the only song that i have found, ever since you....

Houston, we have a problem.
Jispa has been active on the ‘taking part in school activities’ circuit. We encourage her to take part in sports, elocution and everything else. We take her elocution seriously and decide eth poetry for Hindi and English elocutions well before the announcement. Typically the lead is always lower so jasmine and I figured it meant sense to be prepared at the start for the year. This way she can learn the poetry by heart and be ready with all the drama. Earlier in the year the English elocution was done and now she is ready for the Hindi elocution competition.
A few days back she comes in and says as a matter of fact, ‘hey, I gave my name for the singing competition in school.’ ‘huh? Singing. Errrr. Ok’. I looked at my wife in disbelief. Singing? I am prone to drama but singing has always been a no no. I have wanted to sing, I never knew how to sing. I can’t understand singing. I for sure can’t teach singing. “Why Jispa? Why did you give your name for singing?” I asked her. As sweet as I could muster up. “I thought you would be happy, she said”. “oh yes. We are happy. Very very happy.” What else could I say. IDIOT... I and your mom have NO CLUE on singing. We never sang ever. We ran away from simple picnic singing. When I open my mouth, I bray. You know there is this one singer or is it composer of eth yesteryears called Chandu Atma or something. Since he was a Sindhi and my college was a Sindhi college, he was called to college to take a lecture demonstration of singing. He came with his harmonium on a Sunday Afternoon for the class. Since I was one of the committee guys I too was there. He was teaching the guys to sing. Luckily as a whole group. I remember him looking at me when we were all singing. I think he was a bit amused that I came to the class. He singled me out from 30 kids singing together. I WAS that bad.
We are such a non singing household that we have one really cheap two in one for a music system at home. The servant puts it on while cleaning the vessels. When I am in for dinner at the time, I switch it off as it sounds pretty bad. Jasmine likes to sing in private, actually make that PRIVATE. I typically don’t know any wordings, nor any tune. I hum away most of the time to irritate people.
So in the background of all that “that’s great Jispa. Its a good thing you participated”. ‘yes dad, now you have to teach me for the competition.” “oh ok. will figure”. What on earth man. We have a problem. Jasmine is looking at me for ideas. Ok. ok. lets think simple songs. What is it that she can sing that is ridiculously simple. Simple words and simple tune. Any body singing it would sound good. A ha... do re me? Nopes not that says Jasmine. YES, I got it. There is another one. Queserasera, what ever will be will be, the future is not ours to see,.... that one is ridiculously simple. Real simple and easy. We download it on the computer, download the lyrics as well. now that wasn’t so tough.
Till yesterday when she comes back from school and says – no ‘do re mi’ and ‘queserasera’, those are tuning songs, not real songs. You have to sing a real song. Oh shit. They have obviously wisened up to us. Now what. So back to me thinking about real simple songs.. I jogged my memory to the days while I was in the fourth grade. We had once a week music class. There the brother would have a guitar and teach the whole class to sing. Now what were the songs we learnt. One was ‘we shall overcome’ and the other was ‘karma chameleon’ and one was ‘I just called to say I love you’. One was too slow, other too long or too difficult.
While I was at it, I learnt that ‘we shall overcome was a resistance song. I couldn’t but help thinking that for a song so anti establishment, the govt of India itself, converted the song into hindi ‘hum honge kamayab’ and blared it down the only government owned entertainment channel, while I was growing up. I guess they wanted to apportion it but before any other rebel could. Possibly the congress wanted to show itself as a rebel that was the establishment. Funny nah? It doesn’t make sense.
Then I tried to remember the good old days (around the fourth / fifth grade) we kids from the area had formed a club. A really nice idea that went crazy. We got together to organise activities, contests, contribute jointly for the bat and balls, annual plays etc etc. Simple cheap free stuff. We even all donated books towards the library. At the time we also had singing contests. I think the club membership swelled to a max strength of 40 kids ranging from 5 to 20 year olds. It ended when one guy came in and brought in a lot of rules, processes, wrote the manifesto or something, brought discipline and order, recorded minutes... I might be unfair and the club probably dissolved as the kids grew older, but the guy did try his best to ‘institutionalise’ the club.
At the singing competition I remember one song was particularly popular amongst the girls. Yes. That one was simple to sing as well. That one would do. A google search threw it up in youtube. The song I am referring to is ‘I am on top of the world, looking down on creation and the only....’. It’s a song by carpenters. I couldn’t care less. I downloaded it and now loaded it on my cell phone and on Jasmine’s music player. The lyrics are easy as well. When I made Jispa hear it, she was like’ ya sure. It’s simple. It’s like jingle bells’. Exactly. I can teach you jingle bells at best.
So now hopefully that’s the song she will sing and I will be done with this singing competition. What a real mess. Jasmine and I were talking to each other – well at least this shows that she likes going on stage and is not afraid. It’s a good thing. As Jispa later told me, she gave her name as she likes singing as well. Good. Do well. Making you listen to it on the car deck is as best as I can ever hope to do.
Here you listen to it as well. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crWGGy2oBT0

lead by not

Brrrr. The water is cold and it’s given me a brain freeze. I have no clue why I like to torture myself. I restarted swimming after a longish break. I thought I missed the cold winter by bunking swimming in December. Jispa’s vacations are a great excuse to sleep late, wake up late and bunk swimming. But by the time its over I am itching to get back into routine. One breakfast before going and one after swimming, in office. The more I eat the leaner I get. It’s quite a weird thing. Swimming barely ten minutes in the morning has amazing health benefits. Restarting today after a long time was tough but when you get in the pool you have no option but to continue swimming. It will take me a week or so to get back to rhythm. While I swim I sorely miss not having learnt any sport professionally. None.
Its one thing that we keep giving Jispa. A chance to learn as much as possible, professionally. It different from giving a chance to play. A lot of kids get a lot of chances to play a lot of sports, but I have learnt the huge benefits of learning properly. Techniques must be honed from start. Her swimming is infinitely better than mine and she beats the shot out of me already. We had started her badminton till the time came where it clashed with her swimming and she had to stop it. She learns guitar as well. And her school teaches her taekwondo. After all that she still wishes to learn more. Squash in the gymkhana has a long wait list, so we just entered her name for the training a year or so ago. Last week, she got a call for the Saturday Sunday class that was newly set up for beginners. Great. Jasmine asked me about it with a clear disclaimer that I was responsible for this one. She was not going to be the one ferrying Jispa on Saturday or Sunday. I was ok. I probably would use the chance to catch up on TV or possibly jog a bit on the tread mill. I am it. Its an odd 2 o clock time, but we’ll figure. Its not like we are going to be super regular on weekends. Also we figure if she picks it decent enough, squash is a game I could play with her afterwards as well. So there, one more class that’s started.
Sometimes we wonder what on earth is going one. Aren’t these too many classes? Too much for a little thing? I don’t know really. Jasmine’s thinking is simple; while she is still in the second grade and she has time, go for it... afterwards, there would be far too many pressures on her thanks to school and studies to really have multiple interests. For me, I don’t know. I have a simple metric. Is she enjoying it? Does she want o do it or does she complain about it. We don’t push her into being a super woman. We keep asking her and she keeps saying yes. Till that is happening all seems well. and it’s just a bit of sport. She is not competing professionally in these. Also the big thing that other people don’t realise is that, Jispa doesn’t have a TV. That’s the big one. Also her dad and mom don’t have a TV as well. So all that time that a family spends watching TV is being spent playing. And instead of playing outside, she is learning sports. What’s wrong with that?
Yesterday while she was at squash, I put on my trained blank look. I don’t smile at her or laugh at her antics or teach her anything while she is at the court. Sometimes when she does something she looks at us. Jasmine was smiling. I told Jasmine not to smile back. Just be blank. Sport is played inside the mind, internal. You have to have your game from inside and not play it for anyone else. Just focus on the ball and your technique. While the coach was teaching her to swing the racquet, I broke the cardinal rule. Jispa looked at me and I motioned her to correct her technique. She swung and looked back again. I became more animated in my swinging. Jasmine immediately asked me what I was doing. I mumbled some excuse, scientific sounding. But then immediately I saw he distracted. I apologised. That was wrong. Just shut up. Trust the coach. He knows what he is doing. Jispa knows what the coach is telling. It’s between her and the coach. The coach is far better than me and understands how to teach kids.
I am not even trained in squash, nor am I an expert in coaching. I only know Jispa from birth but it gives me no expertise in teaching her squash. So that’s’ a valuable lesson for me. Shut up and watch.
I think when put in a position of power we love to influence it. Even if we are not equipped to. Suddenly we start talking, correcting, coaching, motivating and the worst of all... leading. This is a malaise I have and I have to deal with it. I have tried many times to control it. I have many times now succeeded but I have far too many times, failed. Miserably. In cricket I try and not lead. I try and not coach. In office also I try to give way. But you know the flip of it. So many people want people in power to lead. They want you to motivate them. Give them direction. They want you to show them LIGHT. It’s funny. I have faced more resistance to not leading than to leading, or even equal, but never less. Is it because we are as a nation a bit still immature. We still have the highest deference to authority, we are always subjugated. From school itself, do our teachers brow beat us into ‘I told you so’. Or we as leaders have inculcated it. We cut off the heads of those that stand, make life difficult for them. There is a value to toeing one line, but before we all decide to toe it, do we think enough for ourselves. Do we add value to the conversation. Do we actively listen when someone lower in rank dissents? These are questions I ask of myself as much I ask of others. It has been tough for me. But somewhere I need to keep in mind that I must lead by actively ‘NOT LEADING’. That’s the best way, the only way. Power must not be misused is understood, what is less understood, is that power must not be used at all. That is true power. You merely feel the influence of it. Deep nah?

