We had an interesting time last week. We realised that now we were moving into a prenting zone that increasingly would have situations where you know less and less about what to do or behave. Jispa was having a taekwondo competition in school on Saturday and on Monday while she was practising in school, she over did her practice kicking. By mistake she ended up kicking a pillar and got her tiny toes hit in the process. It was ok whole day and she even swam till it was time to sleep and it hurt a bit. I saw it was swollen and feared a fracture.
As a kid I used to get hurt quite a bit, I gave got bruised, cut, hit but I have never got a fracture. I so wanted one. The fun of wearing plaster to school on which everyone would be able to write messages etc. I always used to get a hit and then get an x-ray only to come back disappointed.
The next day she missed school for some x-rays and the result was negative – no fracture. So we went to our ayurvedic doc to get some medicines to heal the foot and to reduce the swelling. The question now was – what about the competition. I did not care two hoots about it. It’s just an internal competition and that doesn’t really matter, does it? Jispa obviously wanted to take part and doc was ambivalent. If it does not hurt much she could go. Jasmine called up the teacher and gave her an update. In the following days her teacher caught up with her and pumped her up. Jasmine was almost pissed. She told Jispa ‘ you are my girl, you are my best kicker, you got to do it.’
Now what to do? Jispa is pumped up and so is her teacher. I would rather not and Jasmine is with me on this.
Jispa also takes part in inter club swimming meets. There one marathon coming up. What? I asked? A swimming marathon? How many laps? 80 laps of 25meters. WOW. NO was my response. How on earth would she do it? Jasmine too was confused. We asked her coach. Her coach was like – ‘we can take a call. It’s ok. Ask Jispa if she wants to do it?’. Ask Jispa? How would she know? Then Jasmine told me that Jispa does around 50- 60 laps a day while in class in any case. Wow. That’s cool, but 80 laps. Her coach thought about and discussed it with the senior coach and came back and said – go ahead. Jasmine was still wondering when the coach said ‘do it if Jispa wants to do it. On her ability to do 80 laps – that’s ok. She CAN swim 80 laps.’
Look at these situations. As a parent you want to push the child but you don’t want to PUSH the child. You have an idea of her abilities but you don’t really KNOW of her abilities. Here you may disagree with the coach but you know that the coach is probably right. So now we are entering territory where the parents takea back seat and simply watch. I guess we can only be there to encourage and not much else. I probably know jack shit of swimming and even less of taekwondo.
Any ways... her school competition was on Saturday and she was fighting a girl one year elder. That’s a big thing at her age. Given my class and some other commitments, I reached just 10 minutes ahead of schedule to know that it started ahead of schedule and I saw them as they just finished. Talk about timing. Exactly 5 seconds late. Drat. There were two rounds and the first was tied 4 all and the second Jispa lost 2-3. I just came in time to see them announce the result of the bout on the area and then see Jispa remove her protective gear. As the results were announced, Jispa started to cry. She suddenly realised her damaged foot was paining. While it might be true I think it was an emotional release. It’s a tough ask to go in and start kicking and fighting, especially for a girl and especially for Jispa. Jispa is not a natural one to pick a fight with someone. She has a lot of qualities like care, love and forgiveness in her. For her to kick constantly and attack might be an emotional roller coaster. Possibly the balm of winning might have been a soothing touch but the defeat would mean a chance to release. Possibly it was just that – the adrenaline wore off and her foot started to hurt. Possibly she psyched herself not to feel the pain for a few days and it now all gave way. Who knows? But anyways. Since her school is a tiny winy pond, she got a silver for her efforts. One bout you lose and get a silver? Possibly that’s her category or something. Only two in it and no more rounds... who knows. Quite frankly I don’t care. No point in competing in that really small pond.
As for the swim meet, that’s yet to happen. We have sent the entry, but the dates aren’t announced. So thats us relying on the teacher more than on parenting instinct.
But wait – there is still justice at last. AS a family we have been avid bird wacthers in the last few years with us each having our bird books and we keep roaming around spotting birds. Yesterday in class she had a session on birds of India where she told us that she kept correcting the teacher – Miss, that’s a crane not an egret and that’s the egret which you called a crane. The egret is a common bird you see everywhere, even from the bus while going to school. Whoops. Then she explained to the teacher that the bird you called pigeon is actually called the blue rock pigeon. Double triple whoops. It seems that the teacher did not really believe her. Also it seems she knew all the birds that the teacher spoke about. And many more :). Haha. The parent’s last laugh. So we do know a bit about teaching our kid, after all.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 07, 2011
I won... sheesh
Last Saturday was Jispa’s annual sports meet. This is a good time for most of us peleb to catch u[p on what celeb look like in real life. The high points of getting your child to a school which even the celebs prefer. What a pain. Here you will have all the normal mothers going gaga over the celebs and wanting to photograph them and be photographed with them. I am sure it’s quite a pain for the celeb. But as some other mini celeb (friend) told me, these stars would become even more insecure if no one approached them! Haha. The life of a goldfish perhaps!
Honestly I find pretty juvenile when the mothers approach these fellas for the photograph. I am happy and content to beat them in the fathers race. Speaking of which, I continued my winning streak at this race as well. it was pretty boring. There seems to be no real competition in my peer set. A tennis sport celeb (one of the celebrated doubles players) who obviously is pretty fit and fast has a kid ina lower age standard and hence does not compete with me. It would have been mighty fun to race against him. My race I dominated, lead from the start and had no real competition. This time I walked away with a bored and under achieved feeling as well. Last year I had worked on my technique, I had high foot lift, I ran on toes, I ran fast all through etc etc. This time I felt my technique was all wrong. I was lazy in the run to the event. This clearly showed me the power of simple preparations, trial runs, muscle memory and visualisations. One has to keep visualising how to play, how to run, what to do in a situation for one to be better at it. I won but it did not seem to fit all together. Somehow the legs did not know what really to do like last year. This time also ego got to me. Half way into the run I could see there was no real competition. I slowed down considerably towards the end of the run. Too many thoughts crossed my mind. Should I just walk across the finish line to show off, should I relax, should I .... what on earth was happening. EGO the main enemy of sport, the chance to show off in front of an audience. And all this in a mere 75 meter race? Dam shit. I took 10.25 seconds. Drat. If not for ego I should have done in max to max 9 seconds. Now that’s a good race. Pumping hard, the toes barely touching, hard push!
Jispa asked me how my race was. I told her I won but I was all wrong. No fun in winning without real technique. Next year I am determined to do better. Determined to run right. I play to wear the right stuff, tracks instead of jeans and better shirt than the loose flowing full sleeves t shirt I wore in sheer arrogance. It does not matter that I won, I am still hurting at the arrogance that I showed. Dam. This something I have always maintained. Sport is internal, you play for yourself, against yourself with you as your main competitor. Who cares about anyone else. That’s what makes swimming so interesting for me. I swim against myself every day. Even when I play cricket or squash. Who cares what the opponent is. It’s you playing yourself. After teaching Jispa all this about competition and me being stoic during her swimming competition the same day later, I made the same bloody error. Gallery! I think it comes close to ‘pride’ but I think deserves a mention by itself as the eight sin ‘show’.
