fun

Ah well. The hospitalization was not as dramatic as I would have (not) liked it to be.

I like my attitude in life. So far I must have faced tons of shit in life. Most of the time, I look at the stuff that happened in the past and not be bitter about it. Some of my bosses were extremely horrible and I thought that was ok. They taught me a lot. Some of the incidents I have had in life have been quite tough but at the end, after a few years, I have been thankful for it. They made me stronger.

When I was about to be admitted to the hospital, I was quite sure I wanted to do all the stuff myself. I was determined to be independent. I did not want Jasmine of Jispa to fret over anything and I did not want o inconvenience anyone. I wanted to be a cheerful and happy patient. I was sure about it. Hospitalization is a very different experience and the only way to enjoy it is to think of it as a learning experience, much like a department store or going to Ikea. You look around you, you make mental notes, you think about how you feel and you enjoy, even if you don’t want to buy anything.

 I enjoyed the hospitalization in the same way. It was a new retail environment for me. I got admitted, filled in the paperwork across the three counters, changed into hospital clothes and was happily hanging around and talking to the doctors and nurses. It was pretty good going.

When I was being wheeled in to the operation theatre Jasmine and me were joking around and smiling. We were in high spirits. I was telling jasmine that’s its great thing that we got to experience the hospital, the operation theatre and other scary things on a minor knee surgery. It’s not a mission critical procedure. This was a voluntary surgery that we had to ensure I can lay sports. The risk of this surgery is very low. So the first, possibly intimidating experience was so easy to take in.

I was happy speaking to the nurses, doctors, staff and everyone around. That was quite a nice experience. I was telling jispa that I was very happy with my attitude. I saw this potentially scary and irritating experience as a learning ground and I kept my spirits and happiness around me high! That’s important. This ability to see adversity into an advantage or a learning experience while smiling is so important.

I hope that when my time comes and that I might be close to dying, I should still be able to smile, laugh and enjoy the experience. I want to think about my last few minutes and wonder – nice experience. I want to look at myself and say – good man, you didn’t stop learning at all. Of course it’s going to be emotional and tough to know you are terminal. But I still want to be awesome and fun at that. That’s my goal.

I wonder what may be the best way to go? A terminal illness and knowing it’s going to happen or a sudden situation like my dad. Sometimes I feel a finite time would also be interesting. I read two books written by people knowing that they were on their final journey.  One was When breath becomes air by Paul Kalanithi and another by the legendary Hans Rosling – Factfulness. Both were interesting reads. Paul’s book was amongst the best books I would have read in a long long time. His prose was brilliant and his description of his experience was mind blowing.  Possibly it kindled a bit of a thought in me. Possibly that now at 43, I am closer to death than I am to birth, has sparked these thoughts in me.

But I wonder.

Coming back to happiness. Yesterday I took Jasmine to Starbucks at BKC. BKC has three. Two of them I frequent. In both the places, the baristas know me very well. They greet me, talk to me and make me my awesome coffees. So when I reached there early with Jasmine, they greeted me warmly and asked me how I am and that it was a long time since they saw me. They give better service and they smile at me and talk. I even got a free extra shot of coffee to make the horrible one (Tahitian vanilla macchiato) taste better. Jasmine was wondering.

Next day, Jasmine was telling Jispa – do you know, dad is known to all the baristas at Starbucks and they greet him like a long lost friend. He has his girlfriends everywhere. Hah. No. It’s not just about frequenting the place, it’s not just about having girlfriends. It’s about knowing the people who serve you. It’s about speaking to them by calling out their name. It’s thanking them, smiling and being nice to them. This is how people know you, you get warmth and you spread warmth. There is a joy in that. I make it a point to make my coffee in a certain way, then I sip it in front of them and tell them, [name] it’s awesome, I love the coffee you made.

Such simple joys. I enjoy these little micro interactions with people where we chat/ talk/ smile move on. This is how we make friends in places that acknowledge us and are happy when we come back. This is the way to spread happiness all around.

I did that in the hospital as well. Spoke to the doctors, nurses, ward boys, everyone. Smiled, laughed, understood back story etc. This makes life so much fun!

joy

When we joined the gymkhana first we wanted Jispa to learn a sport properly. The one we honed in thanks to the timings etc was badminton. We also put her in swimming just to get her to learn it as a life skill. She was doing well in badminton as well when she got promoted first in the swimming batch and that decided her (till now) sports career.