you have to live it to know it

Budha kaka fudina compound or fudina ark. The magic medicine that is essentially the essence of mint. A green coloured liquid with the heady taste of mint mixed with alcohol; it makes for a multipurpose medicine. It was introduced to us by my maternal granny. A few drops mixed with water were the simple solution for almost anything from cuts to stomach disorder.
I was a pretty weak kid with a fragile constitution. I would get the loosies or would vomit quite frequently. This was especially the case when we shifted to Mumbai from Dubai while I was in the fourth standard. It was always a part of the standard medical kit that my family carried on our vacations. I must in total, over my life guzzled litres of the medicine. A retching followed by the cool effect of the medicine. So far it has proved an able ally for our family over the years. Don’t bother searching for it on Google. This really invisible medicine guy is nowhere to be found on the internet. I find that really funny, for a medicine that had saved me from many a hardship.
There are two types of people, one that vomit without too much fuss, and the other that gets a violent shake while attempt to throw out what the body finds unwanted. Sadly I belong to the latter. My vomits have been a complete body shaking affair. My stomach cramps up and recoils in the act. I am thrown back and in case of a particularly bad case, I even fall down by the recoil. This happens in a bad attack of malaria, or a stomach disorder or even on a winding hill road. It’s crazy and one has to live it to understand it. I have had the misfortune of being on the wrong side on frequency and intensity. Quite a bad one.
As a child most of the time while I puked, my parents would constantly pat me on the back trying to ease the process. My legs would bang up and down and my body would move violently and my stomach would hurt as hell. They tried their best to comfort me. Come adulthood and I had to deal with this myself. This violent struggle would be my test of growing up. Would I be able to do it alone? Whenever Jasmine would be around, she would try to hang around, but blessed as she was with a decent constitution and a simple retch, I don’t think she ever understood what I went through. She’d be lost and wonder what was happening to me. The standard pat on the back would follow.
The other day I was in Delhi for an event and in the evening, at the airport, making my way back I had a bad case of food poisoning. Luckily the toilets have improved in the new terminals across India and while the feeling may not be great, at least you have clean toilets and tissue and water and soap. Luckily I had a colleague travelling with me as well, as nothing stayed in my tummy. Not even the water I had before takeoff. Vomiting in an air sickness bag, while being strapped to your seat, during takeoff was up there with my top ten worst situations to be in. The poor collegue next to me could help much except, yup, you guessed it right, pat on the back; while I shoved my head into the bag. I can vouch for the quality of the bags now for sure. Not a single leak. I got off at Mumbai to run to the loo and was sitting on the floor after the act.
Jispa has been pretty ok with her constitution as well. She hasn’t had the chance to retch too much. She doesn’t seem to get motion sickness and she by and large seems to have her mother’s health as of now. Yesterday night she woke us up at 3.45 am, urgently saying that she wanted to vomit. As she went to the loo, I woke up as well. I heard her and it did not sound too good. She was sounding similar to me. A bad cramp and a violent noise. I knew instantly what to do. So while she was sitting, I first got her water (that is the first essential), then I sat behind her and held her tight. One hand over her right shoulder and the other from under her left shoulder in a compact hold. When I throw up I have always found it difficult to focus my energies on staying up straight and not falling out. Typically all strength goes away from the hand and legs in an effort to control the stomach. This way I could firmly hold her steady while she throws up and comfort the stomach and back as well. and then give my head over the shoulder for her to lean her head against mine and relax her head as well. I knew exactly what she needed there.
Deed done, a dose of Budha kaka fudina ark and a glass of water and off you go to sleep. Oh I have been there many times. Enough to know what’s the feeling like. I asked Jispa if she liked how I held her. Yup. It was good, came the reply. Of course. Thats what fathers are meant for. We go though this shit many times in the hope that at the least, we can empathise when our kids go through it, try and blunt it and at best try and avoid a repeat. As I learnt from my childhood, puking is a good thing, body throws out the waste and it’s still better than most other diseases. There is little you can do except hold your muscles and bear it. Also going by my experience, this violence will last even into adulthood. I might not be there with her always but I hope if Jispa’s partner ever reads this post... something can learnt and used.
Last update – the medicine seemed to have held. Jispa is recovering. It might be a one off case.

win or loose, wheres the booze

Saturday was a huge day for me and cricket. Nopes I did not manage to hit my elusive first 50. And I think with my aging instincts and fitness I don’t think I will ever get there. Sigh. But a journey that started around 9 years ago came to a large milestone. A little more than 10 years ago I joined this company to meet a man called Arun Solanki. One of the first things he asked me was if I could play cricket. I have played a lot of cricket, but almost all of that with a tennis or a rubber ball. Never with the professional hard leather cricket ball. Only a couple of matches. In one I smashed a lot of runs to win it for my team. But still not enough. He took me on in his team and taught me all that I know about cricket and captaincy. A couple of years later he asked me if we should start the B team within the company and asked me if I would lead it. Woah! At the time I knew little about field placements, a little about, cricket and a little about people. 8 years back, it was a small and disastrous start.
The B team was never a regular feature. I too moved within the company and it saw a few captains. Since last year with a couple of friends who are as dedicated to cricket as ever, we restarted the B team in full earnest. This year we even held selections and picked a pool of 20 players. I have learnt from experience that the B team is not a team designed to win. It is a bunch of rag tag players that play cricket because they love to play and not because they have some god given talent or experience. Most of them don’t even know how to hold the ball properly while bowling. Now as the captain and coach and manager I set a few things in place. These became my guiding force going forward.
The first amongst them was that everybody should get a chance to play. In the league phase matches, everyone would get a chance to play in the playing 11. I would never want to play the best 11. A hugely controversial rule that might have upset the players but would be fair to all. The b team never would have more than 2 – 3 ‘players’. It is largely made up of fringe players who come for the game and it made no sense for them to be out of the team and ferrying water for the rest. Also if you are in the 11, you will get a chance to bat and bowl to the position you like. You want to bat up the order, then sure go ahead, you want to bowl now, sure... in fact I did the unthinkable, I even gave field placements to people basis what they felt like doing. Allowing people to decide for themselves what they want to do. Interesting changes came about the team. From having to hustle 11 players for the team now in every match we had 14 /15 players to choose from.
The dressing room, (the tent actually in Mumbai) atmosphere was another thing I focussed on. A lot of fun. I always thought that the A team was a lot of bull shit. Too much technical stuff being discussed about cricket. Too much attitude being thrown and too much advice being given. I stopped all of that. I focussed on a lot of fun. In the team huddles, I only spoke about each man giving the game more than what he was capable of, thats it. Just play to whatever your potential is, not more not less. I told them not to dive too much and risk injury. I also told everyone not to shout or scream at your own players on the field. Misfields happen and catches get dropped. Its part of the B team. That’s why we have fun. I don’t care what the target is and what the score board says. Have fun. If someoenm gets out, dam cool, the others will get to bat. If someone bowls a long hop to be hit for a six, even better; more runs to chase. More batting. Once I was explain the B team ethos to a trainer and he summed it up best. “Win or lose, where’s the booze”. The focus is fun not winning or losing. The team spirit and the camaraderie is the most important thing here.
Doing all this during the season we found ourselves playing the finals of a tournament on Saturday. Oops. How did we get there. Of course, I am not kidding myself. It wasn’t like the prestigious tournament and that we played the best of teams. But the B team previously in all its existence must have won a couple of matches, tops. So a final was a big thing for my highly inexperienced team.
In the team huddle the first thing I said was, if anyone now calls this ‘the finals’ I will kick them out. We are not going to play the finals, we are out here to play cricket. No big match and no big occasion. We keep the same team ethos, no shouting, no frustration, only lots of fun. This year we normally fielded pretty decent, but in the finals, we dropped a catch, had a few misfileds and few shouts here and there. I kept calming people down and when the energy seemed missing after a couple of big hits by the opposition team, I shouted for energy and brains. On the field, I screamed, come on guys, on the field.
When the time came to chase, we too kept it simple. Play with your bat and the runs will come. Everyone contributed but we lost wickets at regular intervals. It became very tense at the end us down to the last wicket and 9 more runs to win off two over. Just the matter of being there. I focussed on getting the dressing room to relax, not shout too many things at the batsman at the crease. The batsmen somehow stuck in there and somehow won it for the team.
What I loved was that we played very well under pressure for an inexperienced team. Everyone contributed and that there were no single heroes in our victory. The team batted together, bowled together as a unit. When the last few overs were left, I couldn’t but think how close we had come. Win or lose, I told all my players individually, that it was a pleasure playing with every one of them. Because winning or losing did not matter how we played our game is what mattered. And to my mind, we played like a TEAM. We even made fun of our own players, brought smiles to people’s faces under pressure and did not scold any player for bowling wide or short or getting out to bad shots or getting other people run out. It happens.
Surely winning cannot be the redemption for a team that is not focussed on winning. And it’s not about the victory. It’s about creating team that likes to play together and be together. The fun in cricket which I thought was missing in the A team is so much evident in the B team. I am no technical coach and I hardly know my cricket. But what I know is that people play cricket to have fun. And fun doesn’t come from sitting in the dressing room watching others play and being told what to do. Fun comes from playing with the team and getting a chance to play your own part in the team. It’s a team game.
Now only to figure what’s wrong with my batting. I have scored almost nothing in this entire season. Literally next to nothing. I cant be in the team purely for captainship and little fielding.