Talking about encouraging your kids, after the sports day Jispa attended a swimming meet. There you always get whacko mothers shouting to their wards ‘PULL,PULL, PULL, KICK, KICK’. What the hell. They are standing at eth edge of the pool and shouting themselves hoarse. You even get father doing the same. Inside the pool is your champion going to hear you. Should your champion hear you or be in a zone all by himself. He is supposed to focus on his technique, the strokes and blank out everything. A huge quiet and calm. Whenever I have done well in cricket or any other sport. There is a huge quiet that descends over me. I can feel nothing, hear nothing, know nothing. I have been in that zone a few times. It does not matter what anyone is shouting. In fact if someone is being specific to you it irritates else lots of other noise just adds to the ‘silence’.
The last few times I ran I was oblivious to competition, to the crowd, I could only feel the ground being pushed under, I could only feel that I was all alone. I couldn’t think of anything except the finish line. Wow. And compare that to this time when I practically wrote a story in the ten seconds it took me to finish the race. Sheesh.
The zone is not something that comes automatically. You have to work on it. Think it through. Be prepared for it. Work on it and then in the middle it arrives. The muscles know what to do, the body knows where to move. Everything falls into place. Then you play as if an angel is inside of you. All falling into place. Effortlessly.
Hmm. Jispa goes to play squash on Saturday and Sunday. I use it to run the treadmills at the gymkhana. Let me see if I can work into that zone there itself. I think it’s possible. Coming to think of it, this Sunday, I had it at the treadmill for a few minutes, I was running beautifully. But somehow I look around and feel someone is looking at me. That’s when it breaks. I must pretty egocentric that I visualise people looking at me. I have to be above all this. Sport will probably help me. Keep me and my inflated head in check. Keep it down, simple and straight. Easier said than done.
I am sometimes afraid that even my humility might be a show. An act that is designed to make me look humble in front of people. Do I have genuine humility? Even at times. Can I help someone purely to help someone without any expectation of anyone looking at me, thinking about me or having an expectation of nice feelings? Be completely above it all. Is that possible? I believe it so. Difficult but not unachievable.
Honestly I find pretty juvenile when the mothers approach these fellas for the photograph. I am happy and content to beat them in the fathers race. Speaking of which, I continued my winning streak at this race as well. it was pretty boring. There seems to be no real competition in my peer set. A tennis sport celeb (one of the celebrated doubles players) who obviously is pretty fit and fast has a kid ina lower age standard and hence does not compete with me. It would have been mighty fun to race against him. My race I dominated, lead from the start and had no real competition. This time I walked away with a bored and under achieved feeling as well. Last year I had worked on my technique, I had high foot lift, I ran on toes, I ran fast all through etc etc. This time I felt my technique was all wrong. I was lazy in the run to the event. This clearly showed me the power of simple preparations, trial runs, muscle memory and visualisations. One has to keep visualising how to play, how to run, what to do in a situation for one to be better at it. I won but it did not seem to fit all together. Somehow the legs did not know what really to do like last year. This time also ego got to me. Half way into the run I could see there was no real competition. I slowed down considerably towards the end of the run. Too many thoughts crossed my mind. Should I just walk across the finish line to show off, should I relax, should I .... what on earth was happening. EGO the main enemy of sport, the chance to show off in front of an audience. And all this in a mere 75 meter race? Dam shit. I took 10.25 seconds. Drat. If not for ego I should have done in max to max 9 seconds. Now that’s a good race. Pumping hard, the toes barely touching, hard push!
Jispa asked me how my race was. I told her I won but I was all wrong. No fun in winning without real technique. Next year I am determined to do better. Determined to run right. I play to wear the right stuff, tracks instead of jeans and better shirt than the loose flowing full sleeves t shirt I wore in sheer arrogance. It does not matter that I won, I am still hurting at the arrogance that I showed. Dam. This something I have always maintained. Sport is internal, you play for yourself, against yourself with you as your main competitor. Who cares about anyone else. That’s what makes swimming so interesting for me. I swim against myself every day. Even when I play cricket or squash. Who cares what the opponent is. It’s you playing yourself. After teaching Jispa all this about competition and me being stoic during her swimming competition the same day later, I made the same bloody error. Gallery! I think it comes close to ‘pride’ but I think deserves a mention by itself as the eight sin ‘show’.
Talking about encouraging your kids, after the sports day Jispa attended a swimming meet. There you always get whacko mothers shouting to their wards ‘PULL,PULL, PULL, KICK, KICK’. What the hell. They are standing at eth edge of the pool and shouting themselves hoarse. You even get father doing the same. Inside the pool is your champion going to hear you. Should your champion hear you or be in a zone all by himself. He is supposed to focus on his technique, the strokes and blank out everything. A huge quiet and calm. Whenever I have done well in cricket or any other sport. There is a huge quiet that descends over me. I can feel nothing, hear nothing, know nothing. I have been in that zone a few times. It does not matter what anyone is shouting. In fact if someone is being specific to you it irritates else lots of other noise just adds to the ‘silence’.
The last few times I ran I was oblivious to competition, to the crowd, I could only feel the ground being pushed under, I could only feel that I was all alone. I couldn’t think of anything except the finish line. Wow. And compare that to this time when I practically wrote a story in the ten seconds it took me to finish the race. Sheesh.
The zone is not something that comes automatically. You have to work on it. Think it through. Be prepared for it. Work on it and then in the middle it arrives. The muscles know what to do, the body knows where to move. Everything falls into place. Then you play as if an angel is inside of you. All falling into place. Effortlessly.
Hmm. Jispa goes to play squash on Saturday and Sunday. I use it to run the treadmills at the gymkhana. Let me see if I can work into that zone there itself. I think it’s possible. Coming to think of it, this Sunday, I had it at the treadmill for a few minutes, I was running beautifully. But somehow I look around and feel someone is looking at me. That’s when it breaks. I must pretty egocentric that I visualise people looking at me. I have to be above all this. Sport will probably help me. Keep me and my inflated head in check. Keep it down, simple and straight. Easier said than done.
I am sometimes afraid that even my humility might be a show. An act that is designed to make me look humble in front of people. Do I have genuine humility? Even at times. Can I help someone purely to help someone without any expectation of anyone looking at me, thinking about me or having an expectation of nice feelings? Be completely above it all. Is that possible? I believe it so. Difficult but not unachievable.
