of course, log on to Facebook. In fact not even that, because I keep myself ‘logged in’ on Facebook to avoid the pain of retyping my password everytime. Now that I think about it, social networking has taken over our lives! I am surprised how Microsoft still makes that squiggle for spelling error in the word ‘Facebook’. It should’ve entered the good old dictionary by now. In case, dictionaries are still being used given the ease of ‘googling’.

We seem to be living in a time when there really is no right or wrong. We’re setting new rules for how we spend a day, how we spend every single day and how it quickly turns into an entire life. Sometimes I think I should be profiling a youngster belonging to the present internet age and interview him/her for just that. Why? Because he/she is definitely leading a life that is not ordinary, in fact not in ‘normal’ because at the end of the day, even if you haven’t spoken to a single person face to face, you are under the illusion that you’ve had your scoop of enough social insights for one day.

Given the comfort of reading up the life of my networks on Facebook (networks because many of my 400 friends I ‘have’ never even met), I never feel the need to call anyone except a handful of people I am really close to. In some way, aren’t we all building walls around us, making sure people don’t call us just to check what we are up to simply because it’s already on Facebook? Aren’t we all making sure that we can exercise perfect choice in how we choose to talk to and how much, in the process misjudging people and remaining confined only to those who think, look or work life us? Our lives are turning into the 'long tail’, losing their depth in the process. We are concerned with having more number of friends but less of them. So if you think that in spite of all the social networking exercise all day, you still feel lonely in bed, it’s time to switch on the light and look yourself up in the mirror. For all that matters, the first person who needs your attention the most is you. Don’t let anything rob you of it.

Charismatic Chail

2010-09-06T02:08:00.000-07:00

Travelling is no fun when you have a plan and a destination in mind. All you need to start travelling is just an idea and a wanderlust soul. After long weeks at work, I decided to take a break and drive northwards, hoping to find a quiet, peaceful, serene hilly abode. As I neared Shimla, I found a sign board that said ‘Way to Chail’. I decided to take a detour, or not really, since I had no fixed destination in mind. Beyond that point, there was no stopping as I went on to discover this idyllic hill resort in the lap of Himalayan ranges.

My first impression of Chail confirmed that it was going to be nothing but vast expanses of greenery, of chir pine and gigantic deodars spread far and wide. The breeze became cooler and cooler as I neared this petite hill station. Sparsely populated, with minimal commercialization, Chail is a perfect getaway if you want to steal a moment from your life and feel life’s beauty. Chail brings out the writer in you, the romantic. Chail stands for what you want it to stand for. Truly, if you are looking for peace, Chail has it. If you are looking for adventure, then too you can find the best nature walks and animal sanctuary tours here.

Chail has an intriguing history. It is built on three hills. The Chail palace occupies the Rajgarh Hill, the Residency Snow View once home to British residents occupies the Pandhewa Hill and Sadh Tiba, the third hill. In spite of Chail’s fascinating history and the story that Bhupinder Singh, Maharaja of Patiala, built Chail as his summer capital when he was exiled from Shimla, what I love about Chail is that it makes time stop. You can experience a standstill, if you pause and look into the Satluj valley, or at the starry skies, or at just the silhouettes of dancing leaves at night.

For me, the beauty of the hamlet was magnified manifolds by my stay in the palace log huts. These log huts truly bring you the closest to nature. In the morning, you can sit outside, sip a cup of coffee and watch the sun rise beyond the valley. At night, you can enjoy the coolness and the quiet, by listening to the carefree breeze that surpasses all other natural manifestations. Just being able to hear nature is one of the best experiences that Chail can offer you. For someone like me, who had stopped writing poetry long back, Chail reincarnated the poet within me. There is something magical about the calmness and ease one can experience here.

In addition to the quiet moments, there is a lot more that a tourist can look forward to. The Chail Palace is one of the best places to start. Then there is the Gaura river, where one could go fishing. Another place one can’t afford to miss is the Chail Circket Ground, the highest in the world. Maharaja Bhupinder Singh, an ardent cricket follower, had developed it. The pitch offers a spellbinding view of the surroundings and the rich, green valley. Built in 1893, this cricket pitch located at the height of 2,144 m is also used as polo ground.

Once in Chail, the best way to enjoy your stay is to be in the moment and explore a little bit every day. Where you stay is also important as Chail has only 5-6 options. The Chail Palace Hotel is spread over 75 acres of land. It has palatial suites as well as the log huts and cottages, for those who wish to experience the wilderness of nature. The huts are located a kilometre away from the palace and can offer amazing walks. What you should also not miss is the ‘lover’s hill’! Walk around it, with your loved one and don’t miss the perfect snapshot!

The Empty Room

2010-08-21T23:49:00.001-07:00

I cannot remember where I was born. It must have been an empty room. No man. No woman. No cheers. No cries.

I cannot remember how I reached this house. It must have been on an empty night. No sounds. No noise. No sighs. No lies.

I cannot remember how I became this body. It must have been an empty life. No hurt. No pride. No eve. No sunrise.

How did I come to be, then? Where do I belong, if at all? How do I ask, I have no voice. I cannot speak.

My sight is clear. I see people all the time. My room’s not empty anymore. But the walls have cracked.

They’ve brought my faith down, trampled my love with hate. They’ve killed my hope with impatience.

I cannot remember how I became this man. I was born cursed. But I was born in good times.

Today, not a soul has the time to stop and speak to me in signs.

Drops of Rain...

2010-08-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Delhi rains are to die for. When the world seems to slow down and things are just not working right, Delhi rains can truly save your soul. They can turn you into a playful child, carefree and full of life for the sake of life itself, urging you to make paper boats and set them sailing in a spirit of simplicity. Delhi rains give you a moment to just stop and receive life. No strings attached.

As you look around, you feel the beauty outside pouring into your soul in plenty. The lush greenery fills your senses, reminding you of those nostalgic nature walks, the feeling of learning how to ride a bicycle for the first time, the feeling of running as fast as possible splitting the wind with your body. A sense of freedom merges with what nature emotes. The drops of water hang from leaf tips as if just a split second separates them from destiny, from the act of falling. This one second is enough for the busy Delhiwallas to live life to its fullest. Of course they want more, and the clouds of plenty to give.

So if it’s raining in your city, and you’re driving home from work, roll down that window and extend your palm out to feel the drops. If you’re sitting in your balcony, why not enjoy a cup of tea with loved ones? Why wait? If you’re inside, working on your laptop, shut it down and go to your rooftops. Make the most of it. While it lasts.. Feel the drops on your face and dance like a child. Sing, even if you suck at it. It’s liberating. An hour on the roof might turn out to be the best holiday you’ve taken in a long while.

Solitary traveler

Earning off the rain: Rs. 5 to cross the 'rivulet'!

Child like happiness

The Tunnel

2010-07-31T08:50:00.000-07:00

I’m standing in the tunnel of dreams. Take me home. I am visible here, yet faintly so. Take me underground, but bury my sanctity no more. I have too many eyes set on me, but I am waiting for the last train home. Earned all that I had to, all I was made to, it’s time I returned. I am standing in the tunnel of dreams. My dreams are over. Half achieved yet gone. Find me a dream catcher. I want to weave new dreams, with more people this time, more of those of my own. I have seen this world. Dirty, hungry, victim of greed. I’ve travelled into hollows, deep recesses of human fragility. Hiding away in the tunnel, take me on board and away. I have lived in tatters, I’ve lived in bungalows. I wanna live in my own home now. I’ve missed one train. I’ve let it go. For the train of fake ambitions always comes to take you away before the train of life can offer you space. I don’t want the wrong train anymore. I will wait, as shadows look over my shoulder but cannot reach within me no longer.

Shadows of fears and hopes of dreams merge before they hit me. And when they do touch me, they break into pieces. Brittle. Shattered. Tattered and torn. They can’t ruin me. Yes, I have slept with men, whose cigars and whiskey filled mouths still stink in my head, whose names I cannot remember or have never known. I have been slapped in my face, cursed and disgraced. I’ve been sold and resold. I have flashes of long lost childhood love in my head. It’s all that keeps me going. Even when I have stopped believing in love. Love is for the sane. I’ve already been pushed to heights of insanity by butchers. Yes, I’ve been sold. So much for the price of a human soul. Soul? They think I don’t have one. I am not sure anymore either. But I know I must return some place. I am catching the next train before they catch me and chain me once again. Is it the last train home? I am not sure but I like to think so.

The romance of Life!

2010-05-14T10:35:00.001-07:00

(Dedicated to a friend who has a childhood crush on her eye doctor.. )

Charles Baudelaire, French poet, critic and translator, a rather controversial figure of his time wrote - “Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.”

At times when practicality strikes the innocent mirror of life, a deeper desire surfaces. It is the constant urge to feel the beauty of just living and not particular, trivial elements of this vastness called life. At times, there is a need to go back to basics and feel beautiful just about the air you can inhale, the freshness of which is enough to sustain life. At times, when there are too many things going wrong and too many factors to cast the blame on, there is a dire need to express yourself and to emote through just the life you lead. Is there a better expression of the soul, than the feeling of being alive?

Creatures of habit - compelled by notions of what is and what isn’t - human beings often tend to give in and give up. We tend to forget that the fight is against ourselves. Home, work, family – there is constant run, a pendulum of sorts between things we feel we need to lead perfect lives. For a second, if we stopped bothering about how to make the pieces fit, maybe life could take its natural course and manifest in ways we haven’t ever imagined. For that, all you need is to feel. Feel romantically about your place of work, your house, your vehicle, your food, every single thing that makes life the way it is. Romanticism is life. Feel poetic on a sunny morning. Feel the music of nature. Take time out to stand in the balcony and enjoy a quiet thought before you start the run.

This morning, when my friend pointed out how he has to face so many problems, challenges, issues, derogatory remarks, hurdles and setbacks at work, I suggested he should consider changing jobs. To my surprise all he could say was, “You know. In spite of all of this mess, I find my work extremely romantic.” It is not that he sells greeting cards or chocolates! His is a normal office job. I couldn’t bring myself to believe how working at office can be romantic! I know this guy would never compromise or settle for less. There had to be truth and substance in his thought. So, I set out to discover romance in my own day, in my routine. I found plenty.

The element of romanticism comes from within. It is about the way you view things, the way you view life itself. My friend reminded me how a Charles Baudelaire can still exist within us. This French literary figure, at the age of eighteen, was described as ‘an exalted character, sometimes full of mysticism, and sometimes full of immorality and cynicism’. After college, not knowing what to do further, he decided to embark upon a literary career. However, when he began to frequent prostitutes, his step father, worried of his absolute perdition, sent him on a voyage to Calcutta, India in 1841. This trip further strengthened his determination to write and produce works that were to later become literary achievements. His book of poetry ‘Les fleurs du mal’ (The Flowers of Evil), have been acknowledged as classics of French literature. Charles described his work, “You know that I have always considered that literature and the arts pursue an aim independent of morality. Beauty of conception and style is enough for me. But this book, whose title (Fleurs du mal) says everything, is clad, as you will see, in a cold and sinister beauty. It was created with rage and patience.”

Charles Baudelaire lived a life with his own thoughts, maybe amoral for the society and highly criticized. Yet, his own. To come across such conviction, such spirit, such ‘rage’ in today’s times is a satisfying experience. If I had to make a single wish, I would ask for those with a passion to have this unmatched conviction. It is what sails you through. As for my friend, who finds his work ‘romantic’, may it keep getting mushier and may he inspire a million others to love life for the simplicity of life.