i dont gamble, but i am The great gambler

Jispa is playing the fool with us. Up until last year she still wasn’t too sure whether to believe in Santa or not. This year at around eight years old, she has decided to tease us. I had told her the last time around, it doesn’t matter whether you believe in him or not. If you asked for a gift and if you got it then you really don’t care if the dam guy exists or not. Similar to the God philosophy. You decide what works for you.
This year Jasmine and I were pretty sure she has outgrown Santa. So unlike last year we did not bother to start the ‘write a letter to Santa’ charade. So we skipped the whole thing. Yesterday just on a lark I wondered what to do about the Santa thing. So we called her in and asked if she wanted anything from Santa. It seems she and Jasmine have had some conversations, though not serious on what she wanted from Santa. Pretty cool. So what were the options? The first was a bigger house to keep all her toys. Beeeeep. Thats not happening. Second, a big toy house. Beeeeep. That was not happening as well. How about a game boy/DS Nintendo. Ok.... interesting. But I told her that Santa wouldn’t be able to get the game boy in time. Ok then I want a cello tape. Hmm. Why is that? “in my box, I don’t have a cello tape and mom doesn’t let me use her scotch tape”. Before you pass judgements on poor mom. Anyone who sees her use scotch tape will stop her from using it. Ok Done. ‘Now that is something Santa can possibly in time for tomorrow evening. Surely.” “buy?” she asked. “he makes the stuff he gives”. “errr. Ya... makes... he will make it in time, I guess” I added, sheepishly.
When she left the room, Jasmine and I looked at each other. This girl is making fun of us. She is playing with us. She obviously doesn’t believe in Santa. She knows enough to know about the myth thing. She is merely having fun at our expense. If believing in a Santa will result in a free scotch tape at the least, then what’s the harm. I guess I am the architect of my own doom. Funny.
So Jasmine is going to buy scotch tape and is getting it gift wrapped. Jispa also like every time is planning to leave milk, cookies and muesli for Santa to eat. I guess she will also leave a note for him on the white board. Hmm. I am also thinking, what if Santa leaves some footprints thins time on the floor. Every time he leaves crumbs of cookies and muesli on the scene of the crime. Hmmm. Depends on how sleepy he is. But could be worth a shot.
I have always wondered when we play with our children, I don’t know who is playing with whom. Are you making your child play or is she playing with you. Who is the child in all this. So many times it is she who is leading the game and we are the object of her affection. And she grows older she is going to play on me all the tricks I manage to play on her.
Slowly as she is getting older she is getting better at the various games. I can play a decent game of Six (the one from Dr. Woood) with her. This is a simple but interesting game of strategy. She is no push over. Once I sat to lpay with her while I was all tired and sleepy she jammed my happiness, defeated me a couple of times and even held me to a draw. This after I tried concentrating. So yesterday while I was fresh I invited her to a rematch. This time I restored my pride and won a few games. I still managed to lose a couple, but those were silly mistakes.
She also already wallops me in swimming. I just can’t keep up. I thought I was very fast while using the kickboard. I go faster than most people swim. She whizzes past as if I am in kindergarten. Whew. I can also just about keep pace with her for a single round. When it comes to multiple round I am no match.
It feels funny for a competitive guy like me. I like to compete and win but in matters like these winning leaves a slightly hollow feeling and losing leaves a warm emotional feeling. Chest swells on losing. Funny thing parenting is.
Suddenly I am reminded of this dialogue from Baazigar. You will have to sit through three minutes to get to the dialogue with is at the very end. But the really corny clip will make it worth your while.

For those too bored to see the whole thing, here is a much older and shall I say better looking Shah Rukh saying his lines, slightly better.

Loosely translated into English the gist of the line is - sometimes in life, to win somthing you also need to lose something. And the one who wins by losing is called...The Gambler

simple and practical

Today I am going to be the whole day at my Goregaon office. Which basically means that my lunch won’t be coming from home. On many such days we take the opportunity to have a family breakfast at the south Indian joints in kings circle. Within Mumbai these to be the best that south Indian has to offer. Though a lot of gujjus rave and rant about these joints I find them strictly ok compared to the real ones down south. But they are clearly head and shoulders above the rest of Mumbai.
So after we had our fill and I dropped Jasmine at the bus stop for her to go home, I was taking Jispa to her bus stop. Along the way we passed by my maternal grandmother’s house. I showed Jispa that look here, my granny (ba) stayed here. And when we used to come in from dubai for summer vacations we used to stay here. Now no one stays here. My granny died more than 25 years ago. The place is in a diaplated condition. Then I was explaining to Jispa that that was a big house and we used to go running around the house. The rooms were interconnected and we used to run around in circles with my granny chasing us. Poor thing used to walk around and we used to run in the opposite direction. That was good fun. I don’t know if my granny would be really furious at us or was merely pretending while chasing us down.
I was explaining to her how it was a huge house and ba had a full floor on top as her house. “a full floor? Your ba was very rich?”. “Yes” I answered. “She was. And not only the floor, that whole building and the next building belonged to her”. “now who stays there?”. Well now Jispa was opening the pandora’s box. Who stays there, now. “hmm Jispa, no one for now.” “why”. “well that property is in dispute”. “What’s dispute” she asked. I saw that one coming. “The brothers and sisters are fighting, rather arguing about the property. Whose it is and who can have it”. “Why are they arguing? And why does anyone have it. They all have homes in any case right?” “Yup they have homes. It’s not the home they are fighting about. They want to sell the land and then keep the money” “so then they can easily divide the money equally nah?”, “well ok, but they don’t agree on how to divide the money amongst themselves. Someone or the other thinks they want more. It’s like a cake and three of your friends wanting to divide it but always someone wants more than the other. How do you just divide it? And it’s not just this land. There is also a factory in Mahim that made labels. That too is in dispute and I think it no longer is running.” “Why has that stopped running”. Well... “There the two brothers could never decide on how to run the factory. One would want to run it this way and the other would want to run it the other way”. “but can’t they just agree that you run it in your half this way and the other just let me do his bit. If anything is wrong then they can just come together on the best decision” Jispa thus added her simplistic and pretty practical wisdom. Only if we listened to eight year olds more often. “ ya it possible but ego gets in the way. Let me explain. Like when you hate me sometimes, even if I am talking sense you don’t want to listen to me. Do you. You think I am bad and don’t listen. Same way ego gets in the way sometimes and things don’t improve” “but I listen to you afterwards nah?” “Sure you do. But sometimes when people fight so much that they start hating each other and stop listening to each other”. “strange”
Young Jispa did not understand why we idiots keep fighting and spoiling our lives. Young Jispa has enough wisdom to keep disputes away and enough practicality to keep her content and happy. Let’s just hope life doesn’t corrupt young Jispa.
This incident reminds of two of my best teachers. Dharen and Prof Navalkar, both believed that strategy is simple. If it is not simple then it is not strategy. Jispa’s solutions are simple and practical. Only the silliness and the complications in our brains stop us from adhering to them. Sometimes when Jasmine and I fight, I think we must get Jispa in to solve our disputes. She makes for a good reasoning board.