Friday, February 04, 2011
not just any dental date
A ha the fun of having a computer while roaming around. I started writing this post while waiting for the most mundane. I am outside my dentist’s clinic. Well it’s not like I am a regular at the dentist, so I can’t really call her ‘my’ dentist. In fact I can’t remember the last time I was at the dentist. Recently Jasmine had got her root canal done and it cost us a bomb. Root canals do cost a lot and jasmine cant go to the community dentists so she ended up going to a dental studio. She finds the hygiene standards at the community run clinics a bit dodgy. As for me, I am game for practically anything. I have very low hygiene standards and I am known to pick wafers off the floor, dust them or blow some air and eat them. You know that typical guy thing. I look at it as a more macho thing... something like it builds immunity. So keep having it. In any case , there is enough shit in the atmosphere so you are like going to get enough of your germs just like that. A few friendly ones you pick up from the floor or the around will only help you. Hah!
This dentist in any case was a special visit. My elders weren’t and aren’t on the best of terms so we cousins don’t end up meeting too often. My generation couldn’t care less for the property disputes of our elders. But thanks to that we have never been very close. Compund that with the fact that we stay nuclear and os we have even less functions to go to. So basically we are almost cut off from our gene pool. My immediate siblings never understood the fights that our uncles and aunties had and we swore never to let money come in the way ever. Never to let protocol come in the way as well. life is too short to bicker over lesser issues.
So while I was placed in nariman point I used to get to the train everyday and there happily enough I once saw what looked my niece. I wasn’t very sure till she came up and asked me ‘wasn’t I her jaimit kaka’. Err yes. That was fun. Everyday in the morning you get to meet your niece. She is a happy fun person and it was pretty cool talking to her. She was studying to be a dentist. She passed out a few years ago and has started practising in some clinic. So when yesterday I felt a bit of pain in my teeth I used the opportunity to catch up with my favourite niece. Disclaimer – given that I hardly know any of my other nieces, itnot a great achievement. Hah! That was written as while we were talking about the fact that I had my computer open, she figured I blog. I have never tried to popularise my blog. Its been an open but a quite thing. If you know about it then fine. Else even better. So as she said she would one read it, I thought I would be nice and mean to her. I am always mean to her and pulling her leg.
In fact she is 26 and like all happy Indian gujju households, her mom is after her to get married. I don’t understand this marriage scare business. What there to get scared of marriage and commitment? Well its obviously easy for me to say that, as I obviously found someone to get married to. But I got married at 23 and had a child by the time I was 27. It did seem a bit young but I loved it. Today at 35 I have an eight year old. Soon at 40 she should be 13 a mini adult and hopefully I won’t be old and fuddy duddy. I can run with her, play with her and hopefully compete with her. She has already smashed me in swimming. I am waiting to have her taekwondo and squash skills develop so that I can play that as well with her. it would be a bit difficult if I was a bit older.
So our poor dentist niece has a poor role model to look up to. She is not exactly enthused with the prospect of getting married and I keep telling many youths like her that its not that bad. Sometimes all I do is just explain the superficial behaviour they sometimes exhibit. Something like rejecting this guy as she speaks with a local accent or he wears a printed shirt or something. The tables have changed and how... I guess my mom would not have had much say in choosing her husband, but I am happy that we Indians are slowly allowing our daughter to have a greater say. I guess now the pressure is put not physically but emotionally to say yes to a guy of the parents liking. Nice.
So while she explained her exasperation at the various guys she was seeing and choosing from (all crap according to her) , I gently nudged her to a marriage portal. It’s an interesting disintermediation. When these portals made an appearance around a decade ago I thought they would be all sleaze and the last resort for old unmarried / divorced men and women. I started looking at it with a little more respect when I heard that one of my friends met his wife through this portal. Interesting. You see profiles, you approach, you chat a bit, you become facebook friends and then you meet up and figure. Cool nah. Its a bit like dating. And the parents are now open to this new concept as well. I met one lady who I interviewed some time ago. She said she is a maharashtrian who family was after her to get married. So she went online and registered herself and met this guy who was a gujarati. Then she set it up herself and met the guys and decided to get married. All this I came to know when I asked her if her marriage was love or arranged. And she said sort of love. If you see the story I kind of agree with her. is that within the definition of love marriage or arranged marriage. A new term needs to be invented for this stuff – loranged. That sounds a bit like deranged? How about Arrove. Ya... you arrange the match and then you love and then you marry.
Like I was telling my niece – go on and register yourself. See some male profiles, check them out. a bit like ‘body shopping’. In the traditional sphere the women used to feel like they are on display with the men coming in to meet and ‘grade’ them. Now the game is more equal I guess. Men and women have equal body shopping rights! Yay yay!
These are small steps to a new world. That’s why I have so much faith in the Indian dream playing out. Women – we haven’t factored the rise of the women in this economic dream. Their rise gives me great confidence.
So in the end my niece was disappointed. I had no reason for her to give me any degree of pain. My teeth were in fine form and my molars were well and truly filled with the old silver cavities long ago. There wasn’t much to fill in. No root canal that she could recommend and not even a teeny weeny cavity. She would get her revenge on some other day. Tada!
This dentist in any case was a special visit. My elders weren’t and aren’t on the best of terms so we cousins don’t end up meeting too often. My generation couldn’t care less for the property disputes of our elders. But thanks to that we have never been very close. Compund that with the fact that we stay nuclear and os we have even less functions to go to. So basically we are almost cut off from our gene pool. My immediate siblings never understood the fights that our uncles and aunties had and we swore never to let money come in the way ever. Never to let protocol come in the way as well. life is too short to bicker over lesser issues.
So while I was placed in nariman point I used to get to the train everyday and there happily enough I once saw what looked my niece. I wasn’t very sure till she came up and asked me ‘wasn’t I her jaimit kaka’. Err yes. That was fun. Everyday in the morning you get to meet your niece. She is a happy fun person and it was pretty cool talking to her. She was studying to be a dentist. She passed out a few years ago and has started practising in some clinic. So when yesterday I felt a bit of pain in my teeth I used the opportunity to catch up with my favourite niece. Disclaimer – given that I hardly know any of my other nieces, itnot a great achievement. Hah! That was written as while we were talking about the fact that I had my computer open, she figured I blog. I have never tried to popularise my blog. Its been an open but a quite thing. If you know about it then fine. Else even better. So as she said she would one read it, I thought I would be nice and mean to her. I am always mean to her and pulling her leg.
In fact she is 26 and like all happy Indian gujju households, her mom is after her to get married. I don’t understand this marriage scare business. What there to get scared of marriage and commitment? Well its obviously easy for me to say that, as I obviously found someone to get married to. But I got married at 23 and had a child by the time I was 27. It did seem a bit young but I loved it. Today at 35 I have an eight year old. Soon at 40 she should be 13 a mini adult and hopefully I won’t be old and fuddy duddy. I can run with her, play with her and hopefully compete with her. She has already smashed me in swimming. I am waiting to have her taekwondo and squash skills develop so that I can play that as well with her. it would be a bit difficult if I was a bit older.