A changed me

2010-05-11T07:57:00.001-07:00

I was a victim of dependence, until the need to be free was born within me. What freedom am I seeking? Is it the freedom to lead my own life the way I wish? Is it the freedom to think and act how I want? These freedoms are free from external influence. But, who will free me from the chains I have fettered my heart with, by my own sinful hands? Who will free me from the boundaries I have imagined in m head and grown accustomed to, so ‘naturally’? Who will free me from the box I have caged myself in, having forgotten to remember where its keys are?

I can only hear the faint ringing of these keys.

Every now and then.

Now and again, as I fight the darkness inside this box, inside this frame of safety that now haunts me.

Who will locate these keys for me, to set me free or rather lock me up in my new freedom?

Freedom from freedom is a temporary bliss, like the fading memory of yesteryears. A queer thought that apparently sets you free but only creates raucous as it faints into nothingness, making you a captive of routine, of chains unbroken, of ways unquestioned and faith unspoken. The comfort of comfort is its worst consequence.
When can I depart? Where will I head? Is there a road, a destiny defining my departure? Or am I summoned to write it with my own shaky, unsure hands?

It is too dark to see. It is too quiet to speak. It is too faint to notice. Yet, it is there.
The waves of my life are quiet, incredibly still. Is it a sign of a well-deserved sense of peace, after a long never ending day of a series of successes, with failures easily overcame? Or is it an undeserved, unthanked for, and poisoned meaninglessness that finds a void inside me, to exploit and to fill up with its waywardness surreptitiously?

The waves are transforming as my day dwindles into an unfathomed thoughtfulness of the evening. I can’t distinguish my thoughts from my words. There are no words; just an irreplaceable sense of having life lie at close quarters, a sense of wanting to live, to overcome this dying self and become one with life. The transition is loud now. I can see the changes. The enormous sky, spread over like a protective shield above my head, is darker now, signifying strength; a protection I can’t rely on nevertheless. The earth is less drunken, having passed on its intoxication that now seeps into the shakiness of those that walk its surface. A greater change takes shape within me. No colours change, no textures alter, no visible impact. Yet, it is of a higher magnitude and it connects me to the change in nature. I wanted more from less. Now, I want less from more. The sense of life is the definition of freedom; a freedom I sought outside for a million years has come to show itself in the way I shape my truth. Alas! There is no real truth; only a reality that can either happen to you or happen because of you.

If, like the ‘me’ of yesterday, you are running in search of truth, there is nothing more futile. Run for the experience of life and the race against time will become a race worth your time. The discovery of truth is in essence, the formation of your reality. You can’t explain it to others. You don’t need to explain it. Live it while you can. The pieces will fit. And even if they don’t, it will all be worth it!

Raise a question!

2010-04-21T07:28:00.000-07:00

Much has been said and written about the need for active learning and an education system that encourages initiative. It is a matter that concerns us all. It concerns me as a student. It concerns those at the helm of affairs in the education system. It also concerns the corporate heads because those in schools and colleges might be part of his management team a few years down the line. Clearly, the matter of imparting quality education, education that seeks to empower students to ask the right questions and trains teachers to address these in the right way and with the right knowledge, is a matter that will define the future of our country.

We need a thinking generation. From there, the next step would be to use these new thoughts and new ideas in the right direction of creating new avenues, encouraging innovation. Yet, fundamental to all this all-too-well jargon, is the need to create new learning, one that does not passively assimilate information but one that questions what is assumed and stated.

I will give you a simple example. As part of my course, I have been studying ‘Ethical Effects of Advertising’. One of the points in my book lists ethical objections to advertising and states, “Sexual appeals and sexually suggestive advertisements depict women as sex objects and demean them.” Nowhere in the textbook does it portray the idea of advertisers using men as sexual objects, in spite of the fact that many ads do use male sexual appeals. Haven’t we all seen the all too famous axe-effect ads? The irony is that the next point in my book accuses advertising of creating stereotypes, when my textbook itself is doing just that by assuming that ads treat women as ‘sex objects’ and not men. There is something fundamentally wrong with how we think. First, let us question the assumptions we make as we live our lives each day. Once we have identified these, we will know how much of our world is created, is illusionary and how much of it is for real.

Try it out. You will be astonished at the results. Start questioning what you read, see, hear and think. Start with your own thoughts and words. They create your world and your worldview.

You are the threat

2010-04-20T01:12:00.000-07:00

How does it feel to have your entire life revolve around one thing? A centre of focus, so strong and magnetic that it could defy gravity? How does it feel to depend, day in and day out, on a single determining force? It is not an addiction. Not an obsession. What I am trying to define is the single point of existing. No parallel life, no multiple lives. Just one singled out emotion that transcends beyond time and space. It is inside you, feeding on your soul and you can’t just pull it off your chest and out. It is lying somewhere no one can reach. Not even you.

The Universe reminds me of this unwanted, controlling force. I realise that the Earth, no matter where it is, no matter which of the 365 days it is positioned to show, it will always be on its orbit, revolving around its centre. I ask myself. Is it better to be the Earth that revolves around the Sun, with its magnetic core fixated upon this exterior force, or is it better to be the Sun, that force itself? Human beings inhabiting the Earth are so much like the planet itself. We need a centre to revolve around. Coming from within us, this centre could be any force in the world. I am sure you have felt the stability, security factor in your life. “I need to be settled now”, “I have been running around for too long”, “I don’t want to be restless anymore”… These are minor, subtle tendencies of a bigger truth to be attached to something, to be ‘revolving’ around one thing that defines your identity and helps you fight your fear of being lost in this world of constant change. It gives you a shore to cling on. Overtime, it becomes your need, the defining force. And you are stuck in a stagnant movement forever.

Is there a way to break-free? The trouble is that in this cycle it is very easy to fool yourself. You change your job, you change where you live, you want to be on a new orbit. But Alas! Even now you look for your ‘centre’ in the same kind of things. The fact of the matter is you never did really let go. Your centre is still the same. That’s what your soul feed on. That’s what feeds on your soul.

Still figuring out a way to break-free? Keep at it. When you do figure out, let me know. It has been the perennial threat to mankind. A threat that comes from being human. Use it or lose it.

Caring for Life

2010-04-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

“I will go down with this ship. But I won’t put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door…”

This song has been playing and replaying in my head all day. No specific reason except that it reminds me how there is just no time to give up in life, no time to not stand and fight back the pains and to embrace the joys, no time to surrender at all. What happened to the CRPF Jawans in Dantewada is extremely sad. It is one of the worst attacks of terrorism striking in the home country. At times, I don’t know whom to defend. And, does it even matter?

On one end are the Naxalites fighting for a cause they feel justified, fighting for rights, for mainstream socio-economic participation, fighting to bring down the government ruling. On the other, is the State. India being a mixed economy requires the state to shoulder welfare obligations, to promote equality and upliftment of backward classes. Yet, how do you deal with condemnable acts of violence? No matter what cause may have perpetrated it, violence is no means to raise your voice.

The attacks on and the martyrdom of over seventy Jawans who fought till the very end, has many lessons for those of us who feel very comfortable in our lives, complacent and protected by long walls of safety. It is time we pause in our individual lives and take a stock of how things are in the world around us. These Jawans who were hunted down in a war of terror maybe collectively addressed by the figure ‘70’ or ‘75’, whichever may be the official count. Yet, we must not forget that this number represents walking and breathing men of our country, who are there no more. These men are men who lived, men who hadn’t expected their lives to end so quickly, men who didn’t know how after that day, they would never rise to see the light of day. Anything can strike anytime, anywhere, taking you down with it. But till that day, you must promise yourself to stand up with dignity and fight evil. Do not just take a stand. Be a stand. That is what author Chris Majer, Founder and CEO of the Human Potential Project, explains in his path-breaking book ‘The Power to Transform’. He asks what I ask you today. What do you stand for? What is your cause? What are you here for? What promise does your birth make to you and to humanity?

In the past one week, I have interviewed four alumni of Indian Institute of Management (IIM), Bangalore. These are not management graduates who’ve just taken up high paying jobs and are leading lives in their comfort zones. These are social heroes who are actively involved in the education sector, to improve quality of education and its outcome (the same issue I complained about in my previous entry ‘Can You convince me to teach my maid?’). These are change makers working to tackle the pressing environmental issues. Recently, a scrap dealer in Delhi was exposed to radioactive wastes containing cobalt-60. Brought from Faridabad, when the person at the scrap shop tried to cut open the waste, his nails started withering. In a few days, several health deterioration symptoms were visible. Doctors are now consulting bone marrow specialists. These individual cases point to a larger social issue. What has this man, whose father is paralyzed and bed-ridden and whose family has not even been told about his condition yet, done wrong to deserve such fate? Our spiritual gurus call it ‘karma’. Paying for what happened in your past life, is it? I don’t know. Possible but not convincing enough.

The larger social picture that I am trying to sketch is that what are you and I as individuals trying to do to fight for life? What are we doing to care for life? Why are lives of unsung heroes drained down and flushed in a jiffy? What are you and I trying to preserve life? Or is life also turning into an unsung hero, that dies before his time?

From the common man's corner !

2010-04-08T09:02:00.000-07:00

This article was written and sent to me by Mr. Vibhuti Jha, President of The Human Potential Project. Sharing the same with my readers. Feel free to share your thoughts on the same! Visit

http://www.thehumanpotential.net/

It is good to hear and read the Indian anger on the US preferential treatment of Pakistan and the so called US apathy towards India as written in a self serving way by Vir Sanghvi. The docile Indian is waking up at last. This forum has some really awesome group of people - highly competent journalists , enlightened diplomats , thinkers and then some total laymen like me - who wonder what in the heavens is happening and why nobody seems to be doing anything about it. And if somebody is doing anything at all , why do we see no results or a determined action and/or what have you ? What I do see is a huge lot of desk top thumping , arm chair thinking and pontification on how things are and what it "should " be like. When the thoughts come from those who were in the government and some who can wield the power of the pen, and have been in high places at some point of time in their career, occupied important positions and now bemoan about the the way things are, I feel terribly saddened . I appeal to them to tell the truth and face up to the shenanigans of those they gave in to when they had the power to influence and did nothing about it. It is time to tell the truth the way it is , the way it was and the way it could get to if certain things are not done in time. And that means NOW.

I am not the one to attack the US policy - the US does what it considers right for its own political agenda and they have their obligations to their constituencies and in what they believe. Their actions often remind me of the famous Gene Hackman statement to Will Smith in the movie Enemy of the State:"you are either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid " !! Time alone will tell which one comes first. Very often we see both the results because they ACT - sometimes correctly and sometimes due to misguided arrogance . My suspicion is that the US and the West will end up checkmating themselves when it comes to dealing with the problem of Islamic terrorism. Any good idea taken to its extreme , becomes a bad idea and brings terrible results! The Indian dilemma is that they do not know how to act - "inaction" as a practice of Dharma is taken as "no action" in real life for the frightened and the indecisive politician and the bureaucrat - Be it 26/11 , and hundreds before them and the recent Pune attack. If India did not do what she ought to have , there is no point blaming others for your inability to act. That is exactly what Pakistan does - blame everybody else for their problems and never own responsibility for their own behaviour - are Indians and India as bad and callous as that ? China , Russia , the US , Iran and even piss pots like Pakistan and a belligerent Cuba and Venezuela say and do what they can.