But that’s not the point I am making. I remember one of the things that they made Jispa do was run up and run backwards on the court. Just run up and back. Simple. Get on your toes and run up and backwards. That’s a drill. Drills are important in sport training. They help you develop specific muscles and the build muscle memory. Then on the court it’s a second nature and replication of the same.

I have been playing badminton for long and all of it is self-taught. Looking at what the others do and thinking and trying to improve my game. It has reached a reasonable level but is now obviously plateauing. You end up playing with the same people again and again and then you aren’t able to develop your game. You have to play with multiple players in multiple settings to get an all-round feel to your game.

On the side of the court is a poster with the Indian legend Gopichand with different poses and explaining how to hit different shots. For the overhead smash one thing that I noticed that it required you to get behind the shuttle in a way that the shuttle is just ahead of you and you can then smash it right. It was interesting. I started trying to do that and it’s right, the shuttle then just flew off the racket in a powerful hard smash. That’s when I knew what I was doing wrong. I was being lazy. I was just getting back enough to get to the shuttle to hit it back not enough to get behind it. Just a step more… or possibly half a step more. That was the difficult one. It didn’t come naturally. That’s when I remembered Jispa’s drills- run up and run back. That’s the trick. Keep running back. I forced myself to run back a little more than normal. Again and again. And again. The smashes started going. It’s just a simple thing.

That’s the great thing about drills. Drills help you get the muscle memory right and get you to do the right thing immediately without effort in the match. I am amazed how simple it really is and with a little extra effort the game becomes much more enjoyable. Lovely.

These small efforts give me tons of meaning. I think these are cute things that help me get past what otherwise would be a mundane life. Our experiences around us make us who we are. We can go by thinking about the same old routine and get bored and exasperated by the predictability of it or we can get small joys in knowing that they can be improved or there is joy in the repeatability of it all.

Will I be a cynic with a mid-life crises when I tell you that don’t chase some great joy in life? Great joys are few and far in your life. My child being born was a great freaking joy. Falling in love with jasmine was a great freaking joy. Seeing my daughter win a race was great freaking joy. Seeing her lead the sports day oath was great freaking joy. But these come a few times in a life time. Rest are all small joys. Talking to her on various topics. Ganging up with her and making fun of Jasmine. Making the world’s best Paneer bhurji for breakfast for Jispa along with a coffee cup with oodles of cream is a cute joy. Running like crazy across the court and picking up the shuttle inches from the ground to take it across the net for a winner is acute joy. Giving a tough fight to the opponents in spite of being a weak team is a cute joy. Solving a puzzle with Jasmine or figuring out a product with her is a cute joy. Going to starbucks and ordering a pour over with milk and then asking for extra cup and some soy milk so as to get two for the price of one is cute joy. Writing this blog and posting it is cute joy. Buying a new pair of shoes is cute joy. Having a whack a mole fight with Jasmine with me being eth beaten mole is cute joy. Giving Jispa my old night suit t-shirt and then getting her ear lobe to kiss is cute joy. Fighting with Jispa over who gives the cutest nose kiss to Jasmine while she struggles to cover her nose in protest is cute joy. Talking to the trainee sitting next to you in office and giving gyan is cute joy. Rolling a tissue paper into a pointed rocket so that you stuff it inside your ear to get the last bit of water out of your ear after swimming is cute joy. Sharing your reading glasses with Jasmine while we oldies struggle to read a menu is cute joy. Putting cold cream on Jasmine’s legs or getting her to put cream on my back is cute joy. Giving Jispa a massage after a particularly tough works out in spite of you having a particularly bad day at work is cute joy. Giving a coworker a hug for no reason and not saying anything is cute joy. Peeling an apple without breaking the skin, in one straight flow is cute joy. Sitting in the pot and having one hell of a good download is cute joy. Finding a new restaurant that serves you awesome vegan dishes is cute joy. Meeting an old student who remembers you and tells you that you were the best is cute joy. Having a young friend tell you about their ups and downs and mental state just so that you know… is cute joy. Having a cool chat with your daughter’s class mates and just chilling around is cute joy. Connecting to a barista at Starbucks and hi fiving them when you go the next time, is a cute joy.

Beat all these bare cuteness of life.