So our poor dentist niece has a poor role model to look up to. She is not exactly enthused with the prospect of getting married and I keep telling many youths like her that its not that bad. Sometimes all I do is just explain the superficial behaviour they sometimes exhibit. Something like rejecting this guy as she speaks with a local accent or he wears a printed shirt or something. The tables have changed and how... I guess my mom would not have had much say in choosing her husband, but I am happy that we Indians are slowly allowing our daughter to have a greater say. I guess now the pressure is put not physically but emotionally to say yes to a guy of the parents liking. Nice.
So while she explained her exasperation at the various guys she was seeing and choosing from (all crap according to her) , I gently nudged her to a marriage portal. It’s an interesting disintermediation. When these portals made an appearance around a decade ago I thought they would be all sleaze and the last resort for old unmarried / divorced men and women. I started looking at it with a little more respect when I heard that one of my friends met his wife through this portal. Interesting. You see profiles, you approach, you chat a bit, you become facebook friends and then you meet up and figure. Cool nah. Its a bit like dating. And the parents are now open to this new concept as well. I met one lady who I interviewed some time ago. She said she is a maharashtrian who family was after her to get married. So she went online and registered herself and met this guy who was a gujarati. Then she set it up herself and met the guys and decided to get married. All this I came to know when I asked her if her marriage was love or arranged. And she said sort of love. If you see the story I kind of agree with her. is that within the definition of love marriage or arranged marriage. A new term needs to be invented for this stuff – loranged. That sounds a bit like deranged? How about Arrove. Ya... you arrange the match and then you love and then you marry.
Like I was telling my niece – go on and register yourself. See some male profiles, check them out. a bit like ‘body shopping’. In the traditional sphere the women used to feel like they are on display with the men coming in to meet and ‘grade’ them. Now the game is more equal I guess. Men and women have equal body shopping rights! Yay yay!
These are small steps to a new world. That’s why I have so much faith in the Indian dream playing out. Women – we haven’t factored the rise of the women in this economic dream. Their rise gives me great confidence.
So in the end my niece was disappointed. I had no reason for her to give me any degree of pain. My teeth were in fine form and my molars were well and truly filled with the old silver cavities long ago. There wasn’t much to fill in. No root canal that she could recommend and not even a teeny weeny cavity. She would get her revenge on some other day. Tada!
Monday, January 24, 2011
as good as it gets
One of my favourite bloggers put in a comment on the last post I had. She said that she felt my blog was reassuring, having just watched Blue Valentine and that she was also nervous about the future. Though she is nowhere near as dramatic, the post reminds me (though not directly) of a lot of young students that I meet while teaching as well as not so young turks at work (though all younger than me). When I talk about myself and Jasmine and the relationship I share, they go like – you guys are an inspiration or you guys are ‘IT’, you guys are so lucky to have found each other and many other such words.
While earlier when I was much younger I would beam with pride, as if Jasmine and I were Cupid’s special children. But as I got older and hopefully wiser, somehow these comments did not have the same reaction from me.
I have thought a lot about this many times. Jasmine and I are not the perfect couple. We are nowhere near the perfect couple. It’s not that we hold hands all the time or that we always agree on everything or that we don’t disagree on anything or by any metric you think of. We are as diverse a couple that can be. But we fight as hard as others, of course less than some others. The way she reacts to my anger irks me even more and my thought process is completely different from her. We have disagreements and everything else that normal couples have. We agree to a few basic things, such as parenting is the most important thing in our lives, thrift is a virtue to be celebrated, travel is an important objective, reading is the source of everything and we trust each other completely with spending. Everything else seems open to disagreement.
So we can’t be as blessed as Cupid would want us to be. So what’s it that makes us tick or I would put it – stand out. While I met a lot of younger folks and spoke to them, I think one theory kept popping into my mind. That’s it. It’s got to be the theory – it’s as simple as I started my college in 1991 and that was about the time I started going around with Jasmine.
What’s with that sexy date? That’s the year liberalisation started in India. We then started getting access to a lot of brands and products that were till then only found in the suitcases of foreign returned cousins. We watched foreign shows on video cassettes smuggled into India. Basically I thought and I have blogged about it, that pre 1991, we were a starved naked nation. English movies were being played in a handful of cinema halls such as Regal/ Sterling or Eros. A good movie with great reviews would be the destination for the family once or twice a year or at best four times a year. But to my mind the biggest thing was TV. Door Darshan was the state owned broadcaster who would have prime time of one hour everyday sandwiched between the Hindi and English news. It provided wholesome family entertainment, aimed at enhancing, maintain and strengthening family values and bonds.
I entered college with no brands and locally run cable TV and exited my studies in 98 with a proliferation of brands and channels. I saw MTV, Star and the rest entering with English dominated programming and quickly moving to the local language.
So what’s that got to do with my marriage? I think it’s pretty simple. Those days not too many couples would be going around. While the boys would have loved to, the girls were coy about accepting proposals and couples would generally keep their relationship largely secretive. The odds of being slapped if found out was very large. There would curbs on freedom, friends and pocket money. It was seen as a stupid distraction and was generally frowned upon. “I did not send you to college to have an affair young one”. So generally those days, couples were a rarity and they really had to fight all odds to keep the relationship alive. Nosey brothers, parents, neighbours and the lot who would look at the first chance to snitch and spoil your life. It was especially difficult for the girl’s side of the equation. Also catching private moments together was so difficult. There were no coffee shops to hang around and chat. We would have no access to cars to go for a long drive. Meeting each other would be only during the official stay out of house hours, which would mean – college hours. No cell phones and no internet would also mean absolute cut off when you say bye. You decided the next time and place well before you said your goodbyes. Hell I couldn’t even ever go to Jasmine’s house nor call her until our relationship was officially accepted. Four hard years of agonising. Jasmine would make random excuses and get friends to attribute my gifts to. Crazy man! Absolute nightmare.
We would live in the mortal fear of being found out. wow. Real tense days. Things eased up considerably after 91 for the rest of the batches. Batch after batch came in with different outlooks, a more modern sense of dressing and a progressive attitude. In my time, not many would wear jeans to college, with many wearing salwars and in traditional day the women would wear sarees. Today on traditional day the women wear salwars. To mind, the liberalisation brought about a change in attitude as Indians came increasingly aligned to the world. Cable and Satellite TV penetration (in one research) shows correlated strongly with the improvement of living standards of the women in India. At least a lot of metro India is now open to a whole host of things. Women working is one of them. It is considered lesser of a privilege and more of a right, which it should be.