a money raising experience

Yesterday was a typical Sunday night. I was in bed reading a book by 930pm. and I was asleep by 10. We like to get to sleep early on Sunday night in preparation of the huge week ahead. While I was half asleep, I thought I heard a doorbell. I argued about the rality of it in my sleep before deciding that it was a real doorbell and I hastened to answer it. I opened it to find a kid near the opposite neighbour door. A real tiny kid with a satchel in across his shoulder, with specs and a Sunday best attire. He must have been all of three feet tall. I later wondered who must have helped him ring the doorbell. He hardly might have reached there. Nevertheless, seeing me open the door, he came to me and I could see he had a board in his hand with a paper clipped on. He came to me and said “uncle, you have to write your name here, address here and phone number here” pointing to the place in his place. It was an excel sheet with something written at the top and a list where everyone could write their details. A ha. This sweet kid was on a money collection mission sent by his school. He then added the line he crucially forgot. “You also have to give ten rupees or more if you want to.”I figured that bit looking at the form.
I studied in a convent school. The whole point of schooling seemed to me to collect money for charity. Every occasion we would get a form and a purpose. Someone is ill or some building needs repair or like half the time, we did not even bother what the purpose was. My brother used to absolutely hating begging and I probably took cues from him. I did not particularly like it. I grew up to kind of hate it. When I speak about this to a few colleagues, the standard response was that they hated it as well as kids. I know a lot of tough things build character. Buts what the theory of begging... does ringing bells and asking for money might help overcome initial shyness and awkwardness? What a pain.
Luckily I had a tenner in my wallet. He did not have any change. I asked him where he kept the money. A ha, the satchel served that purpose. I put it in the satchel, and asked him where he stayed. My larger worry was that a kid (he was in the first standard) was roaming out alone at ten pm ringing bells and asking for money on a Sunday night. He happened to stay in my building on another floor.
Luckily I think things have improved over the years. I think people are more in tune with donating, knowing that schools keep sending these kids all the time. I have a policy of always playing up when a kid comes in. I know what shit I went through. I don’t ask stupid questions; don’t bother about, school or purpose. I just see if the kid is a genuine bloke and pay up. Put him out of his misery fast enough. Typically to overcome shyness the kids also hunt in pairs. Two of the same school run around the building together and fill their forms in a pre agreed algorithm.
Luckily for this kid I was the last one. And at 10pm it was about time. I question the logic of the school to send a kid from the first standard begging. I don’t really blame the parents. He would about 6 to 7 years old. I later glanced over the form and saw the purpose and school. Oops. Why was I surprised? It was my alma mater, my school, Don Bosco at Matunga. Oh god. They were renovating the boarding quarters and I was even eligible thanks to my donation for an entry into a raffle that gave me the chance to win ‘exciting’ prizes. 20 years and things have not moved a bit.
Come one guys. Stop it. There are many interesting and better ways to raise money than begging. Nobody paid to get a chance to enter a raffle. They paid because they saw this poor kid being sent on a mission from his school. I remember how the teachers used to publicly praise the kids who managed to get more money and the ones that got in less. The vice principal once went from class to class to show the form of an outstanding student who got a lot of money from his relatives and friends for a cause.
Sometimes the cause is genuine. Some kid in school who got cancer and needed money for treatment. Sure it’s important to lend a hand, but I do feel that the schools overdid it. Not just my school but I remember all the kids in all the schools doing it. I did also feel that the convent schools were more in tune with this than others.
So now. It is a charitable foundation that surely runs a pretty decent school. I did learn and owe quite a bit to my school and I also realise that they need funds. The school is today also kept in a great shape for the kind of fees it charges and I do assume that not a large portion of it might be lost in transit. The facilities and the ground and the buildings look in good shape. So how else should they raise money?
Well the great old way – ex students. Students who have made it big and still feel a bit for the school and its mission. They have an ex students association. They meet on some predetermined Saturday, but when I went there I only found old political basterds and a coterie that did not want to change things. There is a thriving community on the social networking sites and sadly our idiots aren’t there. Or least haven’t yet managed to reach us there. If there is a simple engagement program that is open and transparent, I guess, raising money won’t be that difficult. There are many people who want to engage and give something back. You just have to give them a reason. You might get stuff in kind or cash or endowments. It can’t be that difficult. There is surely enough money around. Also the fact is that schooling is highly localised and at least 50% of the community probably still stays around the same area. But that is still a shitty argument when the web breaks all geographical barriers.
My college principal made it a great art of keeping in touch with some celebrity students who passed out. I mean the industrial house type guys. He regularly gets the community to put money on the table. But contribution can also be in simple ways. I teach at my college because my teacher once called me and asked if I could come in. She understood that I wanted freedom to teach and money was not my motivation. For 200 bucks an hour there was never enough meat in teaching money. But I have time to give and students got a decent prof from the industry. Better than the other older ‘professional’ teachers. And at that rate how could the professionals give in their best. Thje ex students came up whenever she called and contributed however she wanted them to. Money was the last thing on anyone’s agenda.
If suitably engaged would most of the ex students say no. I don’t think so. Do we know enough of ex students to cough up around300 bucks each? That was the amount that young kid raised. 30 homes into 10 each. Surely. I guess most would even give a predetermined amount just to stop the kids from going out. I am game for a couple of thousand bucks a year... easy. No questions asked, only stop current students from going around with a bowl.

thinking

Haha. I liked listening to Salman Rushdie. He says Inspiration is nonsense. It’s more to do with concentration. I resonated with he said. If you sit in one corner and think about your work then you are bound to do a decent job of it. I think a lot of time is normally wasted by the creative in search for inspiration. Sure, some places or incidents inspire you to do something but that is the case when you are not a creative type of person. There is inspiration everywhere, what is required more often is a frame of mind.
My office is pretty boring with a bunch of staid bankers. Yack. They do their dull boring jobs with reasonable efficiency. People like me stick out like sore thumbs. We write on whiteboards with a certain flourish. I even wrote on the glass walls of the cabin. (yes, I have a cabin here. I have finally arrived. Bah!). Seeing my whiteboard itself the guys break into some kind of ‘I am not you’ exotic dance. Now they see the glass walls with stuff written all over them and wonder which planet we creative guys come from.
It’s my standard grouse with them. Just because you can’t think with your right brain doesn’t mean I can think with my left. I use both sides and you have decided to use only one. I understand your accounts, your maths and all your stupid equations. You just decided that to be creative one has to think creative. To me it’s just a question of losing a bit of inhibition and asking ‘so what’. I ask it and you accept it. That’s the only difference. Once when we were presenting something in the conference room, the super boss wanted to ask us ‘right brainers’ for an opinion. That irked me and I sharply told him, what right brain? I am not right brain. You believe I am, but I use both. In hindsight it might have been a CLM (career limiting move) but I can’t stand this – ‘you are creative, a different being’ typecast.
Some think more creatively than others but that does not make one less creative. I agree with Rushdie. One has to sit in one corner, follow a process, concentrate and perform. It’s not like a magician who plucks stuff from a hat. But possible to someone else sitting on the outside, it is that. That’s how I would possibly think of painters, architects, designers etc. In the same way that the bankers think of me.
Hmm. I think I am getting a bit confused here. Are creatives inherently different from those who are not. Can any one learn to be one by sheer ‘hardwork’. What is this beast? I don’t know, but all that I know is that ideas come to me like a torrent. It can’t be that difficult. But those outside of the circle don’t believe so. Possibly right brain and left is different. But one thing is sure ... Rushdie is right. It is a lot of ‘work’ and concentration.
He also says “that when you write you in a way write out of what you think of as your best self, the part of you that is lacking in foibles and weaknesses and egotism and vanities and so on. You’re just trying to really say something as truthful as you can out of the best that you have in you. And so somehow the physical act of doing it is the only way you have of having access to that self. I mean when you’re not physically writing you don’t have the key to that door and but when you get into—and certainly speaking for me—when I get into a state of properly concentrated attention then I do think that that is... I think of that as my best self, the self that does that.”
I don’t write anywhere near as much but when I am blogging and I start writing I don’t know where I am going to end. When I sit down and start writing and I concentrate words flow and I type. I cant think the way I think while writing if I am not writing. Somehow the physical act of writing is required. One of things why I love blogging is that it has in many ways helped me clear my own mind. There were things inside of me that I did not know till I wrote them. writing them helped me get the argument clear, reinforced what I believed in and gave me a ‘pause’ to think. One does not otherwise structure an argument in ones head. It’s the same thing as talking to someone. Most of my thoughts have only been ‘discovered’ by myself while talking o other people. Especially erious conversations. Many times while giving advice or playing agony aunt.
Talking to people, writing a blog. They have helped me trwemendously. While I started this blog and largely continue it as a legacy for my daughter, the fact is that I get great joy in writing and that it hashelped me be a better boss, captain, worker, parent and a better person overall. I also think it has helped me reinforce my ethics.

For such humble beginnings the blog has achieved quite a bit. Thank you for those reading it. When my google analytics shows visitors from across the world, somewhere it’s heartening. Someone is sharing my story now while I try and pour some of me into this. It is a different kind of feeling. Sigh…



Question: You’ve said that the act of writing transforms you into the best version of yourself; is it inspiration?Salman Rushdie: It’s not inspiration. It’s concentration more and it is to do with developing skills of concentration and I think that is something which, well a few things I think about being a writer that you get better at with time. There are things that you perhaps don’t get better at. Energy is something which maybe declines, but I think concentration, focus, the ability to shut out the extraneous and focus on what you’re doing. I think the more you do it the better you get at it. I think that is true and I think it’s also true that… and I think I've heard other writers say it too, that when you write you in a way write out of what you think of as your best self, the part of you that is lacking in foibles and weaknesses and egotism and vanities and so on. You’re just trying to really say something as truthful as you can out of the best that you have in you. And so somehow the physical act of doing it is the only way you have of having access to that self. I mean when you’re not physically writing you don’t have the key to that door and but when you get into—and certainly speaking for me—when I get into a state of properly concentrated attention then I do think that that is... I think of that as my best self, the self that does that. And I wish I had access to it the rest of time, but at least I can find my way to it through that. It’s not inspiration. I think inspiration is nonsense, actually. Every so often I mean like one day in 20 or something, you will have a day when the work seems to just flow out of you and you feel lucky. I mean you feel and often surprised and you don’t quite know why it is working like that. And on days like that it’s easy to believe in a kind of inspiration, but most of the time it’s not like that. Most of the time it’s... I mean I wish there were more of those days, but most of the time it’s a lot slower and more exploratory and it’s more a process of discovering what you have to do than just simply have it arrive like a flame over your head. So I do think it’s to do with concentration, not inspiration. It’s to do with paying attention and I think the business of writing a great deal of it is the business of paying attention to your characters, to the world they live in, to the story you have to tell, but just a kind of deep attention and out of that if you pay attention properly the story will tell you what it needs.