For India it is important to understand itself and act accordingly and not bother too much about the rest of the world ! The 1.2 billion Indians ( 82 % of which are Hindus ) live almost isolated in a world that is inhabited by people who are friends in some manner or the other mostly either due to religious affinity as Christian nations or Islamic republics . The Non aligned movement ensured that India does not have true friends anywhere in the world regardless of how lofty that dream may have been at one time. You do things for friends over those who are pompously non-aligned without any political and economic or military clout to impact events. As the saying goes in Bollywood movies when the rich dad tells his daughter who is in love with the penniless hero , Love is great , but it does not get food on the table ! NAM was great but it got India no friends ! Pakistan is a direct beneficiary of the US largess because it became a US lackey in the Cold war period against the Russians. So much so that even today while the entire pakistan & muslim world condemns US war on terror , they all wishfully ignore, condone and applaud the pakistani shenanigans against its own people and their support to the US in this regard. However , the liberal Indians, marxists and pseudo - intellectuals of all religious faiths convey their opposition to any Indian overture to the US, regardless of the naked dance of support that the Pakistani Government does for the US. So when Pakistan sucks up to the US , that's Ok , when India supports a US initiative it becomes anti-Islam. Go figure!

What I wonder is what exactly is India doing about it ? Every Indian knows that pakistan and china will never be true friends of India , yet the Indian policy maker's and media's wet dream seems to convince themselves that someday they just might !! In reality the two countries are working hard to ensure an Indian demise in all true sense - the country , of the religious plurality , the emerging economic stature and the political and social diversity - as each one of these run counter to their own existing system ! All I hear , read , see from all the mighty souls of Indian journalism ( with a few exceptions of course ) is a soulless narration of what "should "be - never what India ought to do. India has such a victim mentality - each time it is Pakistan framing the agenda and each time India , the so called mature India , plays the defensive game. In soccer parlance , India is always a goal down to Pakistan - when India levels the score , that is considered a victory ! It is such a perverted and puerile way to deal with the problem called pakistan.

India must bear in mind that the call for 1000 year war by various Pakistan leaders is a serious one - if we look at the map of India since 1010 to 2010 , it is obvious that two large chunks of Indian land was given to those muslims who feared that their lives would be endangered if they were to live with the Hindus. The British who were occupiers themselves suddenly found a willing group of people and created a country of islamic republic where none existed before ! So two faiths created a fortune for themselves , one by ruling it and the other by cutting it open ! That is the nature of the 1000 year war ! Given China and pakistan determination to redraw the map in the east and the west , what kind of India does one leave behind in the next century , not 1000 years, for our children and grand children? India and Hindus in the country ought to consider a domestic ban on religious conversions as it is not part of freedom of religious practice. The 1.2 billion Indians minus the 142 million muslims are targets for Islamic conversion and the entire 1.2 billion are targets for Christians ! So who is the threat to religious harmony in India ? One would be downright stupid to believe that this would ever happen in the UN as India and Hindus are the only ones available for conversion by inducements and temptations. As Hinduism does not have a policy of conversion they offer neither inducement nor incentive to people to stay as they are. The meek and the unfairly treated easily cross over for 'miracles' to happen in their lives !

I had the opportunity to address three MBA classes in India in the last one year. During Q&A's my favourite question to students as part of my learning was and here it is verbatim " There are reports all over the world by many prestigious institutions regarding India becoming a super power by 2030, 2050 and so on - what do you think could derail India achieving that dream ?" The almost universal response was - Islamic terrorism and politics of reservation. FYI - these students came from all the states and belonged to every single religion and faith. That is what the youth is talking about - will the policy makers learn from this demographic dividend to ensure that those who are India's future do not suffer for what those in power do today ?

So what India ought to do and not should , but ought to, do against Pakistan - on an as is where is basis ? Are our politicians seeing the threat of reservation and its impact on the social harmony and diversity in India ? Or would the country see rise the of new jaichands all suffering from the delusion of crass self grandeur - after all , as my dear Pakistani friend jokes with me that "aapkay log, do aanay kay biktay hain ? " (Translation ; your people can be corrupted for even two annas ) .

A friend once asked me " who will bell the cat " ? Well I just tried , didn't I ? Will you ?

Can you convince me to teach my maid?

2010-04-01T21:49:00.000-07:00

Photo © Unnati Narang 2010

Do not use without prior permission

I came across an ad in the newspaper today. It urged me and the other common citizens of India to let go of their maid’s children, who drop out of school to work as household help for the more privileged families, just to earn that extra loaf of bread. I have always supported and performed noble deeds, as and when opportunity knocked. I even remember asking the maid (please notice the intentional avoidance of the common phrase ‘my maid’) to fill up my ‘scrap book’ during early school years when the craze of scrap books had just begun. I had taught her to sign her own name. I still remember her clear, big handwriting, speaking of a boldness that had found no other vents so far, no channel except a locked up emotion squeezed in the corner of her heart. True, the ability to sign her own name herself did seem to give her some confidence. But, I have always wondered as to whether she still remembers how to do it. What she had learnt was the word, not the formation. I am sure she has long given up on these ideas her signature might have sparked back then.

As the newspaper ad stared back at me, I felt angry. It served no purpose except to make the readers like me feel bad, accusing them of doing something wrong that they did not even know was wrong. Is it a sin to have a fifteen year old girl watching over your infant? Is it wrong to employ and rightfully pay a seventeen year old to clean the house? Do these really sound like punishable offences? Maybe. I don’t want to sound cynical or shift the blame, using excuses such as ‘If I didn’t, someone else would employ them’ or ‘good maids are hard to come by’! What I essentially wish to ponder over is the opportunity cost of having these young girls as household help. If she wasn’t working for me, would she be in a school? If she did go to school, how far would she last? How long before her parents succeed in arranging dowry and marrying her off? These are alarming questions with answers I don’t want to find out. I live in an urban setting, yet it is not uncommon for me to meet girls who know their fate is written by their parents, who in turn are bound by the society. Parallel to my radical thinking, independent, new generation friends who come from within the same society, exists another world where choices are still not governed by the individuals concerned. I am willing to teach the maid’s daughter or the ‘teen’ maid who works for us every subject I learnt at school. I am sure I will gain much more from the experience of teaching her too. But what will she gain from knowledge of written or spoken word and a few algebra questions here and there?

I could fire her. I could put her in school, fund her education. But does it guarantee her the freedom of choice? What we need to develop in our people, what we need so to empower them is not a sense of knowledge but a sense of courage. We need to give people not the prose or the verses, but the virtues of life. Firing my maid would only aggravate her economic problems in the short run and in turn, block her vision and thoughts, limiting her sky to the seemingly trivial issue of a struggle to survive. The maid who worked for us never went to school after fourth grade. She learnt to sign her name when she met me in her mid forties. Last week, she visited us. The government had announced a scheme to allocating houses under the awaas yojana. She had brought the form along and wanted my help in filling it up. She is old now, with graying hair that barely manage to cover the wrinkled forehead. Yet, even after so many years, I see a sparkle in her eyes and a shocking wisdom you would not normally expect to find. She talks confidently about bank accounts, saving deposits and government schemes. She still can’t write her own name or fill up forms, but she knows how to find opportunity for a better life for her family. I see her walking around often now, talking to people. She is not afraid to ask questions. She is not embarrassed of having someone else fill up her forms. There is a willingness to explore. Maybe she is not lettered in the literal sense, but she knows how to educate herself on things that matter. That’s the least we can do for the society.

I am not in favour of necessarily having formal education for one and all. It is still a luxury in a country like India. I am not in favour of pressing too hard on sending poverty stricken kids to school, unless their economic situation and home environment is conducive to their fullest growth in school and unless the schools are genuinely interested in their education. These conditions are rarely met. Hence, what we need is a mental revolution, a shift in thinking. We need to acknowledge that these kids can have dreams and that we can show them their dreams without necessarily making their dreams contingent upon formal education in the first instance. Education is successful only when it can give someone a dream and the courage to follow it up. Yet, we must not forget that dreams and courage do not necessarily depend on it. The least one can do is to support free thinking, have a good conversation with the maids now and again, enable them to see dreams with open eyes. But first, each one of us must let go of our prejudices and our notions and baseless assumptions of what we think is necessary to be successful, to be empowered.

One Year of Serene Woods

2010-03-30T05:55:00.000-07:00

As Serene Woods, portal for self publishing and photography completes one year, we all look back at what we started a year ago. It always saddened me when writers with the most amazing works would fail to get noticed and at times, would not know what to do with their creative works. Send it to competitions? Send manuscripts to publishing houses and get rejected? Why could it not be simpler, I asked myself. Having tried self publishing myself and having known its pluses and minuses, I knew I could make it better for a whole lot of writers out there. When I met Swapnil Chugh, IIT IIM grad and a writer himself, I knew it marked the beginning of a changed world, a unique platform and support system for writers. And hence, Serene Woods began its journey.

We started slow, picked up quickly and soon emerged as a fulfilling and satisfying experience for our authors. If nothing more, the joy and happiness expressed by our authors has made this journey worth every effort so far. In the future, we wish to extend publishing services to greater writing support through feedback mechanisms. Writer's meets and book readings are on the agenda too - all for a meaningful experience. Writing, as a medium of expression, has stood the test of time. Even with greater digitalization and the threat of this new sms language, writing has continued to transform yet remain magical in its essence. The best part is that every individual writer is unique in expressing. I could ask ten different people to write on the same subject and ten unique schools of thought would emerge. What can be more beautiful? To promote the spirit of writing at a tender age, we are now looking to focus on children's books in a bigger way, with already four books on the site, for the young ones.

If you are a writer, if you are someone in media or if you are just a voracious reader then you could help us spread the word and make this world a better place for emerging writers and for a new generation of readers. Hoping to make the most of this wonderful opportunity!

Visit http://serenewoods.com/ to know more!

Still Standing

2010-03-24T12:49:00.001-07:00

In the midst of the mundane city buildings that tower sinfully over the unnoticed slums and rural remains of an increasingly urban space, there is not much a tourist can expect. There is even less a local can hope to see. Yet, some wonders need no trumpet blows, no billboard signs. The right traveler finds his way to these silent standing monuments, set against a backdrop that is much more humongous and yet, fairly small.

In the heart of Central Delhi, where half the city rushes to work and the other half lazes around in Cafés or tea-bars, Agrasen ki Baoli (step well) comes as a sweet surprise on a hot summer afternoon. It is a perfect place to steal a quiet moment from your busy lives, to experience a moment's stand still and catch a breath to just let the massiveness take you over in its stride. It is a juncture between the past and the future, a moment entirely yours, unadulterated by any influences, to truly define life just how it is. No exaggerations. No understatements.

Life in Delhi is incomplete without visiting these step wells, these humble structures built in magnificent glory by the successive rulers of Delhi. Carved profusely, Agrasen ki Baoli, a 60 meter long and 15 meter wide structure, has low chambers that provide the much needed respite from Delhi heat. To add to it, the flocks of lively pigeons taking flight are a remarkable sight in an otherwise stone structure. One can easily watch these birds all day long. They seem to be weaving a story of their own.

What is fascinating about step wells is how long they have existed. Stepwell construction is known to have gone on from at least 600 AD. It is India’s unique architectural marvel. In fact, India is also proud of being home to the world’s deepest step well, the 35 meter deep Chand Baori in Abhaneri near Jaipur in Rajasthan.

In ancient times, Baolis represented a feeling of community, of oneness especially for women, for whom fetching water would be the only activity they could independently pursue. For the women, the baolis offered an ephemeral sense of freedom.

While finding step wells in an urban setting might have sparked an initial surprise, on second thoughts it is only logical. Managing and mediating water resources was critical even in ancient times, especially in the rapidly growing cities. Then again, climbing up and down the baoli steps offers health benefits of its own (especially for city dwellers)! The cities have much to derive from these monuments – A glorious past, a proud present and a sustainable future!