The tension I felt in those days while courting jasmine is visibly missing. My THEORY and its only that MY THEORY is that when we of old were going around, there was no time to think about compatibility. You loved someone and it was for life. A woman could fall in love once and any more was not considered normal. A man would also commit largely forever. And when you were going around the external pressures were so high that I don’t think we ever looked inwards. What you mean by ‘making a relationship work’. Of course it worked. You said the ‘love’ word right. Done. Get married, have kids and carry on your life.
When my students come up to me and tell me that they are going around, I say great; so you getting married to the guy? I don’t know is the common reply. It took me some time to reconcile myself to this answer. What you mean you don’t know. You are going around right? Now I realise that people are tuned to a lot more things in the relationship. Things that I did not understand are basic stuff like compatibility, space, individuality. I did not understand it then and I am only able to understand it out of my context. For us, her friends are my friends and my friends are her friends. Whatever permission we got to stay out of home was used to stay with each other. What is private space? Each moment away I would be dying to talk or meet her as there was a complete cut off from each other.
I guess it’s something like adversity makes people come together, kind of thing. The world was against us and we had only each other. In times like that who can think of luxuries. And I feel lucky.
I entered college with one value system exited seeing another. Our relationship was born in a more conservative system that emphasised staying with each other more than anything else. I think I was able to see the transformation of India while I was between 15 to 23 years old. In Big Town India, the generation was the bridge between the have-nots and the haves. Crucially it gave me the glimpse into tradition and modern values, and allowed us to be imbibed in older values and not be threatened by the newer ones. Because we were in college in those times, we could look at the change and believe we were at the forefront of them and actually believe that it was us leading it. Truth be told, it would have happened irrespective of us. In fact I thought my generation was the soft wimpy one. In Mumbai – college politics were wiped out, drugs were a reduced menace, hip parties were boring and people were thinking getting jobs and getting married. Simple predictable people who just got swept in liberalisation and exited to a world that looked like a candy shop. I proudly bought my dad a pair of Reebok Sandals with my first pay. I had arrived.
So that’s my theory. We were too unsure about the future to be unsure about or relationships. That was the only sure thing we had. I could be wrong and possibly people are right – it is a cupid combination, but I think otherwise. I think both Jasmine and I did think there wasn’t another alternative. So when it has to work, then you don’t have options. You only focus on what works. Possibly if the world was more acceptable of teen relationships or forgiving of break ups, possibly then ... I could have accepted admiration.
When I was playing basketball, I was happy to have simple shoes. Not Reebok or Nike but just decent shoes. I remember my dad buying me a pair of good old ‘Power by Bata’ shoes. When all you needed were black shoes for school and canvas for days you have PE class, a specialised sneaker only to play was as good as it gets.
So I guess all it requires is a simple mindset that says there is no option, but I wouldn’t recommend it at all to Jispa. I would tell her to choose, to think through, to make a few mistakes and go ahead. It will come with its share of insecurities but I don’t think that as we get more ‘modern’ can we be less individualistic. It’s worth every bit of it. You might just miss the old fashioned romance, but you can catch on a few older movies. May I recommend one – it stars Aamir Khan and Madhuri Dixit – Dil. Or possibly the Salman Khan – Maine Pyaar Kiya. Then reassure yourself anew, that you are them and they are not you.
While earlier when I was much younger I would beam with pride, as if Jasmine and I were Cupid’s special children. But as I got older and hopefully wiser, somehow these comments did not have the same reaction from me.
I have thought a lot about this many times. Jasmine and I are not the perfect couple. We are nowhere near the perfect couple. It’s not that we hold hands all the time or that we always agree on everything or that we don’t disagree on anything or by any metric you think of. We are as diverse a couple that can be. But we fight as hard as others, of course less than some others. The way she reacts to my anger irks me even more and my thought process is completely different from her. We have disagreements and everything else that normal couples have. We agree to a few basic things, such as parenting is the most important thing in our lives, thrift is a virtue to be celebrated, travel is an important objective, reading is the source of everything and we trust each other completely with spending. Everything else seems open to disagreement.
So we can’t be as blessed as Cupid would want us to be. So what’s it that makes us tick or I would put it – stand out. While I met a lot of younger folks and spoke to them, I think one theory kept popping into my mind. That’s it. It’s got to be the theory – it’s as simple as I started my college in 1991 and that was about the time I started going around with Jasmine.
What’s with that sexy date? That’s the year liberalisation started in India. We then started getting access to a lot of brands and products that were till then only found in the suitcases of foreign returned cousins. We watched foreign shows on video cassettes smuggled into India. Basically I thought and I have blogged about it, that pre 1991, we were a starved naked nation. English movies were being played in a handful of cinema halls such as Regal/ Sterling or Eros. A good movie with great reviews would be the destination for the family once or twice a year or at best four times a year. But to my mind the biggest thing was TV. Door Darshan was the state owned broadcaster who would have prime time of one hour everyday sandwiched between the Hindi and English news. It provided wholesome family entertainment, aimed at enhancing, maintain and strengthening family values and bonds.
I entered college with no brands and locally run cable TV and exited my studies in 98 with a proliferation of brands and channels. I saw MTV, Star and the rest entering with English dominated programming and quickly moving to the local language.
So what’s that got to do with my marriage? I think it’s pretty simple. Those days not too many couples would be going around. While the boys would have loved to, the girls were coy about accepting proposals and couples would generally keep their relationship largely secretive. The odds of being slapped if found out was very large. There would curbs on freedom, friends and pocket money. It was seen as a stupid distraction and was generally frowned upon. “I did not send you to college to have an affair young one”. So generally those days, couples were a rarity and they really had to fight all odds to keep the relationship alive. Nosey brothers, parents, neighbours and the lot who would look at the first chance to snitch and spoil your life. It was especially difficult for the girl’s side of the equation. Also catching private moments together was so difficult. There were no coffee shops to hang around and chat. We would have no access to cars to go for a long drive. Meeting each other would be only during the official stay out of house hours, which would mean – college hours. No cell phones and no internet would also mean absolute cut off when you say bye. You decided the next time and place well before you said your goodbyes. Hell I couldn’t even ever go to Jasmine’s house nor call her until our relationship was officially accepted. Four hard years of agonising. Jasmine would make random excuses and get friends to attribute my gifts to. Crazy man! Absolute nightmare.
We would live in the mortal fear of being found out. wow. Real tense days. Things eased up considerably after 91 for the rest of the batches. Batch after batch came in with different outlooks, a more modern sense of dressing and a progressive attitude. In my time, not many would wear jeans to college, with many wearing salwars and in traditional day the women would wear sarees. Today on traditional day the women wear salwars. To mind, the liberalisation brought about a change in attitude as Indians came increasingly aligned to the world. Cable and Satellite TV penetration (in one research) shows correlated strongly with the improvement of living standards of the women in India. At least a lot of metro India is now open to a whole host of things. Women working is one of them. It is considered lesser of a privilege and more of a right, which it should be.