change

Typically so far in my career I have been a set up specialist. I have gone and set up systyms for marketing / sales. I have so far not worked on an inherited structure. The only one exception has been my first job where I inherited a structure in sales and I was a miserable failure. But that was twelve years ago when I was a novice and anyone would be able to walk over me.
This time in my new role I have inherited a team and lots of structures and complexities. A lot that I don’t like and lot that don’t really need changing. One of the greatest revelations had come to me around 8 years ago. This when I was inheriting a very small and tiny customer service team. Coming from sales I thought the team was a bunch of dumbos and that nothing could be achieved or got through them. I wasn’t looking forward to this assignment. Nopes. Then when the handover happened, I looked at the girl who was the customer service head and told myself, let’s make it work. I have no clue why I did that. I just suddenly resolved that no matter what I will think of her as a good resource and that we will make her work well. She is a good person unless I am proved otherwise. Magic happened from then on. She started doing much better. She immediately responded positively to me and me to her. We set up processes and procedures that improved and gave teeth to customer service. We started bashing back the sales guys who had made it a habit of bashing service people. Service was bad, not doing their job, a piece of cake etc etc. The sales system got it back this time. Lacunas in the system were identified and ironed. Issues with sales were highlighted. Woes of the service team were stated before the bosses and a voice was created that would be heard. The service head, who was denied a promotion was given one next year. I thought it was a magical transformation. Not of her... but of me. I keep that incident as a guiding light for a lot of my interaction with the team.
It’s always easy to rubbish people and especially if you are inheriting a team. You can always rubbish eth procedures followed and the decisions taken. But to my mind if you believe that everything had a reason and that reason was to the best of that person’s thinking, then you might start seeing merit in it. The fine line between changing things and letting tem remain constant. This is the constant tug of war. Every day I come in to office thinking of what I must change and what I must let remain. Some things I must change right away. Some cultures must be removed from the roots and thrown away and some part of culture must be nurtured. But the most important of all is the people involved. What is going on in their mind. Are they free to speak up and oppose the new boss and new fangled ideas? Every day I see shit and see gems of brilliance together in the same room. The mindset I have is always that the people are good and that they will achieve what they are capable of. If the mindset remains that people will remain the same and that achievement is required irrespective then the actions I take change accordingly. Instead of getting angry or dissatisfied, one becomes the agent of change. Change that is softer on people. Change that is lasting and causes lesser stress. I have had a boss who believed that he had to bring about change. But that change he brought about was at great cost to people. He created a stressful environment and believed that he was an antibiotic (his own words). By that logic I assume he thought that we were bacteria. Then he will treat us as that.
The last few years my epiphany has been that people are the most important thing in the world. Not brands, not customers, not profits. They are all there but they finally stem from the people that you work for, who work with you and those who work for you. Happy people produce beautiful results. I remain guided by one single objective – do what is right for the person. The company, brand and culture will automatically get aligned. Many times what is right for the person is not what is right for the company and then the incongruence of goals results in stress. Sometimes one can change the company’s policies and thought process, if not then the person might need to change. If neither is willing to budge then the company loses the individual. I have never bothered to retain people.
People will stay with you if you have been fair to them. If you have been unfair then you deserve that they go and if you have been fair and they still want to go, that’s cool as well. We just get the guys on board who want a fair deal. A fair wage and a fair environment for a fair day’s work. Good people will see the light of the day for sure. They realise what is fair and what is not. Too clever practices or HR initiatives will only piss people off in the long run. It will only come back to bite you in the butt. If morale is low or energy is missing, turning outwards towards HR may be a bad idea. Responding by gifts, incentives and other means would only delay the inevitable. Like a child who responds to a shiny new toy to stop wailing for a few minutes will only learn to wail after the boredom sets in.
Fun comes from a purpose or a pride that one gets from doing good work. In that sense I am quite happy to be a part of the marketing process rather than the sales process. In sales I have seen too many people sell too much of their soul. Then the company has no other means to reward them than give them shiny new toys again and again. The boss is a barracuda hell bent on achieving targets and he just misses the point of people being there.
So here I am. Every day trying to effect a cultural revolution. Trying to change culture within the organisation. It is not easy. These are not pawns but real people with real feelings. How do I change what must be, retain what is good and have the good sense to distinguish the two. Uff. Everyday and every moment. It takes a lot out of me. I see the incredulous faces when I propose something, when I stop something. ‘but that’s how it’s always been here’. Sure thing dude, but we will change that. Do you believe it must change. ‘yes it must’. Do believe that this change will be good for you? “yes we do.... but?” go ahead then. Go on. GO.
What’s my job then? Backing them in the change that believe in. In the change that will improve their lives and give it purpose. It tougher than what is anticipated. But it will bring about greater joy in their lives. As I was telling one of them. Everyday what makes me go home happy. That we will do marketing history here? That we will do great work? That I will earn lots of money and incentive. NO. The bets feeling I go back with is that somehow I have impacted people’s mind in a positive way. That they will think better, that they will act better and that their careers will improve. They will learn to be better marketing chaps and have better careers than if I was not there.
Like my brother once reminded me of the parable of the boy who kept throwing back into the ocean, the starfish washed ashore. A passerby explained the futility of making a difference to the world by such small acts. To which the boy merely threw one more starfish and said – made a difference to that one.
I AM CHANGING THE WORLD. ONE AT A TIME. IN WHATEVER LIMITED ACOPE I HAVE. IN MY LIMITED CIRCLE. BUT I AM IMPACTING LIVES WHO IMPACT OTHERS. I sure hope he gives me strength and brains.
Today morning itself I read – man’s moral strength is far more than his physical limitations.

the truth will set you free

This is an eternal fight. Mommy versus Jispa and I am stuck in between. It’s a part of parenting that they don’t tell you about, or it’s a part of ‘husbanding’ they don’t tell you about. There is an obvious need to keep a united face in front of your child. That’s what the text book on parenting says. So that you don’t show confusing signals and make the kid play one parent against the other.
But that goes against the principle of duality of opinion. I have always believed that the opinion may not necessarily be clear. Jasmine and I can have a difference of opinion. Views may be extremely polarised and the truth is not known. In fact there can be no truth but only opinion. I have written about the time spent while having a bath. I believe there is no such thing as time spent. It is time invested, and Jasmine can finish her bath in the time it takes me to merely get wet. Jispa is a dreamer. She too can have an infinite bath time.
Let’s take another example. Poor Jasmine is trying to get Jispa to remember her stuff to do. Like put the snack box and water bottle in her bag. Now that’s a real tiring thing to do. I was much like that with my mom completely at odds to get me to do stuff. It was not intention that was the issue, there would be genuine intention. Sometimes the malaise was procrastination and sometimes the problem was simply dreams. Lost in thought. I can still go to the place where I am supposed to pick the item and completely forget what I am supposed to do. It would just pop out and I would end up doing pretty much something else. Over the years life in the professional world will not let you remain forgetful as such. I got my arse whipped, smartened up and started keeping a mental checklist and even writing down things to do during the day. But that took me 30 years. So when Jasmine and Jispa are having a run in, I am completely clueless. I want to be sweeter and take on the responsibility myself. I prefer reminding Jispa again and again and even putting the dam thing in.
So this creates chaos in the morning. Jasmine has had many calls right in the past and I don’t really doubt her instinct but the problem is that unlike her, I remember my childhood vividly and distinctly. A lot of things had left a deep and lasting impact on me. I clearly remember getting scolded for forgetting stuff. I have forgotten to do things; I have left stuff around at school and other such silly stuff. But I always used to think, why my parents scolded me for it. It’s not that I was intentionally careless. I also remember thinking that I was only a kid and that I should be given some leeway. Also not that being scolded helped me remember anything more. So that’s been on my mind a lot. I can keep telling Jispa that remember, do things right away, do not procrastinate, but I can’t really scold her too much. A sharp scold and immediately out.
I also sympathise with Jispa when she gets jammed for sharpening her pencils too much. I too remember sharpening pencils like crazy and my mom losing it saying that “I gave you new pencils just today”. By the time I got home they were a pale shadow of their original size.
This topic can go on with no real solution in sight. Jasmine can find 20 more faults in my thinking. Like the other day when she and Jispa were havinga fight over the pony tail, Jispa came ot me and out of serious frustration I just suggested that she just right now listen to mom and that she could always do whatever she wanted outside the home, when mom is not looking. Jasmine was mighty pissed. What on earth was I teaching her. Hmmm.. ya that was silly I guess. So when I got a book Delhi Calm (on the emergency), to read and on the first page the following lines had deeper meaning. “There no distinctions between what is real and unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.”- Harold pinter - art truth and politics.
What is true in politics is true in parenting. Sab saala maya hai. The challenge is in admitting it and more importantly handling it without conflict. So while I understand the need to put up a united front in front of the child, my bigger motive is that she knows and understands this conflict. I think every day that she must understand that there is no one view to the equation. There could be multiple points of view and that we are only taking the point of view that we believe is the best one at the point of time. Both mommy and daddy need not always agree on everything. Debate and then resolution is healthy and allowed. The last thing I want her to think is that daddy or mommy knows everything. WE DONT. We don’t even pretend to. We are only attempting the best, to the best of our ability, keeping her best interest in mind. Nothing more and nothing less.
The faster she realises this, the better an individual she will be. I love for her to see the other side of the equation at all points of time. Today morning I was googling images of Nehru for her. She needed on with kids, one with Gandhi and one alone. I came across one of him smoking. I asked her if she wanted it. She was quite surprised to know that he smokes. But I guess the ‘kida’ in her liked the thought and then she wanted that pic as well. So I promptly printed it and sent it along with the rest of the pics. It’s not necessary for her to learn that Nehru was a guy with no fallibility. Learn the truth that you can best digest! The truth will set you free. Now who said that?