Simple Joys: Lessons from a Knife Sharpening Man

2010-03-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Photo © Unnati Narang 2010

Like many traditions and cultural nuances that get carried on from one generation to the next by word of mouth, I have heard of many strange superstitions from the elders in my family. Think of it either as the pluses of being brought up in a huge family of two sets of multiple aunts, uncles and grandparents or as the negatives of irrational doubts, these superstitions have time and time again, been denied by their very sources.

There goes a superstitious belief that if you idly play with scissors in a rapid, cutting motion, it disturbs harmony in the house, leading to fights and disagreements, especially for the person engaged in such act. Then, there are other beliefs about gifting. Never gift someone a Taj Mahal, never keep someone else’s handkerchief and many many more. What is the root of such ‘superstitions’? Why have these been passed on for so many years? According to me, one possible explanation about why such beliefs originated is that our elders lived at a different time, in different situations where modes of entertainment were few and far between. I presume that by getting together and coming up with such superstitions, they could not only amuse themselves but also feel like they were generating wisdom. Without offence and with complete understanding, I do believe that it is quite possible.

Life was simple in those days. One had plenty of time for cooking up stories, which were often told and retold. Women would be respected for their gift of the gab, a most revered quality in social circles. People would meet in person to ‘chat’ and not over computer networks. Life really was simple. Happiness was not defined by bank balances. A sight of such simplicity in modern days is rare, but all the more refreshing.

I have a knack for finding happiness around me and feeling joy in the smallest of things. This one, however, was too obvious to even require my deliberate efforts and skill. Right across the crowded street, which my building faces, was a man working on a wooden machine. At first glance, it was not the machine that drew my attention. It was the smile on his face. What made this rugged, old man so happy? I was almost jealous. I am not one of those curious people, yet I wanted to know his secret. My mother told me how he is often seen in our colony, sharpening knives and scissors, for everyone, from the household women to the fruit vendors. He did it all, with his strange, old machine that he peddled with his foot. He sharpened knives between two wheels, with the friction so produced.

I walked up to him, noticing the subtlety and the complete bliss with which he used his hands and feet to add sharpness to these common instruments. In a world where businesses are constantly looking for measurable value additions and yet the road never seems to end for them, this man seemed to me a new form of enterprise, one engaged in providing a service so minor and yet so majorly important even in today’s use and throw culture. As I stood there, he told me how he’s been doing the same work for the past two decades. “Sharpening cutting instruments? Really?” I asked, puzzled, “Don’t you get bored?” I am not sure if he understood what ‘bored’ meant. He was enjoying it far too much, with no signs of monotony or mundaneness. I asked him again, “Don’t you get tired?”

He told me his tales, his travels from a small place in Kashmir, where he was from to the city of Mumbai and finally, Delhi. In the colony, every single person seemed to know him, every single person meaning the fruit and vegetable vendors. When I got my camera to click his photo, his fan following gathered around, encouraging him to ‘model’ for me! It felt like he had a family of his own, even in this city so new to him and so hostile to most. The warmth that flew from him would mingle with the polluted air and many rude stares from those passing by, many of whom tried bargaining. He stuck to his twenty rupees for three knives! I loved the conviction. I love the simplicity. Above all, I loved the joy he experienced in his work. Every knife he sharpened seemed like his first one, the same excitement of two decades ago, the same delicacy and care for his ‘machine’ and yet, much more dexterity and artfulness.

In a world where people are shifting jobs, running after ‘perfect’ careers, creative fields, tons of money and other pleasures, this man finds everything in the simple task of giving the right edge to cutting instruments. How does he know he has got the right edge? He does it just by listening to the sound of the two blades as he performs a cutting gesture, just the way my parents warned me not to. They said my idle clicking of the scissors would disrupt all harmony. For this man, the ‘noise’ talks of his livelihood, of his single pursuit, of a companionship with a machine he’s carried from the valleys of Kashmir to the crowded streets of India’s most populous cities. For this man, the clicking and cutting, speaks of life itself, a constant motivation to carry his machine on his shoulder every time he is on a move. At sixty five, this strength is anything but physical. It is an undying motivation to go on doing something so ordinary with extraordinary and rare happiness. A land of incredible stories, India can boast of many brave men. Some are noticed, while others embrace glory every day on the streets, to be spoken of only in an unknown writer’s verses.

The Newspaper Boy

2010-03-11T22:17:00.001-08:00

The sunrays came pouring in, through my window. I drew the curtains, not wanting to get out of bed. It was another ordinary morning, except that I had woken up earlier than usual. Failing in my efforts to go back to sleep, I reluctantly sat up and sat still on my bed, for a long quiet moment. “Good Morning!” I said to myself, spreading out my arms and suddenly feeling energized.

I kept the tea to boil and went to the balcony to get the daily newspaper. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Maybe I had woken up way too early. I turned to go back in, when suddenly I heard the sound of the newspaper, thrown into my first floor balcony. I looked at the floor; it stood there right where I find it every morning. Feeling relieved that I wouldn’t have to come out looking for it again, I picked it up and went inside. Like everyone else, I did not bother to see who had delivered the newspaper.

****

For the next few months, every morning, the newspaper would be delivered to me precisely at 6:30 a.m. I was also getting in the habit of becoming an early riser. The mornings felt fresh and my newspapers became my alarm clock. As soon as I would hear it hit the floor, I would go out and get it. Reading the newspaper became a natural concomitant of my morning tea. It was my daily dose of news that I needed to thoroughly absorb before I could get on my 7:30 bus to work. Since my workplace was almost two hours away, in the main city, the bus ride would be spent talking to the fellow passengers about the latest buzz and the news headlines. On most days, the women would discuss crime, bollywood and education, while the men would stick to sports, politics and the economy.

****

I had started enjoying these discussions and would even look forward to them. Unconsciously, I had started reading the newspaper from the perspective of what would make it to our ‘hot list’ in the bus and what would be the most talked of topic. What I did not realize was my underlying addiction to my newspaper.

On one fine morning, the front page of the newspaper was painted with red. One of the leading politicians of the country had lost his son in a road accident. There were fears that the youth might have been drinking and driving. As I stepped into the bus, the men and the women alike were party to this crisp piece of news. For the first time, I felt like I could not favour their voyeurism. I felt an irrational sort of pity for the politician. Unlike most other leaders of the country, who were infamous for bribes and scandals, this particular neta was clean of any such allegation. Naturally, he was one of my personal favourites. It was a pity that his son should have had to face such fate.

So, while usually, I would indulge in loud debates and discussions, that day my ride was relatively quiet. I silently mourned the death of this young man, who might have grown up to follow his father’s footsteps, if only he had been given a chance.

***

I soon got over the shock of this man’s death. Life returned to its normal pace, until one fine morning when I woke up, shocked. As a daily ritual, I walked into the balcony only to find that there was no newspaper! I waited for almost half an hour, over boiled my tea and almost decided to take an off. I did not feel like stepping out of the house without reading the newspaper. However, I did.

After a long sulky bus ride, I reached office and grabbed the newspaper, reading it from start to end. Phew! What a breather. I was still furious. Why was the newspaper not delivered to me? Where should I file a complaint? Definitely, not the consumer courts, I reasoned.

The next morning, I woke up early in the morning and decided to seat myself comfortably in the balcony. I felt like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. Yes! I wanted revenge. I would see to it that the newspaper boy was taught his lessons of a lifetime. I waited. I waited and waited.

When it was 7:00 a.m. by the clock, precisely thirty minutes late as compared to the usual delivery time, I heard the ringing of his bicycle bell. I jumped up in alertness and looked down from my balcony. To my surprise, it was not a newspaper boy; it was an aged man with white beard and a turban, slowly peddling towards my building. That shouldn’t change the truth. Facts told me that this person had shunned his duties and I must say it to him. Without giving him a chance to explain, I began speaking at the top of my voice, “Bhaiya, kal ka akhbaar kidhar gaya? Apko hafte ke beech mein chutti leni zaruri hoti hai? Koi sense of duty nahi, phir ye kaam kyon karte ho?*

I didn’t realize that I was loud enough for my neighbours to poke their heads out of their windows. I attracted many a gaze. The man just mumbled a soft apology, lowered his head and went off. I bent to pick up the newspaper, when I heard my neighbor Rita call out to me. I asked her what the matter was. Her reply, till this day, remains etched in my memory. She said, “His nineteen year old son used to deliver the newspaper until two days ago, when he was hit by a car.”

So my newspaper was, after all, delivered by a newspaper ‘boy’, until he slowly succumbed to an even quieter life and I could not even shed a tear, lest discuss it on a bus journey.

*(Brother, where is yesterday’s newspaper? How could you take an off in the middle of the week? If you don’t have a sense of duty, then you should quit this work!”)

Top Fountains of the World

2010-03-07T01:24:00.000-08:00

There are many creative ways of brining shame to one's nation. You could criticize your country openly - in public speeches, in newspapers or even in a living room discussion with family and friends. You could make movies on all the wrong things, write books on why you can't bear to stand your country or even use social networking sites to bring a bad name to your nation. As a common man, you might not have much authority or power to take your country to new heights, for you are no Mahatma Gandhi. But these matters are trivial in the face of your ability to take your country to new lows, for one man's vilifying comment, even if meant only casually, can travel faster than lightning. Don't we human beings take pleasure in aspersion? In the rulebook of marketing management, it is said that one displeased customer will warn ten others against your product or service but a satisfied customer will tell only one or two. A bad name spreads must faster, conducive to which is the human tendency to derive sadistic pleasures.

Assuming you are now convinced that it is easy for anyone to spoil a good reputation and spread a bad word about something, let us move on to why I named my blog entry 'Top Fountains of the World.' Last night, I received a forwarded email with this subject line. Normally, I would have deleted it without worrying much. Yet, I had some free time and decided to take a look. I was amazed at the beautiful photographs of fountains from all over the world, from Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Las Vegas, Moscow, Geneva, Barcelona, etc. I am not a die hard fan of fountains and I think of them neither as an architectural necessity nor as a thing of beauty. However, by the time I scrolled down to the end of the email, I could see the 'fountain' of India right at the bottom, marked number one. It was the image of a slum kid peeing into the gutter. I, like any other proud Indian, felt hurt.

The issue that this email raises is not of human rights or the slum dwellers' right to live in abject poverty. The issue is not a question of why 70% of India does not have access to improved sanitation. Such things can be taken care of by great leaders like Dr. Bindeshwar Pathak, Founder of the Sulabh Shauchalaya. (scavenging-free twin-pit pour flush toilet), who are sparking a revolution, a change at the grassroots. The issue with this email is that it has been forwarded by a chain of Indians, from across the world. The issue is that while the world is raising cheers to India's new growth story, both economic and of late, commendable development initiatives of the government and social organisations, yet it is the Indians themselves who bring shame to the country. The stark comparison, the sudden shift from the world's most beautiful fountains to this hackneyed image of a small rural boy leaves the audience aghast, horrified and hardly amused. Not only is the anonymous creator of such a chain email to be put to blame for his/her lowly thinking, but also a million other forwarders who either don't realise the magnitude of a click or truly do want to mock their own nation. I fail to comment on their intentions, yet the impact of it is all too clear to be neglected with a 'delete' and buried away with daily things.

The next time you come across an instance where the pride of your nations is put to rout, I urge you to take a stand. Speak up, before the enemy at home spreads its wings too far and its roots too deep.

The Puddle

2010-03-05T08:35:00.000-08:00

Splash! Splash! Splash!