The tension I felt in those days while courting jasmine is visibly missing. My THEORY and its only that MY THEORY is that when we of old were going around, there was no time to think about compatibility. You loved someone and it was for life. A woman could fall in love once and any more was not considered normal. A man would also commit largely forever. And when you were going around the external pressures were so high that I don’t think we ever looked inwards. What you mean by ‘making a relationship work’. Of course it worked. You said the ‘love’ word right. Done. Get married, have kids and carry on your life.
When my students come up to me and tell me that they are going around, I say great; so you getting married to the guy? I don’t know is the common reply. It took me some time to reconcile myself to this answer. What you mean you don’t know. You are going around right? Now I realise that people are tuned to a lot more things in the relationship. Things that I did not understand are basic stuff like compatibility, space, individuality. I did not understand it then and I am only able to understand it out of my context. For us, her friends are my friends and my friends are her friends. Whatever permission we got to stay out of home was used to stay with each other. What is private space? Each moment away I would be dying to talk or meet her as there was a complete cut off from each other.
I guess it’s something like adversity makes people come together, kind of thing. The world was against us and we had only each other. In times like that who can think of luxuries. And I feel lucky.
I entered college with one value system exited seeing another. Our relationship was born in a more conservative system that emphasised staying with each other more than anything else. I think I was able to see the transformation of India while I was between 15 to 23 years old. In Big Town India, the generation was the bridge between the have-nots and the haves. Crucially it gave me the glimpse into tradition and modern values, and allowed us to be imbibed in older values and not be threatened by the newer ones. Because we were in college in those times, we could look at the change and believe we were at the forefront of them and actually believe that it was us leading it. Truth be told, it would have happened irrespective of us. In fact I thought my generation was the soft wimpy one. In Mumbai – college politics were wiped out, drugs were a reduced menace, hip parties were boring and people were thinking getting jobs and getting married. Simple predictable people who just got swept in liberalisation and exited to a world that looked like a candy shop. I proudly bought my dad a pair of Reebok Sandals with my first pay. I had arrived.
So that’s my theory. We were too unsure about the future to be unsure about or relationships. That was the only sure thing we had. I could be wrong and possibly people are right – it is a cupid combination, but I think otherwise. I think both Jasmine and I did think there wasn’t another alternative. So when it has to work, then you don’t have options. You only focus on what works. Possibly if the world was more acceptable of teen relationships or forgiving of break ups, possibly then ... I could have accepted admiration.
When I was playing basketball, I was happy to have simple shoes. Not Reebok or Nike but just decent shoes. I remember my dad buying me a pair of good old ‘Power by Bata’ shoes. When all you needed were black shoes for school and canvas for days you have PE class, a specialised sneaker only to play was as good as it gets.
So I guess all it requires is a simple mindset that says there is no option, but I wouldn’t recommend it at all to Jispa. I would tell her to choose, to think through, to make a few mistakes and go ahead. It will come with its share of insecurities but I don’t think that as we get more ‘modern’ can we be less individualistic. It’s worth every bit of it. You might just miss the old fashioned romance, but you can catch on a few older movies. May I recommend one – it stars Aamir Khan and Madhuri Dixit – Dil. Or possibly the Salman Khan – Maine Pyaar Kiya. Then reassure yourself anew, that you are them and they are not you.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
never forget...
A dozen years sounds quite a bit but it does pale in front of 21 years, especially when you are all of 35. Being young brave, foolish and over active hormones does have its advantages. The first words I ever uttered to Jasmine around 21 years ago were in the form of a proposal. Yup she refused but wanted to be friends nevertheless. She never admits to it, but I attribute her counter proposal to my charm and magnetism at the time. I chased her for more than a year (joined her college) and finally got her to agree to go out with me. Oh the perils of youth! Way back in those days a complain from her to her mom about this ‘stalker’ or ‘proposer’ or ‘dumb ass’ would got me kicked and beaten up by her folks and then mine. After 9 years of ups and downs, fights and reconciliations, promises and dreams later we got married. Yippee.
12 years ago we had no clue of the life facing us. All I wanted was 10 grand a month. I had no dream of my own house, or my child or anything. I thought I would do something good and make a honest life working hard. I thought life would be simple and uncomplicated. Relatively uncomplicated atleast. I might have been a bit naïve I guess. Life slapped me hard in the intervening years. Real hard. It also gave me many lessons, many that I have been proud to learn. But I guess I might have been happier never to have learnt. Life’s lessons are always costly. Whenever you learn something you give up your innocence and a part of your heart. Every time your brain increases you heart decreases.
But we do live in such a world don’t we. I never wondered why we do so. It has been our own creation.
Living and learning has taken an amazing toll on me. But it’s largely been my own doing, my own choices. Jasmine has never expected more from me. She has amazingly content and amazing non demanding where my career is concerned. Surely she has been as demanding of me as a family as I might have been of her. But I have never faced the issue of earning enough to keep up with my wife’s dreams. Today itself I was telling someone, Jasmine and I have been like chalk and cheese on many things. I am outgoing and loud and she is quiet and happy to hear. But funnily on so many other things we see to agree very well. Many times we keep thinking that whenever we have made a team to do anything, we generally end up doing it well. Her strengths and mine have been very very different. Also today I might be smart enough to not compete with her, but I think I was lucky that when I did not have that self confidence earlier, it was great that Jasmine never bothered to compete with me. It did not even occur to her. I liken her to a happy cow.
Middle class to the core, she abhors wastage and show of money; yet my biggest fight with respect to expensive things is that whenever I think of splurging on myself, she keeps nudging me to go ahead. I too am a carefull buyer. I like to spend less, not buy by brand tags and like to mull things over and almost covet stuff till I buy it. If I tell about it to Jasmine, she will keep nudging me to buy it and then I get influenced by it. I had to keep telling her not to poke me. I will be happiest if it hit the buy button on my own and not poked into it by her. But then that’s her and that’s me. 12 years of living together as man and wife. And till yesterday we almost forgot about it. A few years ago I genuinely forgot and my wife had to remind me and yesterday I reminded her that it tomorrow (i.e. today).
We are practical minded people who don’t really care about flowers or cakes or presents. We treat ourselves when we want to, where we want to and take buying decisions jointly. On almost everything. So then our surprise gifts are also few and far in between and stuff that we really want in any case. Like I have got perfumes, body wash and swimming googles as surprises and she has once got a towel form me. And all this too has been motivated by Jispa wanting to give something.
Pretty unromantic for ‘childhood sweethearts’? we are both pragmatists I guess.
I can’t close the post without mentioning my favorite line of hers. When I am stressed or worried her words of wisdom always has been ‘don’t take so much stress’. Just that. That’s her solution! Talk about an uncomplicated mind. And see me. A case of opposites reconciling, what say?