For the love of coffee

Ever since we got a French neighbor who showed how coffee is made from a French press, I have discovered a new joy from coffee. I like to brew my coffee. I like the smell of my coffee. I like to savor my coffee. Coffee is not a just another drink, it is a joy. It fills me up with a sense of contentment and a buzz that caffeine induced coffee can give. A light happy feeling. I would much rather puke than have bad coffee. Nescafe is bad coffee. I hate it. I think it has no aroma, no taste and definitely no kick. Why would anybody waste their coffee drinking time (yes, it’s a time, an era, a period, a pause, a breath, an experience) on Nescafe. Yuck. I keep telling Jasmine to stop having her Nescafe and move to nice coffee. It’s not worth it.

Every time I have my coffee I try to savor it because of a few other issues. The weird but true thing that coffee gives me is addiction. Instant. If I have coffee two days in a row, on the third day, I will get withdrawal symptoms. Very rarely – I get it the next day itself. These are bad withdrawal symptoms. Mind numbing headache that refuses to go away. Then it triggers a kind of acidity symptom. Then I end up puking empty. Then I don’t know what to do except lie down. I got these symptoms two three times and I did not understand why. Jasmine suggested that I have a little coffee to see it works. It did. The symptoms go away after having a little black coffee. Instantly. It so bloody weird how caffeine addiction works for my body. It’s a good thing I don’t drink or smoke or else, this would have gotten out of hand. If coffee can do this, what would harder stuff be capable of in my body. So, I savor my coffee. Whenever I drink coffee, I know I can’t have coffee the next day then. So, I think through, what’s my schedule for tomorrow? Am I at home, am I meeting someone at Starbucks? I have to be sure when I have my coffee. At home I like my own brew. Sometimes, I have a hot brew and sometimes I have a cold brew. I put the coffee beans in the filter and put the water to let it drip overnight. The result is a lovely brew without the hard acid. I love this brew. Then I also love the Sumatra Mandeling coffee. A lovely pour over that is chocolatey and again non-acidic. I like to smell my coffee, taste the notes and understand the different kick it gives. Jispa shares my love for coffee. I make her some coffee and she also enjoys it. Jasmine keeps telling me that I am spoiling her and teaching her bad habits. So, said the lady who has her kick every day!

I love my coffee. My everyday (ok every alternate day) brew is a simple no1 roast, coarsely ground. Then I make my almond milk (ok, jasmine made a lot and froze it for me). Then I have this amazing foamer that our French neighbor gifted me. I put sugar in the black coffee over which I pour some almond milk, foamed and of course, importantly – a few drops of real vanilla extract. That’s my poison. That’s my quiet brew. That’s the coffee I enjoy and savor. I rather not have anyone beside me but it doesn’t really matter, as with my coffee. I am in a cocoon of my own. It’s an experience that I pass on to Jispa. Ofcourse hers is sweeter, with Nutella and whipped cream. But hell, it coffee nevertheless.

Last week, I had gone to visit a friend of mine. He is an angel investor and also loves his coffee. He keeps buying different blends from different parts of the world. His servant knows I am lactose intolerant and keeps soy milk for me and my coffee. This time when I visited him, she served me a lovely nutty falvourful sweetish coffee. It seemed to have vanilla overtones and it was nice and creamy and light. Nice. Not a strong aroma but an interesting flavor. “a nice nutty flavor” I remarked. “Which one?”. He called the lady and she said, this was the bean he bought from Japan. “Oh nice. I loved the coffee” I said, thanking her. “oh that was sirs coffee. For you I gave you Nescafe”. ……   ………  ……..   …….. I looked at blankly. “oh” I was being polite to the person who burst my bubble. My entire coffee drinking experience flashed in front of me. My era, my tastes, my notes, my kick. I felt like a balloon that a kid blows big and then releases to see how far up it goes. The balloon feels a massive acceleration and joy accompanied with a sense of elation and achievement only to realise soon enough that this shortlived acceleration is not only random with no real distance covered but also short lived. The joy of the child is not in the acceleration of the balloon but in the rapid deceleration that follows it. The random fall of the balloon gives far greater joy as the speed dies a stupid death, all alone, limp and lifeless fall to earth drawn by the unyielding gravity. It’s the fall that’s exciting as the kid picks up the balloon and sees that the exhaust is now again bigger than the balloon inflated sense of self. It’s the fall that’s funnier than the rise.

Yes, Olympus had fallen from its lofty height.

Expect that it wasn’t Olympus, it was Phoenix that got burned. Only to rise again. “possibly it was the soy that gave its nutty flavour’ “ya”. “possibly she took the malt flavoured one.”