She jumped from one puddle of rainwater to the other. Her grey socks wet, but her spirit by no measure damp. Her dull leather shoes now shining black and her demeanour in no way soggy. She carries her school bag on her shoulder and her umbrella she’s folded and kept on top of her books in the bag. She prefers not to use it. Why does mommy insist she carries it to school every day! Rains are the time to get wet and dance with joy. Mommy always gets angry if she refuses to take a shower in the morning. When she does want to take a shower in God’s rain, mommy is still angry. She can never figure out why. She’s a big girl now. If only mommy could learn to think like she thinks.

She looks around. She spots an earthworm wriggling into the soil. Her friends run away in fear, screaming to her, "Ewww.. Earthworms! Come on Nainz, Run!" But Naina is only half listening. She finds the creatures most extraordinary. They don't have feet. They don't even have eyes. Oh, how do you manage to walk and find your way little buddy? Naina speaks to the Earthworm. She picks 'him' up and then safely puts 'him' on the other side of the road. Here you go - safe now! Mommy always taught her to help others. "I hope this will make mommy happy and she won't be angry at me for getting wet," Naina thinks to herself. She has now reached the park next to her house. The rain has almost stopped, with only minor drizzling.

Naina notices her brother Nonu playing football in the park, with his friends. What useless brats! She is about to walk into the house and starts to remove her red ribbons from her ponytail. How she hates wearing them. She’d rather leave her hair open, like the pretty actresses do in the movies. But mommy insists! And so does Mrs. Patterson, her English teacher. She says it is very lady-like. As she removes the ribbon, Andy calls out. “Hey fatty! Leave your ugly ribbon and pass on the football!” Naina is furious. She snaps back, “My name is not fatty, you moron!” She sees Nonu standing besides Andy. With no hopes of Nonu favouring her, she is further disappointed and hurt when he adds, “Leave it Andy. Poor girl can’t handle the weight of a football. It is too heavy for her.” Naina looks at Nonu and then looks at the football lying just a few feet away from her. Only a muddy puddle of rainwater separates the two.

Naina is tempted to jump across the puddle and pass on the ball, so they would see how powerful she was. After a moment’s pause, she decides against it, “You are right Nonu. Why don’t you guys come take it yourself. I am just a delicate little girl, right?” The gang bursts out laughing. Andy is the one to walk across the park. He is about to cross her and reach out for the ball, when she lifts her leg up against Andy’s and he loses balance. He falls with his face inside the puddle.

Splash! Splash! Splash!

This time, there is no sound is heard; no laughter from the gang.

****

She is in the Doctor’s cabin. A long wait. She can’t sit still. She is moving her feet up and down. She is playing with the globe kept on his desk. She gets up and starts playing with her teddy, who has been patiently waiting with her. She is still angry. She wants to go play in the rain! Why does mommy bring her here? She hates doctor uncle. He’s so mean. She hates his moustaches. She even hates the sweet candy he gives her before going. She doesn’t want it. She knows he only listens to her mommy and not to her. She hates these ‘sessions’, that’s what they call it. He asks too many questions. It is all Nonu’s fault. He must have said something to mommy. Mommy was already angry because she got only 3 marks out of 10 in spelling test. Naina knew she’d have to do this after the incident with Andy. She just didn’t know it would happen this often.

Naina had to see the doctor every alternate day now. All he would do is ask questions. So many questions! There he was again. Hello Mr.small-moustache-no-smile! How do you do, sir? He takes his seat and begins, like always.

“.. So, Naina, my child. How are you today?”

“Very well…SIR!”

“I see. And how is your teddy bear?”

“His name is Rocket. He wants to go play.”

“Oh, of course! This won’t take very long. So you like playing football?”

“No sir. Not quite.”

“Do you like rain?”

“Yes Sir. Very much.”

“What about rain, my child?”

“I like playing in puddles of water! I like playing with earthworms!”

“Oh… I see. What about your friends? Do they like it too?”

“No. They are scared of earthworms. They run away.”

“What about your brother?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t play with me.”

“Do you play with him?”

“He has a lot of friends. I don’t like them.”

“Yes. Your mother told me. You pushed Andy into the muddy water? Is it?”

“No Sir. I didn’t push him. He teased me! He is rude and ill-mannered. Moron.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pardon me for my language Sir. There is nothing wrong with me. I am absolutely fine, I keep telling you. It is Andy’ problem. He should be sitting here taking your medicine.”

“Young lady, calm down,” said the doctor remaining patient. That’s what he was paid to do.

“Look Sir. Mommy thinks I have become violent and I fight with others. I never fight with my friends. Only these boys are too mean!”

“Leave that apart. How have you been doing in your exams?”

“Fine, Sir.”

“Good. I will see you day after then. I want you to think about what you did yesterday. I want you to reflect on what you did wrong and say sorry to Andy. Your mother is worried about you. We will help you out. You are in safe hands, kid.”

Then, like always the doctor squeezed both her cheeks till they felt sore. What a mean owl! If only her daddy was there. He would never have brought her here. But he wasn’t. And her mommy seemed to be fond of this hairy, mean beast.

****

While Naina’s sessions lasted for a month, her pain never ceased even after they stopped. Her mommy didn’t let her go out. She would send the driver to pick her up from school. There were no more walks in the rain, no more nature watching for her. Nonu played away in the park while she was grounded based on his commentary of what had happened in the park and in a few other made-up incidents. How could mommy trust Nonu? You can never trust boys. Mommy doesn’t know anything. No wonder daddy got tired of her and left! She pulled out her dad’s photo from under the bed, pressed it against her chest and dozed off.

****

She loved rains. Yet, rains always brought her bad luck. When she was only twelve years old, her mother had grounded her for a month. She couldn’t get over how her brother had conspired against her, with rains as his accomplice. Now she is twenty one and she still hasn’t gotten rid of her curse. The rains still find her. A lot of her past, she has moved on from. A lot still remains with her.

It is raining again; slow but sturdy drops crashing down upon her. She walks towards the black, iron gate in the distance. This place is a second home to her. She walks with remorseful steps; no longer jumping from puddle to puddle. There she finds her. Mommy is a stone structure now. She is nothing save an epitaph, a living mystery and a forbidden spell. Above all, she is her redemption. Naina bends down. She sits and weeps by the grave. She still loves the rains. For no one can see her tears, when it rains. She still loves the earthworms. For just maybe, they give her mother good company – something she couldn’t do while mommy was above the ground. “I hope God blesses these earthworms with eyes to find my mother. Maybe one of them can someday tell her I am fine. That I finally miss her.”

****

Things have changed for Naina. In nine years, people do grow up but for her, she has seen more than she needed to. For two decades of her life, she was quiet; submissive even. She felt neglected by her own mother. She never spoke a word against Nonu yet she hated her own brother. Blood brother? No, not quite. Nonu was her maternal aunt's only child. After her aunt and uncle had died, her mother had insisted on adopting Nonu. Her father never wanted another child. Her mother was far too daring to stop. Naina never knew any of this, until her mother spoke to her of her pains, over her deathbed. Then, it all became clear to her in a jiffy. Instead of anger, it had inspired pity. It was a strange forgiveness that carried a familiar remorse.

***

She thought of that painful day, as she sat by her mother’s grave. It was raining, the day she got a phone call from the hospital calling her to see her mother urgently. Her mother’s panic attacks had gotten worse over the years. That day, Naina saw her and she felt as if her mother knew what was going to happen next. It was as if she could see the future. A foreteller, she was.

She had spoken to her, gasping for breath, yet not wanting to stop. She had told her of her mistakes, of having cared too much for Nonu and of having sinned for maybe neglecting her. Her mother had lost her husband. This child was a curse and yet, a blessing of life itself. It was like life was giving her a chance, an opportunity that not everyone gets. She wanted to give Nonu everything. Yet, on her deathbed and in sickness, she could think of no one but her daughter. The last words she said to Naina were, “I only meant to help…”

Naina did not have logic or reasons to support how she felt. Yet, she felt relieved. Her mother was no longer there with her physically. Yet, she was closer to her than ever before. Closer she was, to Nonu as well.

When they buried her body, Naina knelt down. Her knees in deep muddy puddle of last night’s rain. She cried, but no longer did Naina drag Nonu or any of his friends into her puddle. A divine voice spoke to her. In puddles of muddy water, she saw her mirrored reflections.

Spilt drink

2010-02-08T01:16:00.000-08:00

Scene 1

We are counting the cash. It's half past ten. The store is closed. The guys are packing up, when there is suddenly a knock at the door. It is a young woman in her twenties. There is a young lad with her. "Sorry, we are closed!" I tell them from behind the counter. The guy starts to walk away, but the woman insists. How I hate persistent customers! She opens the door and starts to walk in, unannounced! What is wrong with her? She is dressed in a black summer top and dark jeans. No make up. Messy hair. What a maniac. But her face reflects honesty and I can't help but attend to her. She speaks breathlessly, "Hi.. It's an emergency! I spilled my drink on my jeans and I really need to buy a new pair. Can we come in?" Fair enough. Madam, we can accept only cash at this hour. She turns out and checks with the guy, probably her boyfriend. "You got cash?" He has still not crossed over to the store. He nods and walks in after her. He had a thousand bucks spare in cash, so he asks her to pick any jeans they can afford.

She is fussy. She wants the jeans from the fresh collection. No discount. Ugh. But no cash! She gains her momentary sensibilities and starts to look at the discounted set. She finds that there are just three shades to choose from and a couple of sizes. She thinks, "Ah well. I have been going to the gym. Let me try out a smaller size." She takes out two shades and two sizes of each of them. The salesperson smiles at her. Inside, he is cursing her to death. Her boyfriend winks. He can't stop thinking about walking into the changing room with her. She ignores the look on his face and walks in. While she is trying on her jeans, she remembers how the other day she was talking to a style consultant about buying the right pair of jeans and he had told her to always squat in the try room for two minutes, with the jeans on. If the squatting causes the jeans to hang, it is not worth the buy. Buying jeans is an investment, he had said. Yet, she realizes that time is ticking away and her friends are still waiting at the bar. She tries the first jeans. It fits! Looks decent. She folds the hems. The jeans is too tall for her waist. She quickly comes out, poses for two seconds. Then makes up her mind. "Let's take this!"

"Not bad. A total of 10 minutes", her boyfriend thinks. "She is always mean to the sales guys. I am glad she didn't throw any tantrums today. I love this jeans!" Then he tells her, "You wait right here. I'll go make the payment then you can wear this and go out"

She is watching the clock. Where is he! She is losing her patience. She decides to put on her wet jeans that smells of rum very strongly by now. She doesn't care. She walks out to check what he is up to. He is in a row with the sales guys. "Man, this boy never ever fights with the sales people. What has happened today!" she wonders. Her boyfriend explains, "While we were upstairs choosing your jeans, I had forgotten my wallet in our handbags that we deposited here. Now, a 500 rupee note is missing. These guys insist that I make the payment and buy the jeans now because we caused them so much 'inconvenience' in opening the store under 'emergency'! What can I do? The note just disappeared!"

The girl analyzes the situation briefly but is quick to react without thought. "One of your guys stole the money! We are taking this jeans. Give it to us for five hundred and we close the deal." At this remark, I lose my temper too. As the sales guy in charge, I felt it was my duty to intervene. I announce my final decision, "We can't do that ma'am." She looks at her boyfriend. They seem to build a quick understanding. She grabs the jeans and he grabs her hand and runs for the exit. The door was unguarded, for the guard had also become a part of the brawl. We run after them but they disappear into the darkness. Bloody thieves. I curse them under my breath and go check the cameras, ordering my sales people to report to the police. I am quick to realise that there could be no recording, for my sales guys had shut off the cameras once we had close down. What an unfortunate case of planned robbery, I think to myself. The guy, who looked most innocent, was most probably aware of the store and sales procedures. No camera recording! No evidence! Nevertheless, we call the police. Yet, the bribe I would need to pay for filing an FIR and the charges of investigation would be more than the value of the jeans itself. What a waste.