a lovely mind, a simple talk

Jispa had a good lesson in competition. She is amongst the decent swimmers in her age category in her gymkhana. I think she comes in at second place. Ditto for her school. This week end she was taking part in an inter club competition at the CCI. Since there are quite a few kids, they simply take a time trial and take the timings to announce the winners. Her coach had warned us that Jispa is an eight year old in an under-nine age group. That means basically she has a one year disadvantage, which is large for her age. We were obviously expecting nothing much from her. Hopefully it might teach her a thing or two about competing. We saw the elder kids swim very well, and it was a joy for me to watch them swim real fast. It was time for Jispa’s time trial. She shot off the blocks and swam fast. I thought she swam well and quite fast. Pretty cool. She swam like she never had. But when she attempts to go fast she screws up on the technique. The hands don’t stretch as they must in their effort to go fast. But a few furious strokes later she was in the lead. She hit the other side, turned, glanced to see competition and started swimming again. Jasmine and I get tired of telling her that she need not look at competition. She has to learn to swim well and that’s more than enough. If her strokes are great and she tries her best, that’s all that matters. At her level, we don’t want her to win; we want her to get her strokes right.
Jispa’s problem is that she ends up using her over sized brain a bit too much. When I coach her, I am delighted that she listens, unlike other kids who don’t want to, but the problem is that her brain starts listening too much. She over compensates. It’s difficult coaching her then. Her technique then goes all awry. I remember last year, I was trying to get her to run correctly. Some cousin told her to get long strides in. That’s a good thing, but she ended up taking so long strides that she started jumping as opposed to running. It was like a series of long jumps. She will have this problem of brain and body not being entirely coordinated. Her super brain will take too many demands on her body. Same problem when I start elocution with her. Too much use of the brain. Suddenly she will not decide to use certain tone, or give some explanation for changing it or something. ‘Gay abandon’ is not a term I would use for her. She surely benefits from using her brain. It helps her in creative writing and the sort but sometimes in sports it pays to have an uncomplicated approach. A simple approach that seeks to hone instinct and use it. So this time while I started talking to her on running, Jasmine was pretty scared. When I was explain that in a sprint, you don’t use your heel too much and run almost on your toes, Jasmine was wondering and so was I, that she will end up looking like a bouncing ballerina. I think I too will learn about teaching her stuff. I guess I will learn to tell her to keep things simple. Just run fast and will correct a few simple things I see wrong. It’s stupid for me to mess with a good mind. I am simply not qualified enough to do that. What I can do is drill the tables in her head. Today morning I was trying to get her to write a Hindi composition that she was making a complete mess of. I tried to help her think of the essay visually. Almost like a mind map. That would help her structure it I guess. Then we went through the words, the sentences, the closing, the drama required. When she finally writes it today evening we will know if we got it anyway near right. Personally I myself do not know enough Hindi to teach her. I get it mixed up with urdu, and don’t even know the difference. But I guess today I did not do that bad.
So coming back to the swim meet, Jispa swam like she never had. She did her 50 yards in 44 seconds. I think it was her personal best. Dam cool. She also came in first within her immediate time trial. She came panting and exhausted. A dam god effort. I had o be somewhere else so I left by the time she had to compete in the medley relay. Since there weren’t enough girls from her age group for her gymkhana she was given the responsibility of the butterfly. A stroke she barely knows. I was told she did pretty bad. She swallowed water, went slow, almost did not complete. But she pushed herself to complete the race. In the freestyle time trial, while she managed 44 seconds, the first place was at around 34 seconds. Whoa, a full ten seconds. She was pretty dejected. I only met her the next day morning. Jasmine told me that she was felling down.
To my mind I told her that I think she did a swell job finishing the medley. She did not know the stroke, she swallowed water, she felt like shit but she hung on and finished the race. I told her of the time when I was in I think third standard. I barely knew how to swim and could just about manage to swim one length. Just about. That too with the support of the side wall. I still took part in the competition in school. When we were to start I ran and took the side lane. We started and I started swimming furiously. Half way through I don’t know, but I swallowed water and was coughing when the life guard thought I was drowning and pulled me out. Hah. She definitely did better than that!
I am reminded of Thomas Friedman who wrote that in places like India and China, competition is so tough that even if you are 1 in a million, there are a thousand of you. He is right. There are so many good guys around. If you want to be the best you have to train harder. I was thinking if its right for her to compete. One way is that let her see how good she is the hard way. Let her face dejection and loss. She can’t swim in her well and think that she is good. She has to see the world outside. For me. I think I will keep things simple. I will stop trying to coach her too much. I will have to stick to the philosophy part of the game. Hopefully a few years from now, she will coach me. Then she can talk technique and I can talk life. A conversation can sometimes be more than enough. A simple conversation. I can remember some of the best conversations I have had. But then that is another story.

has de... (laugh it)

I just got back from Chennai. I was organising an employee cricket event. It was pretty much good fun. It was a chance to get back to Chennai after a long time. In my earlier role I had the chance to travel much more often and I squandered it away by being largely insular to the stimuli around me. I would sit at the hotel, sleep or watch TV in my free time. I hardly spent any time exploring the place and roaming around. For a traveller like me, it was pretty uncharacteristic. Probably it was so because I have always been a depressed business traveller. I hate travelling alone on work and without family, it’s always been a situation wherein I feel sad, depressed and lonely. Eating alone, sleeping alone etc is not exactly the stuff that I look up to.
Staying in posh hotels, the best I did was order food in the room, watch TV and take a long time in the shower. If there was a tub, I would fill it and relax. I really miss the small town small hotel which I used to stay in while i was much younger, while i completed my stint in Gujarat. During the recession when it all went away, it struck me... that i travelled and was an ostrich. Completely insulated and anal. I promised to improve my record.
So last week while I was getting my bag ready to leave, I remembered to pack in my lonely planet. Even a Chennai would have interesting places to see and surely I would be able to remove a few hours in the evening or in between. The one I honed in on was the Chennai museum. I fiddled with my schedule this time around to visit the place.
It is a little tough funding your way around Chennai. Nobody speaks your language and they exclusively talk in Tamil. Now I know what Nehru would have been through while he was trying his best to integrate the nation. Now I understand how anal the Tamils would have been while we were trying to manage the country through a common language. While this nationalistic and regional pride is ok to a point. But keeping it fiercely centric to one language is a complete waste. You alienate your own countrymen. Why would you want to do that? Can any state be completely insular to those around it. Can it safely say that Tamil belongs only to Tamilians. The irony is that it was the Tamilians who got up in arms against the Sri Lankan government decision to force Sinhalese down their throats in Sri Lanka. While they sympathised with their kin across the strait they did little to implement in their own homeland. Why? It is so difficult to speak to anyone in Chennai. Even in my own office beyond a certain level, the guys don’t even speak proper English and are completely impervious to hindi. Talking to my driver is a real difficult job.
But I guess I am unfairingly singling the Tamilians. All of us in India have retained the pride in our linguistic roots. We have consistently responded to linguistic fervour. We insist on local language signboards and even shop names. Here I can think of Singapore as one example which had successfully integrated three language identities into its fold, and adapting English as well. I remember a chapter in Lee Kwan book wherein he persuades the local language schools to move to a standardised English medium. As an individual I have faced the real sad situation of being unable to think, read proficiently or converse well in any language other than English. I think many beautiful pieces of writing will be forever lost on me thanks to my limitations. I would loved to have been taught a second language. Of course I was taught a second and a third and then a fourth language in school and we spoke a fifth one at home, but I ended up linguistically challenged. Never good enough to read litreture and understand its subtle nuance.

But then at least I can go around most of India and still feel at home. Chennai is alien to me. It seems hostile and unwelcoming. Why ...
So getting my way around the museum was a pain. Getting my around?? No I thinking reaching the door of the museum was also a pain. But I reached the museum door only to find it closed on Fridays. Dam! WTF. I hung around the campus and as I was ready to leave I chanced upon a ‘permanent book exhibition’. Not expecting too much I was suitably not disappointed. Metal racks with one side full of tamil books and the other full of English books, arranged in some apparent logic. Making my way through them I came across a set of really old books. Not that the books were old, but they were written at the time of eth raj. They came in the old style binding with golden embossed lettering. A type face font and image pages being called colour plates. There was nothing for me except one book on Tipu Sultan and his dad. Being fresh from a vacation in mysore, it caught my attention. As I began reading it, I leaned one side against the rack. Soon enough I was lost in the book. In some time a petite lady came up to me and said “hsdfksdhgcfwgwhjfghjdfghjfdfhgaxhjgf”. Arghhh. Dam you. It was Tamil and I couldn’t understand a dam thing. Then started all over again. This time with a lot of actions. I figured she did not want me to read the book too much and she did not want me to lean against the rack. Sure. I went about browsing again. This time I chanced upon glimpses of world history. A book containing the letters that Nehru had written to his daughter while in prison. Interesting. It felt a lot like this blog of mine. Posts written to my daughter while at work. I was reading it standing when another older lady came in and started in Tamil all over again. She too did not want me to read too much. Buy what you want and walk out dude. I don’t think this India has really understood what a book lover relationship is with his books. They don’t get it at all. While I did not want to court any fight I also wanted to read a bit. I read a bit more, bought the Nehru book and walked out.
I bear them no ill will. I just think to myself... how can we get our kids to love books when the whole job of many such people around book shelves is just to shoo people away. I remember my school librarian. A complete ass of a guy who had control to a large amount of resources (read: books) we had a massive library and a well stocked collection. But I don’t remember having spent any time there. I must have been there a few times. We even had a library period, but the only thing I remember was being told to be silent. Ssshhh. Some guys would get a bit interested in national geographic and show each other some pictures of Amazonian tribes, obviously naked. Once he caught them snigger and he called them and asked them what was in the magazine that they found funny. That put me off the magazines for sure. I did not to be caught doing anything with them. Even a more than a curious interest would have found me pulled up. We just don’t know how to inculcate a love for books, do we? The problem is not resources, the problem is the attitude. Love!
Just the day before yesterday I realised during a sufi music show that my religious leanings can be best positioned as similar to Sufi. A belief in love, humanity and simplicity of life. It must be so simple. It must be the truth. I think it would be the true way to solve every conceivable issue in life. I can surely think of it solving all my marketing issues. I am looking forward to the Sufi music festival this Sunday, which I hope to get a few passes for. It’s also an interesting thing that these days Hindi movies seem to be embracing sufi music and getting atleast one if not a few more songs into the movies. Reminds me of the old days where every Hindi movie definitely needed on qawalli song. Sufi music is designed with so much love that it can be used to show your love for god or to show your love for your beau. Love is at its essence pure, isn’t it? Whoever it is targeted at.