I came back and recounted this tale to Jasmine and Jispa. Jasmine especially took a cruel liking to this and laughed her ass out. Jispa also fun. I had too much fun on this as well. This one is going to be an interesting party tale which jasmine will never tore of listening to. My guess is that she will tell others of it as well, on her own.

But then Phoenix understood that its job is to rise again. Yes. I missed it but Nescafe is still bad coffee. I hate it. I like making my coffee. Getting the flavor, the notes, the time, the era, the vanilla and the whole ritual associated with it. That is still stubbornly set in my head. I love my coffee and I will have it my way.

This is the same way in which I like my coca cola. I hate Pepsi and I hate Thumbs Up. I love my coca cola. Direct from a can or a glass bottle that’s fresh opened. I hate the plastic bottle. It a can or glass. I am firm. I rather not have anything than have a rubbish cola. This is also a sin that I allow myself. Its full of sugar and caffeine but it’s my other little vice. Many people talk about their marked preferences about colas and always I have argued that a cold bottle of any beverage is almost impossible to tell apart in a blind taste test. I don’t think it’s possible to statistically get it right a good number of times. I always say – I like Coca Cola and I am sure that I can make out its great taste but I am even more sure that I will fail the blind taste test. I don’t think I can make out the taste without the lettering on the beverage holder.

Coffee is similar. It’s not the taste or the kick. The addiction symptom and the forbidden brew that makes it what it is. It’s the ritual of knowing your coffee, of seeing the foma rise. It’s the foamer that makes the luxurious foam. It’s the feeling of the ritual that adds to the whole thing. Coke has sugar in it, shitloads and that makes it a thing to avoid and to therefore a thing to savor. Like the fact that Dettol hurts proves that it is effective, the sting is vital to the experience. The ritual is vital to the taste of coffee. It’s the ritual, it’s the lettering, it’s the associated feeling. Who else but a brand guy like me will know. It’s so nice to know how wrong we are and how we are affected by emotions like anyone else.

Yesterday I was in this big meeting helping this big firm trying to sort their big B2B marketing problem. I urged the marketing head to think differently. I urged her to think that B2B is as much affected by emotion than anything else. Like most other purchases, like my coffee, like my coke, a marketing head also buys on emotion. He uses rational numbers to prove his emotions and justify them. But the decision is irrational in many ways. The faster we accept it the better it is for us. I urged her to think emotions and therefore realise that this is like any B2C brand and that people don’t remember too many brands and too many propositions. It’s like any B2C brand. Entertain the prospect, have fun, do interesting things. Have interesting creatives. Think like any fun marketer should and map it to a consumer’s brand journey. People are same everywhere. Treat them with respect of their time, entertain them, engage them and then doors open. That’s a simple truth in life and marketing. It works all the time.

That’s why I like my coffee. Hating Nescafe gives me great joy and allows me to enjoy my coffee. Same with Coke. Same with so many other things. I am a normal person, so are you and the forces that act on us act on every one of us. Understand that, enjoy life!

Hence paradoxically data and lots of it becomes important.  Individually people are quirky but as a lot of them, they are interesting and not so difficult to predict. But then that is a topic for another blog :)

aaj darshan kare hum

In 1975, two legends were released.

Sholay will always be the ultimate epic of Bollywood, with amazingly well etched out characters and some lovely acting. For years, the characters were used to sell products or crack jokes. It was the ultimate super movie. The other legend was born 5 days later – me. Hah.

The other legend was Jai Santoshi Maa. This was a crazy dumb ass of a mytho meets current life movie in which the harassed but sweet as a daisy female protagonist gets her due. It set off the Devi Maa frenzy into the country with the Santoshi Maa fasts being the thing to do for all ails.

I remember seeing some parts of this movie and bloody hell grew up listening to these songs everywhere. My memories of these bhajans/ devotional songs are of a young kid, images of mother, festivities and dandiya being played. All this interspaced with images of being in Dubai. So it’s a weird combination of sands, air conditioning and parents from a low angle (I was a toddler remember). Writing this blog brought back memories which I now hereby share with you. Here listen to this.