Scene 2

We are counting the cash. It's ten minutes to eleven. The store is closed. The guys are packing up, when there is sudden commotion outside. A woman running with a pair of jeans. A guy follows her. It is the store next door again. Their salesmen are good for nothing. Yet, their store is so busy all day, I complain.

"How much do we have?" I ask my guys. "Sir, a total of 19500 sales today. No bonus." Ugh. I feel tightness in my chest, a rush of pain. We miss our sales target by 500. Again. I look up my wallet. I have only twenty bucks to take a bus back home. No money. A salary of 3000 to run a family of 6! What a life! I grumble. "Okay. Pack up guys. Do better tomorrow. We need more!" I know it is not their fault. I was born with a bad luck, a curse. I just needed 500 more to get a bonus of 2.5% on my sales. I lower my head and shut the lights as we all walk out.

Ronnie asks me why I look so worried. He offers to lend me money. He knows my wife is in the hospital and we need the medicine. "No Ronnie. I will manage. Thanks," I refuse politely, knowing my rigid rules of life are my second curse, something I inflicted upon myself long back. I think of the stormy night when my father was on his death bed. I had made it in time. He had told me to live with less, but never beg or borrow. My hands were tied. I mumble a prayer, "Give me good luck.. give me some luck.. just tonight..."

I walk out, wave my boys good night. They have been good. They have been helpful. I peek inside the store next door, envious. Why do these guys make so much sales? Our collection is much better. They seem just fine, in spite of the scene today. Nomit looks at me from his counter, a look that reads, "Mind your own business, loser!" I start to walk away. The road was so muddy from the construction work. My shoes, my shoes of twelve years stand ruined. Almost torn. I lift my foot to clean whatever I can. Yet, this time my shoes need no cleaning. Stuck under my left shoe, was a fortune. A 500 rupee note glaring at me. I whisper a soft 'thanks' on a chilly night and walk towards the chemist.

****

Five reasons why you should read 'The White Tiger'

2010-01-25T21:41:00.000-08:00

Good books usually reach me on their own. They always find me. I am not one of those people who goes into a bookstore, carrying a long list with me, looking for particular books. I am not even sure such people exist. I like books that I just know I have to read. Aravind Adiga's The White Tiger is a book I have wanted to read for a long time. It has been staring at me from my bookcase just how a Barbie doll or a teddy bear would look at a kid in a toy store. I have been a very unfortunate kid in that; never touching the book that so invitingly pleaded me to read it. Finally, as I was buying some books (randomly picking) yesterday, when my friend suggested that I should grab a copy of The White Tiger! Oh, but of course! I already had it.

I came home. Started reading it at 10 O' Clock, knowing I was in for a humourous, satirical ride into the heart of India. By the time, it was 2 in the morning, I knew that The White Tiger had been much more. Now that I have read it, I will give you five reasons why this book is not like any other:

1. Adiga is talking to YOU -

A flawless storyteller, Aravind Adiga gives you the impression that you must have his complete attention, that he something so important to say and it is for your own good that you stop and listen. The first reason why you must read the book is because it is looking out for you and you need to know this story of an uncommon man breaking out of a trite setting.

2. Brutal Reality

If you are a fan of honesty, this book is meant for you. Adiga is brutally honest. He gives you a chance to enter the mind of another person, who is like so many others you might have dealt with. It could have been your runaway driver, your maid whose brother dropped out of school to pay dowry for her marriage or a rikshaw puller Mr. XYZ (emphasis is on the Mister, for rikshaw pullers are honourable men who refuse to work as farm labourers in the village) who carries you for you are too tired (or lazy?) to walk.

3. It is about The White Tiger

The White Tiger, the rarest of animals, the creature that comes along only once in a generation is not meant to be caged. The book is the story of a boy, a man different from his complacent world of 'darkness', one who breaks the rooster coop, by hook or by crook, whose best learning for life, what you call street smart, comes from not going to school. The driver buys a T-shirt exactly like his master, walks into a mall even. He questions his own ways -

"Why had my father never taught me to brush my teeth in milky foam? Why had he raised me to live like an animal? Why do all the poor live amid such filth, such ugliness?

Brush. Brush. Spit.

If only a man could spit out his past so easily."

4. Your city talks

This book will show you how your city talks to you. A driver on the verge of stealing his master's money, which would anyway go waste in bribing officials, looks around "and the dense pollution that was hiding the Prime Minister and all his ministers and bureaucrats said - 'They won't see a thing you do. I'll make sure of that.'

Even the puddles of spit that splashed on the roads as a man lowered the car window at a traffic signal talked to him, urging him to follow the thoughts in his head. Read the book and you will find signs in your surroundings too.

5. Do not trust your driver

So do you pity your loyal servant, yet you feel a sadistic pleasure in having him clean your house, bathe your dog or massage your feet, when he is not driving? And why not, he never complains. This book teaches you never to be too sure. A good, religious, family man - your driver? He can still murder you and get away with it. And as the book says, "Murder a man, and you feel responsible for his life - possessive, even. You know more about him than his father and mother; they knew his foetus, but you know his corpse."

All in all, the book is sharp, witty and real. It flows into the image of an India made up of two Indias - the darkness and the light. Yet in the end, you can't tell which one is darker.

Have you found your pinch of wisdom today?

2010-01-24T20:07:00.000-08:00

What is it that bothers you? The fact that you are not doing what everyone else is? The fact that you don't want to get into a conventional course of education? The fact that you do not want to be enrolled for a degree but look for education everyday at home? Or the fact that you don’t know what exactly you want and your purposelessness is haunting you? You want to spend the rest of your life pursuing your hobbies. The practical world that you call capitalistic does not permit it, you say. Is it just about your parents stopping you or is it the entire social system to blame? You want to look inside but what is outside is distracting you. Stop and Be. Stop analysing. Let the rhythm of your life take the lead.

Practical wisdom is about structured thoughts. The questions mentioned above are linked to a random generation of thought-lets in a typical mind. Most of us are victims of random thoughts, thoughts that lead to indecisiveness and helplessness. So, while allowing life to be random and beautiful, it is of critical importance to train your mind to think in a structured fashion, for then you will only do what is appropriate at a given moment.

Joseph W. Meeker writes, "Wisdom is a state of the human mind characterized by profound understanding and deep insight. It is often, but not necessarily, accompanied by extensive formal knowledge. Unschooled people can acquire wisdom, and wise people can be found among carpenters, fishermen, or housewives.”

Wisdom can be acquired from daily experiences. It is about how you assimilate the information in your surrounding world and use it to create meaning for your life and existence, more importantly for the moment. Wisdom is not about taking control – it is about knowing when to tighten the knot and when to let loose. Wisdom is not about deciding plans for life – it is about accommodating when needed and taking risks when required.

Meeker writes “Wherever it exists, wisdom shows itself as a perception of the relativity and relationships among things. It is an awareness of wholeness that does not lose sight of particularity or concreteness, or of the intricacies of interrelationships. It is where left and right brain come together in a union of logic and poetry and sensation, and where self-awareness is no longer at odds with awareness of the otherness of the world.

Wisdom cannot be confined to a specialized field, nor is it an academic discipline; it is the consciousness of wholeness and integrity that transcends both. Wisdom is complexity understood and relationships accepted."

Today, men strive to be wealthy, not wise while the journey should begin the other way round. For being wise can save you from losing a lot of wealth and a lot of love. In every experience of life, find that little pinch of wisdom you can take away and your recipe of a practical yet unique life will turn out just right. But above all of your endeavours to achieve perfect bliss, what you must strive for is bliss in every moment. Do what your heart says. Be what you want to be. There is no tomorrow. What it is, is now. Where it is, is right here. You have it. Make something out of it for delaying it will only weaken and frustrate you. If you have to be wise, start now.

You don’t mean anything to me

2010-01-20T01:36:00.001-08:00

You don’t mean anything to me

I don’t need to see you.

I don’t need to hear you.

You don’t mean anything to me

You are like the newspaper boy

Unnamed, anonymous, unknown

Delivering a daily newspaper, every

Now and again; Monotonous chores

You don’t mean anything to me

You are like a letter lost in mail

Or delivered late to me, for

I no longer look at it, the message

Old, ruined, undeserving of me

You don’t mean anything to me

I don’t need to see you

But I need to know you live

I don’t need to talk to you

But I need you to be available

You don’t mean anything to me

Then why do I look for signs –

In my mailbox, my phone, my life?

Why do I picture you, or play

Recorded conversations of a brighter day?

If you don’t mean anything to me

Why can’t I live without news,

or those old letters that smell so new?

Just saw this!

2010-01-17T09:54:00.003-08:00

Wow.. Someone quoted me in their story so long ago and I just found out ! ;-)

http://abhaykant.wordpress.com/2008/07/06/is-relaxation-in-marks-a-gals-vs-guys-debate/

Bagg-age

2010-01-16T03:33:00.000-08:00

One of the many unalterable truths of life that leave me pensive is 'age'. Age is just a concept of growing up when you are nearing your twentieth or even thirtieth birthday. It doesn't set the alarm bells ringing for life is too fast paced to stop and worry. But even with every passing decade, age insidiously adds more and more baggage to your shoulders, while you live under an illusion of complete control over your life.

Have you seen a stooping old man or woman, walking with a bent back? Doctors may have a different term for it but I call it 'bagg-age' - added weight of memories of people and places, times gone by that left remnants of many a emotion to feed on your soul. For the more you age, the more delicious your soul becomes - much more juicy for all the baggage of emotions,attachment, resentments it gains. It's not like old people who walk straight don't carry baggage. They probably just deal with it and let go before it can eat them up. Or maybe, they let it pile up inside of them never letting it show.

On his deathbed, my great great grandfather is known to have said, 'I wish!' with his last escaping breath. Why do so many wishes and dreams get buried in the grave, while so many breathing bodies of flesh and blood wasted in hoarding temporary treasures?

Growing up, human beings tend to fall in love with their people, their possessions, their positions and their ambitions. Dreams often become a scapegoat because there is too much baggage to even be able to raise your head and spot your shining star in the sky. Life becomes a mesh of social ties, a blurred view of what could have been. For all of us are tied down to trivialities by trivial threads that we let grow more important. Just one pull would be enough to break us free, we know. But where is that pull? Even the thought of it seems to diminish with age.

Age is painfully monstrous. You grow up with those you love - your best buddies, your siblings, your owns! You get used to these ties, thinking you will never let them break even if your dreams are fed to the dogs. You spend your years nurturing them. But the cycle of life, the monster of age is such that they all go. They are all taken down. One by One. You wonder if you are next? It doesn't matter. Not anymore. One more day wouldn't make a difference now. Your chains and loops are all gone and you silently 'age' from old to senile. The ties don't matter for they're not there. What matters is that your reasons for killing your dreams long ago are now dead. But you are cursed to live on, with an aching heart and shame for never having made that move, never having pulled free those strings.

Now that the mesh is sorted out and there are no more social ties to worry about, it just doesn't matter, does it? All you can say is 'I wish' and wish that you had another chance, another life to live how you wanted.