----
While courting I got a cassette recorded and presented it her. Our favorite song from that is still our favorite song of all time. The concert version especially. We love the part when the crowd sings along. You know it was priest from school who I was pretty close to who suggested that I put it in the cassette. He asked me love songs? Here is a love song! And he even gave me the cassette free of cost and I recorded it on his system. Father Ian Dolton. Thank you sir.
12 years ago we had no clue of the life facing us. All I wanted was 10 grand a month. I had no dream of my own house, or my child or anything. I thought I would do something good and make a honest life working hard. I thought life would be simple and uncomplicated. Relatively uncomplicated atleast. I might have been a bit naïve I guess. Life slapped me hard in the intervening years. Real hard. It also gave me many lessons, many that I have been proud to learn. But I guess I might have been happier never to have learnt. Life’s lessons are always costly. Whenever you learn something you give up your innocence and a part of your heart. Every time your brain increases you heart decreases.
But we do live in such a world don’t we. I never wondered why we do so. It has been our own creation.
Living and learning has taken an amazing toll on me. But it’s largely been my own doing, my own choices. Jasmine has never expected more from me. She has amazingly content and amazing non demanding where my career is concerned. Surely she has been as demanding of me as a family as I might have been of her. But I have never faced the issue of earning enough to keep up with my wife’s dreams. Today itself I was telling someone, Jasmine and I have been like chalk and cheese on many things. I am outgoing and loud and she is quiet and happy to hear. But funnily on so many other things we see to agree very well. Many times we keep thinking that whenever we have made a team to do anything, we generally end up doing it well. Her strengths and mine have been very very different. Also today I might be smart enough to not compete with her, but I think I was lucky that when I did not have that self confidence earlier, it was great that Jasmine never bothered to compete with me. It did not even occur to her. I liken her to a happy cow.
Middle class to the core, she abhors wastage and show of money; yet my biggest fight with respect to expensive things is that whenever I think of splurging on myself, she keeps nudging me to go ahead. I too am a carefull buyer. I like to spend less, not buy by brand tags and like to mull things over and almost covet stuff till I buy it. If I tell about it to Jasmine, she will keep nudging me to buy it and then I get influenced by it. I had to keep telling her not to poke me. I will be happiest if it hit the buy button on my own and not poked into it by her. But then that’s her and that’s me. 12 years of living together as man and wife. And till yesterday we almost forgot about it. A few years ago I genuinely forgot and my wife had to remind me and yesterday I reminded her that it tomorrow (i.e. today).
We are practical minded people who don’t really care about flowers or cakes or presents. We treat ourselves when we want to, where we want to and take buying decisions jointly. On almost everything. So then our surprise gifts are also few and far in between and stuff that we really want in any case. Like I have got perfumes, body wash and swimming googles as surprises and she has once got a towel form me. And all this too has been motivated by Jispa wanting to give something.
Pretty unromantic for ‘childhood sweethearts’? we are both pragmatists I guess.
I can’t close the post without mentioning my favorite line of hers. When I am stressed or worried her words of wisdom always has been ‘don’t take so much stress’. Just that. That’s her solution! Talk about an uncomplicated mind. And see me. A case of opposites reconciling, what say?
----
While courting I got a cassette recorded and presented it her. Our favorite song from that is still our favorite song of all time. The concert version especially. We love the part when the crowd sings along. You know it was priest from school who I was pretty close to who suggested that I put it in the cassette. He asked me love songs? Here is a love song! And he even gave me the cassette free of cost and I recorded it on his system. Father Ian Dolton. Thank you sir.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
random noise generator
It’s easy to get used to a car in Mumbai. In Mumbai you have the option of getting jammed in a train or you can choose to get stuck in traffic in a bus. The train will kill you by an overdose of carbon dioxide from the stuffiness and the hordes of people crammed in and the bus will kill you by carbon monoxide from vehicular pollution. The single oxide bonding creates for a far more lethal gas and possibly the reason I prefer the train to the bus. While I was in nariman point, I happily took to the train as means of transport. Its frequency is better and it beats the vehicular pollution and the traffic jams. Travelling in bus is such a blackening experience.
Today the car went for servicing and Jasmine left me at Kings Circle for the bus. Waiting at the bus stop for the bus, all these years and nothing has changed. There still are no clear route maps explaining which bus will go through which route. The only thing that has changed is that the bus stops have gotten slightly better looking. This not necessarily better for the commuter, but better for the advertiser who uses the top of the bus stop as a hoarding. In my company we use them well and they sure are effective, but nowhere is the commuter brought into the equation. We could use the back of the bus stop as an effective communication tool about the bus routes. But in Mumbai, why bother? The technology to find out the route is as ancient as mankind. Ask the guy next to you or scramble around as the bus comes in to figure where the conductor is and shout ‘yeh worli jaayega’ (will it got o worli?). invariably the guy is in a tear away hurry and answers you as he rings the bell to signal the driver to move on. Today morning, it was especially difficult with all the windows closed as Mumbai is having a bit of a colder weather than usual. Nopes not cold, just colder than normal. So I was left at the bus stop with the knowledge than was ten years old. 85, 92 and 93 will go. I also remember a 90 numbered bus but that was no where to be seen. Possibly its discontinued or changed its route.
The roads are also supremely polluted and you can feel the pollution and dust hit you in the face as you wait at the bus stop. All it takes is a vehicle running past at full speed on the main road for it to sand blast your face with unburnt carbon. Luckily my bus came in soon enough and I was able to get a relatively empty looking bus. There seems to have been a spate of reservations done on the bus. Now there are around ten seats reserved for ladies and three for the handicapped and another six (I think) for the old. I was always fundamentally opposed to reservations for women and I feel they probably need to be treated on par with men. I understand old and handicapped for sure. But these reservations have also have more questions. When there are reservations, is it right for the women to sit in the non reserved seats. Shouldn’t the man insist on getting that seat? But those are simple practicalities and I probably should not really wonder too much about them. But what I do hate is what happened.
In the past I have sat unknowingly in the women’s seat when they were first introduced. It’s not like you can’t sit there. You just have to get up if a woman comes in and asks for her seat. But the women have been so rude and have demanded that you get up. First up. no request, no smile, just a rude ‘get up’. this tim ei was sitting in the senior citizens seat. One guy came in and to my luck asked the guy seated in front of me to get up. Again not too politely. He got up immediately. I too got up to ask him to sit at my seat but he sat in front in any case. I could hear the guy next to him (senior citizen) tell the newly seated guy that ‘see people just don’t understand’. What the hell yaar. It completely pissed me off. The poor guy got up without a fuss. You really expect the seat to be empty and people to stand while there is an empty seat. Soon enough a lady (oldish but not a senior citizen) was standing next to me. None of the women who were younger offered her a seat from the ladies seat. I got up and offered her mine. In any case I did not want to be berated by and older man who might come along. So I stood happily. It’s easier standing when you have to make the journey only once in a while. If you have to do it every day you might want to box some of the people’s head. I can still understand the older men. They tend to get cranky with age but I see no excuse with the women.