This one is obviously an abashed love for the mystic


This one is the one that can be for far a more earthy love. But isn’t that a mystic as well?

Even the whacko hit Dabangg carried a few songs which somehow when played on the radio I can’t get it off my head. I love them. What is it about being soulful, that I can’t them off. It seems to affect my heart in some way.
And then here is one of my favourites. A lifting one.


Two other links
http://dunkdaft.blogspot.com/2010/01/favorite-sufi-songs.html
http://entertainment.in.msn.com/bollywood/article.aspx?cp-documentid=3407582

how much?

What’s the cost of time in Mumbai? If one completely ignores the convenience and the hassle angle but solely focuses on the cost versus time angle, then yesterday and today morning was one such experiment.
I have shifted to a new division within the broad conglomerate that I work in. the excitement on working on new stuff and a broader canvass is amazing. The amount of work that there is over here … sigh… I don’t think I would have the time to really write as much I would want to. The pressure will be relentless. Which makes me think on the tone of the blog from here on. If I want this blog as a legacy for my daughter, then I don’t think she would be too bothered with what my day to day life would have been. Leave her, I wouldn’t be too bothered with what I do day on day. I would rather focus this blog on issues that I believe I want to talk to her on. Some gyan and some interesting titbits on her growing up. That is what will matter in long run, or so I think. I would like this to be a place where I can clarify my thoughts and my actions and leave something for her to ponder about.
Ever since we moved to Bhakti Park four years ago, we had no option but to go in for two cars. The dam place is in the middle of nowhere. All my life I have travelled to work in public transport and I resisted having to use the car. So while my office was in town I used my second car to get to the nearest rail head and then travel onwards. When it moved to kalina, I had no option but to use the c or risk a really lengthy, painful commute. My car has gone in for servicing which forced me to use alternate transport since yesterday.
Yesterday I came in a cab. I left at 8 am and reached my office at 8.15 am. 15 minutes dot and it cost me 102 ruppes. Today I decided to take the public transport. I left at 8 am again. I took one bus from under the house. That took me to Dadar plaza. That cost me 8 bucks. At Dadar I alighted to take another bus to my office. That cost me another 7 bucks. Totally 15 rupees. The time taken this around was totally 45 minutes. That’s 30 minutes more than the taxi. I got to sit in the first bus and I had to stand but comfortably ok with no real squeeze hour massage. So as I said if I look at a time versus cost alone, 30 minutes for a Mumbai dweller would cost 87 rupees. That’s about 174 bucks an hour. How expensive or cheap is that?
Lets take the case of the maid who comes home everyday. She works for around two hours everyday. That’s about 60 hours. And she takes home around 900 rupees. Of course there are hidden costs as well, such as a Diwali bonus and the fact that she gets interest free loans when ever she wants to home and build a house or attend a marriage. These loans are not so small an amount. And the interest arbitrage on that is large. The money lender who would lent her money would have charged a princely 30 percent at the minimum. That too if she is lucky. Otherwise they can get into debt traps that would never get repaid with the principal always outstanding. But forget that for a minute. So she gets on an average 15 to 20 rupees an hour. Hmmm. Obviously all the maids use the public transport.
What about the lowly paid clerk. He gets around 10,000 rupees a month. For eight hours a day and 24 day month. That’s about 52 bucks an hour. No can take taxi.
So the break even point for a taxi for a single passenger is if the poor fellow earns around 33,000 rupees a month, or around 4 lakhs per annum. So if you see any one travelling via taxi to office everyday he should be earning at least that much. That’s of course the mathematics of it all. The economics would differ. The cost of reaching on time. The mental peace, the pride of finally chucking the public transport… etc etc. also this is a Wadala to Worli experiment. In many instances in Mumbai, if you don’t use the public transport such as trains and travel via taxi to your office it would take you twice as much time and ten times as expensive. There the cost implication is not time but the opportunity to not get massaged all around by the rush hour jam in a train.
So how is this all important from Jispa’s point of view when she grows up. I don’t know but I had fun thinking about it.

imagine...

V-inu got Jispa a Rubik’s snake from his recent overseas trip. Quite a cute thing. I remember it being the rage while I was a kid. And obviously the first thing I ended up making with it was – you guessed right – the ball (or the truncated octahedron if you want to be scientific). It is impossible, not to make it once you lay your hands on it. And then onto hours and hours of pure pleasure. Making all sorts of funny stuff.
Should be fun for Jispa as well. Yesterday morning while she was it she made this.

Now you have to tell me what this is. You are obviously disqualified if you have read the little prince. Jispa hasn’t read it yet. Which makes me think that it is time for me to dig it out of somewhere from my pile. I clearly remember buying it and reading it around five years ago. It was truly quite a lovely story. It’s worth buying it as a spare copy even if I can’t find it within my pile. I was only introduced to the first chapter as a kid when I read it in my school English text book. I remember being completely fascinated with his drawing and his meeting of with the Prince.
This image will forever stick in my mind.

I can still feel the excitement that I felt when I first read that there something much more to the image. I think it made me think that all adults are stupid and they really can’t see what’s completely obvious. And that it need not be obvious for it to be pretty. Now that I think about, somewhere from the deep recess of my memory, a speck is standing out. I think I remember a time when I had gone to Ahmedabad to visit a cousin’s place. Somehow I remember raiding the bookshelf and reading the little prince there. I think I might have been in fourth or fifth standard or possibly younger. It’s all fuzzy now. But it’s funny how I remember the pleasure in reading it. Come to think of it, it’s made quite an impact on me.
So coming back to the answer to the drawing from little prince…

Now you will get the answer to Jispa’s creation. Only just.
It is a snake who has swallowed a tree stump.

The next one is my creation as an answer to Jispa’s creation.

As Jispa says, it is a snake that has a stone dropped on it. Here the inspiration as she says is Tom and Jerry. Well, from my little prince to her tom and jerry, life follows pop... pop??… pop… art?