Some People

2010-01-09T03:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes without an effort, people connect. Bonds are fostered. Sometimes without prior thoughts, things just fit in. Sometimes something that happens by your effort and God’s will leads you to something you’ve never thought for yourself. People, who do not understand this thought, laugh at it. Those who do, remain quiet for the fear of disapproval. That’s how life works. But I never stop myself. I never stop the voice within me, for it is the energy that guides me, the truth that defines me and the vision that makes me more than what I’m capable of.

Yes, people who achieve greatness do not have too many friends standing at their shoulder. People who have principles may not always carry the ‘load’ of ‘friendship’ with them. For they never try to impress and never compete. They live for their soul and connect only to real friends. Others remain a shadow of the past for them.

These people, I’m always afraid might be shot dead. But that’s too much of imagination I’d say. These people have goals set right in front of them taking them through the muddy, marshy lands like destiny’s stepping stones, to a bigger reality. To a real dream. Dream is not a picture; dream is not a scene; dream is not a still. It’s a movement. Their dynamism makes life the longest journey for them, but you’ll always find them at the edge, at the extremes, somewhere nobody else would dare to step. Because they’re never afraid. They are discoverers of themselves and of new realities. They are instruments of change. There is no standard set out for them. They define what they live. They like to know, they like to question but their questions are never aimed at others. Their questions are aimed at the end that their action would produce. They are deep and they make sense. These people are revolution personified. They never think in terms of what if? They think in terms of the inevitable. Their actions should move mountains. Their words should ignite the minds and their achievements should feed souls.

They are one of a kind. They are rare but they are everywhere. People who are afraid of themselves are afraid of them. Those who want to walk with them are plain scared. They define lives. They make world God’s kingdom and they bring destiny its sought after luck.

Far within me

2010-01-09T03:24:00.000-08:00

Somewhere, there is a place
A void that fills me up.
Far from truth, far from home
I walk. I walk into my own.

Sometimes, the clock does stop
A moment that lasts a life
Far from present, far ahead of me
I stand. Stand and wait till dawn.

Some one, a ghost I know so close
A figure at my door,so far
From my reach, far and unaware
I glance. Glance into a mirror I break.

Zindagi

2010-01-02T02:19:00.001-08:00

ठहर जाती तो ज़िन्दगी ज़िन्दगी न होती
किसने कहा?
जीने की चाह मात्र ज़िन्दगी से बढकर है
आज भी!
जितना दिया उससे ज्यादा देती रही ज़िन्दगी
हर पल
अब ख़ुशी बटोर लेने का बहाना ज़िन्दगी है.

पल घंटों में, घंटे दिनों में, दिन सालों में बीतें
एकही पल
चाहतें जज्बातों में, जज़्बात शब्दों में, शब्द हरकतें
मिलते राही!
लहरों से मोहब्बत में नौका तैरना सीख गयी
सवारी हम.
अब लहरों से लड़ना छोड़, दोस्ती कर चले हैं.

नयेपन में, संघर्ष में, कदम कदम पे करतब देखे
ज़िन्दगी के
अब नए वर्ष में करतब करते कई दौर बढेंगे
साहस अमर
बीज जो बोये थे, फलेंगे हर सांस के साथ, के
बाद भी!
रस से सींचते चले हम ज़िन्दगी के फलों को!

New Year

2009-12-28T21:53:00.000-08:00

December is a funny time of the year, specifically December 31. 200X turns into 200X+1, in a matter of a single second of the clock hands moving from 11:59 to 00:00 . There is plenty of celebration all around, apparently to sign off a year gone by (which would have passed away silently in a single second otherwise too) and to welcome a new year (which also, would have arrived without the hullabaloo). For me, the need to contemplate takes over this whiff of celebration, as I appear cold and almost indifferent to celebrations in the freezing winters of December each year.

As I turn my head to look at the past year, I see heaps of confusion covered mystically under a thin veil of ‘achievements’. I see confusion because I took up so many different tasks. It all added to the big mystery of 'What Unnati will do after college'. Yet, the year has been very satisfying. I exploited my faculties to the fullest. My first novel ‘If At All’, taking off of Serene Woods, writing dozens of articles for Times Ascent, buying my first real gadget, my Dell laptop, making a lot of new friends and cherishing the old ones, taking my relationship a step forward, getting a job offer, writing a lot of exams and doing not-so-bad after all. The year, as any other year of my life was a roller coaster ride. A lot of proud moments, a lot of disappointments, innumerable lessons to learn and a clock that never stops ticking. What was special about this year is that I immersed myself in what I enjoy the most – writing. I took my writing pursuits to a new level by writing my first piece of fiction. I took emotions and introspection to a new level by becoming the silent observer and this astute expresser. Yet, as the year ends, there is a sinking feeling in my heart, not because I didn’t do enough but because I suddenly feel like a changed person. A generalist all my life, I finally feel the need to narrow down my interests and discover an activity that I can base my life on.

Then again, deciding what I want for the rest of my life is so not me. I live in the present and take decisions in the spur of the moment. Whenever I have weighed the pros and cons too much, I have ended up faltering. So why this restlessness now? Last night I was studying capital budgeting for my final exams. My situation is that of a financial manager looking to invest to expensive machinery for the long-term. Is the present value of discounted cash inflows greater than the current outflow of funds? In other words, will the long run benefit of my decision today exceed the energy expelled in taking and following that decision? Also, what is my opportunity cost for that decision? Even if I had all the answers or even precise figures for these questions of my life, I would still not have gone ahead using this rule of thumb. Human life is much more complex than financial management. They say in the stock markets, you need flair, persistence and luck much more than skill. So is the case with life.

The ‘New Year’ also compels one to look forward or as the tradition goes, to set resolutions. Now that I think of it, everyday has been a new resolution for me and my short-term goal posts have proved to be the best motivators so far. As I turn to 2010, my twenty-first year, I try to reorient myself to changes. Fortunately or unfortunately, I never can bring myself to think ten years down the line. Isn’t the present overwhelming enough? Yet, for my long term vision, I most definitely imagine being in a cool job and writing books and if things go well, then running my own book café. That coupled with a wonderful group of friends and family makes it just right. What is then my resolution for 2010? It has to be giving everything my 100%, not losing heart over small things and focusing my energies on the priorities I set for myself. If I can do just that with all the faith in the world, then nothing will ever be as fruitful as my 2010.

Intuition

2009-12-25T05:50:00.000-08:00

Though I am not an ardent follower of astrological thought, I do sometimes like to read horoscopes, especially when the year is at its close. I do not glance through the verbose horoscope column in the bottom of my daily newspaper hoping it would give me answers for the future. Rather, I do so because a part of me likes to believe that it would give me the gist of the key point amongst the multiple things happening in my life and maybe, it would focus my energies on the pressing needs of the hour.

For instance, today it read -

This is one of those times at which you need to be on guard for signs and omens, because although your intuition will not let you down, you need to be ready to take action when the universe shows you the "green light".

They say intuition is ‘the act or faculty of knowing or sensing without the use of rational processes; immediate cognition’. I have always been a very intuitive person. To me, intuition stems from strong beliefs. Often when I really believe something will happen or something that might happen will be good/bad, it turns out to be true. Those are intuitive forces, for they are not based on the logic of what, when and how but rather, on a moment’s thought. For twenty years, I have acted on intuition, often trusting it more than knowledge, research or logic. For these first twenty years of my life, my first quarter life, thoughts and actions were congruent, as intuition played a catalyzing role in my life equation. Now, things are changing.

The object is the same. The forces outside are dynamic and bent upon altering the object. When the object stands for a live person, the only influence of nature I feel is the force of time. They say time and tide wait for none. The truth is that taming time is more about maintaining the balance between your interior and the rapidly changing exterior. The exterior world changes with time, yet time is only an illusion, a tool of earmarking certain phases of a long drawn life.So how does your internal-external balance change with ‘time’, in relation to intuitiveness?

As you grow older (time aspect) or as you spread your roots more firmly in the social grounding (ignoring the single dimension of time), even if intuitiveness remains constant, the way you choose to respond to the intuitive energies within you changes. One, the stakes are high. You build so much for yourself and accommodate yourself all the comforts of life and existence that if your intuition shows you a path entirely different from where you are (but best suited for who you are), the considerations of an imagined loss are so high that you might never act on your intuition. If you do, maybe you stand to lose your social status, your wealth, your people and so on. The trade-off becomes more complicated with time and the influences much stronger. So you sit back and make yourself believe that you are living in the perfect reality where you do not want to risk what you have to fulfill your whims and fancies, though they are more of intuitions taking you towards your destined path. Slowly and gradually, without realizing, you debilitate those intuitive forces until you can hear your own voice no more. Horrible, isn’t it? Not uncommon though.

What changes first is not that you become unintuitive but that you do not act when shown the ‘green light’ because there is too much fear, huge risks of loss. Coming back to intuition, it is immediate cognition. Only once you stop unnecessarily weighing the pros and cons over and over again, will you be in a position to act out the commands of your own supreme spirit. In other words, the intuitive forces that can lead you to realize your purpose, your reason on Earth can only do so if you are ready to follow. Like Morpheus points out in the Matrix - ‘I can only show you the door; you are the one that has to walk through it.’

Exciting Lives

2009-12-11T22:58:00.000-08:00

Over the past few months, I have interviewed persons from all walks of life, including the first woman bartender of India, an image consultant and stylist, a tattoo artist, a photographer and multiple entrepreneurs. Learning about their lives is a new journey each time. How did they get into the field? What motivates them everyday? What is it that they are trying to create through their work? Their creative careers stand like a mirror in my face, showing me where I want to be.

Why am I filled with awe every time I cover the story of a creative professional? Is it because these people are rich? No, they aren't always. Is it because they are famous? No, not necessarily. The only possible reason is that they are doing what they are passionate about and on their way, they sooner or later, attract both money and fame. These are of course incidental rewards. What I adore about these brave men and women is that they had the heart, the courage to do what felt right and not what was proven right by the society. Recently, an interviewer asked me what is most important to you in a job? I said - 'The work involved'. Underneath my remark lay a clear message. Unnati likes creative work. Unnati's love for a job depends on the work she has to do. Clearly, Unnati has to be in a creative job!! Simple logic.

Rome was not built overnight. Exciting lives are a series of decisions taken from the heart and of persistent efforts made in the pursuance of that inner drive. There is not beaten path to success. Success is an individual concept, not relative. Look inside and you will know where to look, for success. You don't need to go to school, college and a regular workplace to succeed. In fact that is often not the case. All you need is conviction and courage. If life was a battlefield, the only warrior to win without shedding blood would be the one who digs deeper and lends a greater meaning to the small things in life, the one who cares not about how many others perish but about how he can get to the other side and claim victory, as the world willingly surrenders. That's true success - gained skillfully, respectfully and with great integrity.

Is the dream more important than the dreamer?

2009-11-22T20:42:00.000-08:00

I close my eyes

I see traces of you and me

I shut my ears

I hear voices repeat broken promises

I press my lips tight

But time doesn't need space to pass

I run swiftly through the door

I fall, faster than time this time.

This is my before...

2009-11-17T10:25:00.000-08:00

Before I had a dream, I was wondering how anybody else could be so hooked on to theirs that even a slight obstacle would seem like a bitter hurdle in their path, a dream broken before being realised.. This is how I felt:

Dreams

How does it feel when your dreams shatter into pieces? I don’t know. How does it feel when someone you trusted snatches away your dreams from you? I can’t comprehend. I’ve never had a dream that I could die for. But I know a man that I want to live for. His dreams have become a part of me. I’ve allowed much scope for flexibility in the goals I set for myself that I cannot name any of them as my ultimate dream. All of them are dear to me. It’s okay for dreams to take a long time to come true. But what if your ultimate dream, the substratum of existence crumbles into bits in front of your eyes, all while you were there, unaware of the slow decay. How would it feel? It must feel like losing a child. You put all your efforts, all your life and energy into one bundle and suddenly, it’s gone. Vanished. Out of your life. It leaves an empty space that nothing else can ever fill again. It’s a deeper wound than lost love. Love might heal loss of love but another dream cannot replace what is your own.