The 70’s and 80’s dandiya beat hitting your head in a rhythmic frenzy. The gujju in me is awakened, albeit temporarily to this beat, wanting to take two bamboo sticks in hand, hold them gingerly in the middle, as I swirl, flirting with my fiancee, making eye contact, briefly and then smiling in acknowledgement, only to turn and twirl again, as fast as possible to catch her glimpse again. Hahahaha. Writing this was funny as it was only half in jest. The greatest memory of my marriage ceremony was the dandiya function which was held by Jasmine’s kutchi family in the true traditional style. I am dying to have a dandiya function like that again. Once more. With Jasmine. We had the best of times dancing to each other’s rhythm. Its been a long time since we danced like that together. I am sure her dancing legs will instantly activate on hearing the beats and seeing the ground set up. AH.

Jai Santoshi Ma was one the biggest hits of the year, holding its own story of love and piety against the simmering anger of Sholay and Deewar. For years, later Bollywood looked towards the feminine divine form for redemption, intervention and inspiration, torturing us with unbelievable stories at the climax, cheating us of logic and plotline. Man a crazy mind f*&K it was.

But who am I to criticize an era, especially since it etched me and gave a lot of my childhood, waiting for some Maa to save me from my Maa when I screwed up ;).  Yesterday I watched my own Jai Santoshi Maa and took my family along for the torture. It was a homage to the God who delivered us our aspirations and rode along in the journey from an awkward teen unsure about my future to an adult with faith in India and its ability to shine at the world stage. This God of India had people waiting for him wherever he went, he could do no wrong, no false step and conjure up magic from anywhere. His mere presence was enough to believe in hope. His name… you have to chant it, the way the world chanted it – SACHIN, SACHIN, dhad dhad dhad (three beats or claps or whatever you could do with any percussion in row, fast). No one made it up nor taught it to anyone; it was automatic and spontaneous from a crowd that was as a whole in dervish whirl to start with.

It was a documentary on the life of Sachin Tendulkar that I inflicted upon my family. It was horrible and disgusting, with no hope of getting any balanced view or insight. It was shit to start with and to finish with. When you have lived in a fish bowl for 30 odd years, not much is not known about you, much you can still try to extract insights from your journey that can be passed on to the youth to whom life may a pitfall be.

(This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him)

Only if you were a die hard Sachin fan would you like this movie. Which I admit, I did. It moved me and brought out some real emotions in me. It ended with his retirement speech during which I could help but cry. Sachin had out stayed his cricket by a couple of years and he was at the end, a shadow of himself but still a force to reckon with. He always played his best at the world cups and the whole country wanted to win one for him. In the end when he had his last chance and we won the cup, it was because the team unlike the past did not depend on him to win it for them, but they wanted to win it for him.

But still, since he was two years older than me, his destiny was tied in with me as we saw a childhood of less to an adulthood of plenty, as we transitioned the economy to global inter connects and brashness of action but with a demeanor (almost false) of humility and good luck. In many ways, this 390 bucks that I spent on three tickets was my last piece of homage to the man who brought me endless hope, belief and joy. How can I explain when God hits a ball in the air and your hearts jumps with a weird type of joy and scare at the same time? Is it a six or will it be out. Should I leap in joy or should I hold my heart till I see the ball clear the fence (invariably). Oh god. How do I explain this?

But it still was a bad documentary. One sided and – ya – my era’s Jai Santoshi Maa where in the end, divine intervention solves everything! Here watch this, but go fast to the 6 minute mark when divine happens, or don’t say I did not warn you.

If you have belief and submit yourself to the higher lord then you will be delivered! JAI SANTOSHI MAA

And here see this miracle. When we as nation were facing the our fears, with Shoaib, the fastest bowler in the world, coming charging down on a hard wicket, bowling fast and Sachin hitting him for six with a shot never seen before by his devotees. That shot will forever be etched in my memory. This one comes in the one minute mark itself in the video. Have fun. But come on, don’t insult the devotee and go forward. See all his three miracles of the world cup.

See this one at the 4min:38second mark. That defined the God forever as it was against another God in this mega inter galactic battle

And I also know where I was on 27^th March 1994. I was in Panchgani in a hotel room when I woke up early to watch the match with dad as we saw Sachin open the innings for the first time to give Darshan and forever change the pecking order of the batting Gods of India. He sowed the opening the batting with the field restrictions is all about the gaps the aerial shots. We all wanted his century so much and it was so disappointing when he got out to a soft dismissal.

But here. The God has long retired paving the way for the others to follow. Creating an era as he walked on the 22 yards. And I paid my dues by watching his shitty documentary. I will always be beholden to him but at least my dues are paid, with money in the donation box.

But while going, listen to this aarti and then go please.

Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa…. Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa…. Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa….Jai jai Santoshi maata jai jai maa….