Burn the negatives from your heart

I was in Dubai till the third standard and we moved into India when I came into the fourth. One of the fun things that we could do in India that we couldn’t do there was burst crackers. I remember mom and dad taking us to the main market for crackers in Mumbai, the Mohamed Ali Street. It had so many shops that convert themselves into cracker wholesalers for the Diwali season. Mom and Dad realised that we were in this respect at least pretty deprived. We hardly saw crackers and hardly ever got to burst anything more than the basic sparklers that some Indians had smuggled into Dubai. I wonder why someone would smuggle something that is essentially a fun thing at such bug risk into Dubai. I wonder. But did and we used to use them with great care and caution. Take the case of cracker loom (tadaphadi is another desi word). It is basically the cracker that makes a noise like a 1944 WW2 machine gun. Not that I have heard one, but from all the research that I have done watching those movies, I can tell you for sure. I set would have around 40 small crackers. We would dismantle them and use them one tick at a time. That really time consuming and fun.
So in Mumbai, we went berserk and I credit my parents for allowing us to go berserk at the cracker store. We bought sparklers, atom bombs (loud raasi bomb), tadaphadi, flower pots, and what not. My brother’s favourite was the snake. It was nothing but a small black pill on which you put your sparkler or matchstick. From it a long black ‘snake’ would come out. It would emit a horrible smoke and would forever scar the tiles. You could see tiles on the staircase of many buildings scarred thus. One black round mark, where the snake once burned. It was fun and still is but I have no clue why.
Soon we graduated to getting a diwali allowance to buy our fire crackers ourselves. We spent wisely on bombs, rockets and the lot. Carefully avoiding girlie stuff like sparklers and zammen chakris. Though my eternal favourite has always been the flower pot. I have no clue what fascination I have for it. But I remember it being the cracker of choice for me and I would spend a little more on buying the big special flower pot. I would keep it safely and preserve it. The Diwali bursting starts a week before Diwali and we would conserve our crackers to last the whole week. The piece d renaissance would be lit by me at the special moment at the peak of the diwali night. My night / festival was made.
The next day after Diwali was the traditional New Year’s day for us gujjus. And that meant going from cousin’s place to another wishing and greeting each other. It went on for a few years till some politics developed between cousins. One side of the cousins was a squabble over property which gave rise to sub texts in relationships and on the other side was a struggle for dominance. All in all it made for a bitter after taste. Soon enough, the family Diwali tradition changed to getting out of Mumbai during Diwali. If you are not there is no reason to visit them, wot say?
Now many years since … there is no tradition in our family to visit relatives on Diwali or new year day. So we too have followed the tradition of getting out of Mumbai for diwali. This is something that seems to have worked in our favour. Get out of this place. The noise and the pollution has significantly increased over the years making the space completely inhabitable. The one year I was year many years ago made me make up my mind of celebrating Diwali out side in the peace and quiet. When a teeming metropolis like decides to celebrate noise and pollution the only choice you have is to run.
But contrast to that is the Dusherra celebration that happens 20 days prior to Diwali. I love the focal point of the day, which is to make a huge effigy of thr ten headed demon king ravana and burn the hell out of him. This to was something that we were first introduced to while in India. Till then it was just a chapter of our social science text book.
The first one I saw was a huge figure five seven stories tall and full of crackers inside. Bursting it would take all of 30 minutes or more and give a great thrill to many of us. It was clearly one of the high points of childhood celebrations.
Now that Jispa has grown up a bit we tried the last couple of years to take her to Chowpatty and witness the big celebration there also. That too was good fun. For 50 bucks we got the VIP tickets at the RamLeela that was being staged there. And then the end point was the big effigy being burnt.
This time around a couple of months before I saw this kit being retailed at the book store. “make your own ravanna”. A kit that had color drawings and instructions to make your own three dimensional effigy. That was cool I though and bought the kit. I promised myself to make it and figure out if we could burn this ourselves. I missed the Dusherra deadline but I saw and remembered it on the night we were to burn it.
I removed the covers expecting to simply punch out the perforated stuff and assemble it in 20 minutes. How tough could it get.
To my chagrin I saw large sheets with color prints on them. No perforations. I had to cut them all. The prints were nice and detailed which meant even more time in cutting them. The hair, the moustache and the head gear and to add to it, Ravanna has ten heads. What a pain. Some of the stuff was to be cut across circles, which meant plenty of small cuts on the paper so that thy fold in a circle and lots of irritation. The hands had to be stuck to the body using glue, his skirt to the legs, his head to the neck and what not. Very very painful. Jasmine had joined me soon enough and both of us were figuring this big mammoth task. Poor Jispa who I thought would love to do it was quickly sidelined. We had to give her simple cutting work. After some time we realised that the glue wouldn’t be enough and in came in the artillery. The humble scotch tape and the even humbler stapler came in. a stick there a tuck here and a punch in there somewhere.
We had to abandon the project for the night to catch it the next morning. Jispa was unwell and was at home. We tried to take it up again and try to get the pieces to all add up. It was so frustrating and tiring. Jasmine remarked that ‘she is going to love to see this guy burn’. I concurred. It was a real pain putting it all together. I guess we just don’t understand what it is to make life easy for the customers. I mean the least was that they could give was pre-cuts or perforations. I don’t visualise anyone less than a 14 year old managing this. In fact I am planning to give this project to my new team in order to help them get a hang of what it means to have bad design, bad instructions and bad user experience.
Five hours and 15 man hours later the Ravanna was up. Finally standing. The big boy with all his ten heads and a menacing smile with a sword and a shield. There boy. All that sweat was worth it. Here the BIG FELLA is in all his glory.

Since Jispa was a bit unwell, the week passed by with the man remaining on top of our book case. Today we got the opportunity to burn the fella. We called in Jispa’s friend, bought 100 bucks of sparklers, and set the fellow on fire. Like all dad occasions, this too passed by without me really sitting back and enjoying it. I was busy making it stand, then setting it alight and then managing the kids so that they don’t get burnt. But it was fun any ways.
Here is he just before he was burnt.

The last bit was the clincher – Jasmine said “not bad eh? Its worth doing it the next time as well. Lets buy one and keep right away. I don’t think it will be in stock.”
I agree. Haha. After all that work, it did turn out quite a nice experience in the end. A sweet ending is just so important. With the Ravanna, we burnt all the ill will we had towards the guys who sold the dam thing. At the end we were left with sweet memories. I was telling Jasmine that "these things are the best projects. You spend time to make them and then you just have to burn them. You enjoy the process and then the thing also does not take up any space in the house. "

Jai Lankesh!

butterflies

Change is a constant yet we are scared of it. In b school, we had an organisational behaviour professor – Deosthali. Over smart guy. He was a good guy but he tried be over smart. He taught the first lecture and then he told us to form groups and gave us all one chapter to make a presentation. That way the portion is done. Smart ass. He did some over smart for the exams. I don’t remember what, but something he announced and the students just lost it. We staged a revolt.
In class there were two natural hotheads with natural ‘leadership’ abilities. One was yours truly and the other was a guy called suraj. He was from Delhi and made a big noise about how he was a great gift as he was from Doon school. Not too popular but he had a tough streak in him. I too was an ass with a large ego. Naturally we both did not get along and rarely spoke to each other. I think it was as a result of a silly altercation which I don’t even remember.
So this time Suraj took on the mantle and revolted. He got the students all roused up. But there was one hitch. Would I support him? I was the second hot head and he needed me to be there. I could easily move opinion the other way and he revolt would not be unanimous. It would have been seen as a one faction tirade or something.
These developments happened over the evening and I came to know of it the next day morning. We did not have internet or mobiles you see.
The bets thing was that I did not know of anything. Anything as in – I did not know that students looked up to me. I was seen as some kind of leader, or that my opinion counted. I was possibly to busy preening my mane or something. I knew I was a good speaker and in B schools you are known by your presentation skills, which I had in plenty. So I walk in to college to see a bunch of students rushing to me to explain things. They spoke about how Suraj has led the revolt and how he met the dean and blah blah. And today the dean has called all the students along with the prof in question. Ok. So? So will you support Suraj? Will you be there? They wanted to know.
Ok I hated Suraj but the answer to me was simple. Sure I will be there. I might have been an egoistical maniac but I was definitely not political. Thank god for small things. Having ang an ego is enough. Having a political bone on top would be disaster. Everybody was relieved. So many came up and thanked me for supporting the cause. Everybody seemed to know I hated Suraj. And that he hated me. But that was all superficial hate. It’s not like he was sworn enemy. Silly people.
So we led a mass unified revolt. I helped him gather the crowd and got the prof kicked out. People kept thanking me and I heard stories of how Suraj orchestrated the whole thing and was worried that I would not support it and he would get victimised if the uprising failed. Hah! I couldn’t even think that far. It was only after the incident I realised that I had some influence on the batch. I might have been too busy fighting my own insecurities to even notice.
But whats that got to do with change. That prof had taken one lecture at the start. He spoke about change. He spoke about how change is something we are all scared of. How the fear of the unknown is greater than the fear of the known. How the greatest scare is when you don’t know how your dad will react, will he slap you or scold you. If you know you will get a scolding or a slap its easier, but anticipating the shit is the toughest.
In 8th standard I wanted a cycle and something led to something and I got promised a cycle if I crack a certain percentage in class. I think it was 75%. Wow. So I did not really end up studying anymore, but I ended up praying more. Like all good religious boys I guess. This was the second unit test and not the final exams. We kept getting the papers. In the hindi lecture the prof walked in and gave out the hindi papers. Out of a 40 mark paper I saw my scores and my heart jumped out. It was a 11. THAT WAS A FAIL. Forget the 75%. I failed in the unit test. The only time in my life. I failed a test. Man. That was the biggest disaster in my history as a student. I was so shit scared. I tried to explain to the teacher about something in the paper that could get me more marks. H brushed me aside and did not want to even consider. This was the male prof from the heartland. They were always more irritating than the sweeter Mumbai female teachers. I couldn’t believe that he did not even consider that how I, a normally bright student could fail. It did not matter to him.
I think I cried and I cant even describe what I felt. I knew what was shit I would get at home. I reached home and sat in one corner all quiet. I started to hit my desk and study. Now that was the most abnormal thing in the world to do. That was a give away. Dad was at home. In some time I gathered courage to tell him. I still remember the moment when I spoke to him. He got so pissed. One lesson I learnt that when shit happens to your kid, think a bit before you scold. The kid is feeling like real shit in any case. I probably needed a hug more than I needed a scolding. That would have been equally effective.
Needless to add my cycle dreams went poof for the time being. And my prof was right. Waiting for the reaction is worse than the reaction. I think he also said – change causes stress. Man will change when the stress associated with the status quo is greater than the stress associated with change. I have remembered his words though I have been instrumental in kicking him out. Only if he decided to use his brains to teach us properly instead taking the short cut. I have tried to think about it all the time. I try to change and accept it and even look for it. Change is a constant but it is also an essential for growth. Growth is a given.
Right now I am looking at change in the face. I am moving to a new role. It is something I have pushed for and lobbied for. Yet when it happens, the butterflies get activated. Slowly they pop out of the pupa and make their presence felt. Over time I have learnt enough to control them, to understand them and to tackle them. But have I managed to eliminate them. Not a chance.