I choose convenience, easy paths. I’m fascinated by difficulties, hurdled crossroads. I write about problems, heroism that emerges out of it and I am almost filmy when it comes to danger. But in real life, when the language of faith betrays you, you want to fight. Your heart calls out war and the rage destroys the innocence desire of a child-like dream. Only for a while. After all, who can extinguish what the soul has set on fire? As dreams fail, it is not hard to see that only one way of achieving them has failed. There has to be an answer somewhere. There has to be another door, window, anything. Desperation to succeed in seeing your dream happen is like the urge to breathe under water when it’s a question of life and death. I’ve never had a dream that could show me harsh realities of failure. Today, as my lover’s dreams stand endangered and on the verge of a burial, I learn the deepest of all lessons - Dreams can never be buried away. They represent your journey to the core of your soul. Their pursuit is happiness in itself. An unrewarded achievement may be rewarding just as a half complete path a destination in itself. And that gives you the courage to rise again.

I don’t know what hurts more breach of trust, denial, disregard or the plain fear of letting us down? Our dreams are beyond worldly pursuits, pleasures and pains. Our souls will be at rest so long as our one heart split up into two for our two bodies, beats in union on the rhythm of free love. Free? Yes, it’s the best definition of love. It has no bounds, no fetters on our individual hopes and dreams. For as I said, they all stand united even in times of conflict. I’m never scared in love. I’m never scared of difficulties thrown at us by life.

Tattooed

2009-11-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

A picture is worth a thousand words. Truly so. The bird on the back of my neck stands for flight, freedom, aspirations and a passion to surge higher than before. It is symbolic of a new found energy, a spirit that overcomes all doubts and fears and exposes you to the crudest truth in a vaguely familiarizing fashion. This bird is my soul set free. It reminds me of my 'Statement of purpose' essay for college applications.

It said:

“Jonathan learned at a tremendous rate. He always had learned quickly from ordinary experience.”

Through the story of an extraordinary bird Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach expresses a desire to learn and become the best at what you love, irrespective of established norms. I am not Jonathan but I, Unnati Narang, share the same spirit with a story of my own.

The words that seem to draw my attention as I read these lines again are not 'learn' or 'extraordinary'. The words that I pay greater focus to today are 'the best at what you love'. Undoubtedly, man as a species has been blessed with the power of thought as well as action. The reason why some men are more 'successful' or 'well-known' or have more 'achievements' than the others is simply because they followed their passion. They had the guts to say, 'I can!' and not 'I will' or 'I might someday...'. They too the plunge the moment they found their passion.

There is a line in the movie 'When Harry met Sally' that has stayed with me ever since I watched it. It is when Harry tells Sally, "When you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of the life to start as soon as possible". I have grown to realise that exactly the same is the case with finding one's passion at work. The moment you figure out this is the work you want to do for the rest of your life, you want to get into it right away. It is as if you were never so sure about anything else in life as this. I might not be the right person to say this because I have always carried with me ten choices at any given point of time. All my life, I have wanted to do ten different things. But now I look back and I see what was common to all of them. It was my love for writing, for all that you could express through written word. I can't remember reasons as to why I never thought of it as a career before but now is not too late. In fact I am twenty and it is a good time to make important decisions. I always knew a lot of people who were so sure of their dreams that it made me seemingly abnormal. Right under my nose, yet it took me quite sometime to see that I could have a great writing career. Now, I am all set to fly. I think this passion is only going to grow. As I told Sheetal today, I am addicted to writing for Times. It gives me immense joy to just reach out to people and enable other people to reach out to more people.

Life is all about sharing. And the written word is a blessing that has come to reveal itself just for me and my dreams! I had written a piece entirely the opposite of how I feel right now. It was a time when I didn't have a dream. Now I do. And it's beautiful. I will publish that piece in my next blog entry and you can discover the difference! A man before and after the discovery of his dream...

Doom

2009-11-10T09:47:00.000-08:00

I am drowning in sand

Who needs deep waters?

The wind that touches my face

Can hardly play my coastguard.

I move my limbs in sweet desperation.

Yet, my earth swallows my pain...

Until I can feel no more.

My Mother Always

2009-11-10T09:44:00.000-08:00

My Mother always went to bed at ten

But sleep never came to her, the night

Her daughter became a bride...

Religious!?

2009-10-26T10:53:00.000-07:00

I have seen religions. I have seen faiths being followed by starving the body. I have seen men make vows and holy chants. I have never come across true worship.... This poem is about 'holy' practices. My personal view of certain traditions I can't come to terms with. This has nothing to do with 'God'.

Ideally Religious?

How do you feed the spirit by starving the body?

Or are you fuelling your ego by curbing your craving?

We are experimenting with technology, with drugs and human body

Why not sophisticate religious thought first, revisit and rethink it?

How do you feed the spirit by starving the body?

Or are you expressing pity by letting go of food that a million starve for?

Why not feed a mouth when you feel like fasting?

Why not remember spirit by nurturing humanity for a day at least?

How do you feed the spirit by starving the body?

Though your mission is noble and intention sacred

How do you pay gratitude by rejecting the greatest gift?

Why not be thankful by sharing, by feasting every time you’re fasting?

The Ultimate Truth

2009-10-26T10:51:00.000-07:00

6/7 October 2009

My eyes. My ears. My skin. My body. Parts of me, all belong to me. I don’t belong to the parts of me. I never say I, the body. I say my body. For I am the power that uses this body to act out its commands. I will never die; my body will die. I will never be afraid; only my body is perishable, Not I.

I love. Bitter sweet identity diffusion. I am excited. I build. I smile and I capture the pictures in my memory. All I want is a lifelong memory and a few lessons, which too will soon slip through my fingers like sand blown softly as it falls, by the unkind winds of time. But I am not afraid. Never afraid. Why should I be? It makes no sense. For I am the power, I am the creator. I am human when I ask my body to list my options and make plans to achieve them. I don’t need so much effort to achieve what is already mine. The universe is mine. The only thing I need to do now is to let my power, let my light illuminate all heaven and earth. How - by believing, by seeing, by being present – omnipresent.

What makes me happy? I thought it was gold until I had enough and started to run out of time to spend it or even count it. I wanted it no more. It became water to me, what the world still craved for. And what is water to me? Water became life. For I noticed how there is no life without water.

I sought travel, wanted to see the most beautiful places that God, my spirit had created for me. I knew I would get bored as nothing was indefinite in the world except for the power within me. This blatant truth never stopped me. I set out and I saw the world. Beautiful but not forever. My purpose was immortality, not pleasure.

I sought a home. I wanted more love; more and more, from everywhere. I settled down. It became my worship, the most fruitful of all my pursuits so far. I raised children. I made them into man and woman. They spread my glory, made proud my ideals. I shut my eyes in warm relief.

I sought my universe now. I wanted it to come back to me in its raw form – uncovered and crude. I wanted it to shed its evasive charm and appear as it was when I first lost it down the line somewhere. It appeared before me, true to its word. I was surprised. No longer was the universe an ugly reality I turned away from. It showed me my way. I helped mankind see it in its raw form. I gave them food and water so that they could rise above the necessities of life, enjoy its pleasures and once the pleasures lost all taste, turn to the beauty of a raw universe - a Universe that alone could define who I was.

Shape your future

2009-09-27T11:04:00.000-07:00

Future is a mirror of the past, they say. And why not? It is who you are and what you choose to create out of your life that translates into what your future would look like. It is another time, another unseen point of life that has not yet arrived. The future looks at you and smiles mysteriously as you try to create something more meaningful, something that adds more value to what your life already is. Come to think of it, the future is elusive, evasive, distractive. What is ‘living’ if life is lived for the future alone?

Life is about being and about enjoying your state of being. We all need a rush, a passion to follow, an urge to do more, to achieve more and to be more. I just don't see why there is a contradiction between enjoying your stable self, your spirit that remains constant and setting yourself free to follow worldly ambitions. The two go together very well in fact. I feel the highest form of beauty and a sense of oneness with myself when I am following my heart into my future, for it is in that process that I am truly myself. I am evolving yet my spirit is always my own. I never fail to identify it. Even as a million souls pass through me every day.

When human beings accept that this state of being is constant, they come to terms with dynamism being part of the constant self too. At that moment, future is not something to run after. Future comes to you in the 'now'. Isn't it how Einstein's genius explained a parallel universe. Your future is already happening. All you need to do to be part of that parallel reality is to believe in it. Your belief will come together with destiny's power and create the future just how you pictured it in your mind, just how you believed it would look like. For there is nothing called future. You were just travelling between parallel moments, while they all happened at the same time. Time is a constant illusion. All that is real is you - The power within you.

The future is your power to say - I believe so it will...

A matter of Choice!

2009-09-22T20:18:00.000-07:00

Freedom to choose and the ability to shape your 'future' by your choices is what distinugishes human life from that of other myriad organisms. With greater consumerism, choice is becoming a way of life. Not only are we in a position to choose the products we buy or the services we hire, but also the stores or companies that offer them. This article is not about consumer choice, though buying decisions can influence your future just as much the as the choices I am about to refer to. The overriding power to shape your life lies in the decisions you make consciously when you are at a turning point of your life. This turning point might be choosing a stream for further education after schooling or selecting the colleges you will apply to or your specialization and most importantly, the way you want to earn your livelihood.

Earning a living is a funny concept. In the present era, the rich and the upper middle-class income groups are not striving to earn just a living. They want more. They want to squeeze out everything it takes to own a mansion, a luxury car and long vacations at exotic places. More than earning a living, I think it is better called 'earning a life!', for there are hundreds of millions of people out these who can spend their entire lives on the few thousand dollars that this class spends on a single travel vacation. Let us look at those at the bottom of the pyramid. I am talking about those falling on the base line of the pyramid. Are they trying to earn a living? Not really. At least not always. They are struggling to survive. They are looking into garbage bins for leftover food, knocking on closed windows of fancy cars at the redlight. Are they always asking for money? It so happens that they are primarily looking for food. Such commonplace is their daily life that it is spent in the search for something that is dumped and wasted everyday in the kitchens of the rich. Rich, here, includes the middle class.

Clearly, life is not all about earning a living. We all expect different things from money. Some expect it to make them happy, other expect it would make life easier every day byenabling them to buy the very basic necessities of life and there are those, who waste it for the pleasure it gives them. Yet, the beauty of all the pursuits in life is that money is not the only motivation. As per the famous Need Hierarchy Model by Maslow, once your basic needs are satisfied, you move to self-actualization needs. Those needs are the real meat of life. They are defined by an urge to meet your fullest potential. It makes human being capable of discovering or inventing new things and at the same time, feeling joy in the process of creation.

The choices you make to fulfill your self-actualization needs are the most critical determinants of how your future will manifest itself. It determines the direction of your efforts and the destination you hope to reach. Not knowing what the future hold is the sole reason why choices are powerful enough to fuel your engine in life. The greatest power is the spirit within you, for the spirit never settles for anything less than a perfect choice!

(Next blog post will discuss the concept of future, drawing inspiration from the movie and its widely read adaptation 'The Secret' by Rhonda Byrne)