Impolite, disrespectful and full of themselves. Just a massive pain in the neck. Expecting preferential treatment and concern and then turning on their own ilk with ease. I have immense respect for the women workforce in the country. As I interview for people I see that women are much smarter and better than men. Possibly the huge pressure that they fight at home and at the workplace, makes for an efficient sieve, ensuring that only the very best survive. Whatever the cause, but I see them working brilliantly, shoulder to shoulder and not succumbing to pressure. Women have in them to be equal to men. Only if they rise above the condescending acts that society puts them through. Special considerations, reservations etc. They must fight them and actively resist them. Only by resisting them will they show the men that they are equal, that they cannot be discriminated against. I see it happening in India. At least I see it happening where I work. At least at these levels, middle management and lower, I see no discrimination in pay or work. They earn for their work done and are equal to any man at their level. I see India changing.
Girls are growing up to wear pants. I see this change even in small town India. Pants / jeans are a big leap for them. They will grow up to be more independent minded than what their mothers were. Slowly their fathers will grow accustomed to them being equal. Like some research that shows that cable and satellite penetration showed a big correlation to women welfare, I too believe that this impacts what women are “allowed” to wear and then it manifest in changing mindsets. For themselves and others. Also if they treat each other with a little more respect, in busses and in trains and treat others with confidence (I am assuming their rudeness towards men comes from insecurity), they would move a lot further than they are currently.
I have always wanted to treat Jispa as equal as a boy. In fact sometimes Jasmine thinks I am making her grow up as a boy. But I think that’s the way it must be. No special considerations as a girl. You fall down and if a boy is expected not to cry then a girl must not as well. She is going to grow up in a place where men and women will be treated the same, will be expected to be treated on par. Then why must she be any weaker? If you believe in yourself then the world be bend over and believe in you. No self doubt and no self pity. I was just explaining to Jispa the other day. I don’t remember what she said but I said. No self pity. No feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t think that shit is only happening to you. Stand up tall and deliver. Shit happens. Get up and no self pity. She got it at the time. She even used it in another context and asked me ‘isn’t that self pity’. Yup. That’s the way. When shit happens, as it will, you can’t get down and cry but you have to get up and see what you can do about it. At the very least laugh. Shit man.
On the singing bit – we told Jispa that of all the things we can’t teach her to sing. Sorry Jispa. And yesterday, she was obviously not selected for the singing contest. She was woefully out of tune. When I spoke to her in the night, she did not seem at all disappointed. That’s cool. At least I am relieved. Training her in something I have zilch expertise in was creating tremendous pressure on me. I could see her mistakes but under no circumstance could I have known how to correct her. Whoops.
Today the car went for servicing and Jasmine left me at Kings Circle for the bus. Waiting at the bus stop for the bus, all these years and nothing has changed. There still are no clear route maps explaining which bus will go through which route. The only thing that has changed is that the bus stops have gotten slightly better looking. This not necessarily better for the commuter, but better for the advertiser who uses the top of the bus stop as a hoarding. In my company we use them well and they sure are effective, but nowhere is the commuter brought into the equation. We could use the back of the bus stop as an effective communication tool about the bus routes. But in Mumbai, why bother? The technology to find out the route is as ancient as mankind. Ask the guy next to you or scramble around as the bus comes in to figure where the conductor is and shout ‘yeh worli jaayega’ (will it got o worli?). invariably the guy is in a tear away hurry and answers you as he rings the bell to signal the driver to move on. Today morning, it was especially difficult with all the windows closed as Mumbai is having a bit of a colder weather than usual. Nopes not cold, just colder than normal. So I was left at the bus stop with the knowledge than was ten years old. 85, 92 and 93 will go. I also remember a 90 numbered bus but that was no where to be seen. Possibly its discontinued or changed its route.
The roads are also supremely polluted and you can feel the pollution and dust hit you in the face as you wait at the bus stop. All it takes is a vehicle running past at full speed on the main road for it to sand blast your face with unburnt carbon. Luckily my bus came in soon enough and I was able to get a relatively empty looking bus. There seems to have been a spate of reservations done on the bus. Now there are around ten seats reserved for ladies and three for the handicapped and another six (I think) for the old. I was always fundamentally opposed to reservations for women and I feel they probably need to be treated on par with men. I understand old and handicapped for sure. But these reservations have also have more questions. When there are reservations, is it right for the women to sit in the non reserved seats. Shouldn’t the man insist on getting that seat? But those are simple practicalities and I probably should not really wonder too much about them. But what I do hate is what happened.
In the past I have sat unknowingly in the women’s seat when they were first introduced. It’s not like you can’t sit there. You just have to get up if a woman comes in and asks for her seat. But the women have been so rude and have demanded that you get up. First up. no request, no smile, just a rude ‘get up’. this tim ei was sitting in the senior citizens seat. One guy came in and to my luck asked the guy seated in front of me to get up. Again not too politely. He got up immediately. I too got up to ask him to sit at my seat but he sat in front in any case. I could hear the guy next to him (senior citizen) tell the newly seated guy that ‘see people just don’t understand’. What the hell yaar. It completely pissed me off. The poor guy got up without a fuss. You really expect the seat to be empty and people to stand while there is an empty seat. Soon enough a lady (oldish but not a senior citizen) was standing next to me. None of the women who were younger offered her a seat from the ladies seat. I got up and offered her mine. In any case I did not want to be berated by and older man who might come along. So I stood happily. It’s easier standing when you have to make the journey only once in a while. If you have to do it every day you might want to box some of the people’s head. I can still understand the older men. They tend to get cranky with age but I see no excuse with the women.
Impolite, disrespectful and full of themselves. Just a massive pain in the neck. Expecting preferential treatment and concern and then turning on their own ilk with ease. I have immense respect for the women workforce in the country. As I interview for people I see that women are much smarter and better than men. Possibly the huge pressure that they fight at home and at the workplace, makes for an efficient sieve, ensuring that only the very best survive. Whatever the cause, but I see them working brilliantly, shoulder to shoulder and not succumbing to pressure. Women have in them to be equal to men. Only if they rise above the condescending acts that society puts them through. Special considerations, reservations etc. They must fight them and actively resist them. Only by resisting them will they show the men that they are equal, that they cannot be discriminated against. I see it happening in India. At least I see it happening where I work. At least at these levels, middle management and lower, I see no discrimination in pay or work. They earn for their work done and are equal to any man at their level. I see India changing.
Girls are growing up to wear pants. I see this change even in small town India. Pants / jeans are a big leap for them. They will grow up to be more independent minded than what their mothers were. Slowly their fathers will grow accustomed to them being equal. Like some research that shows that cable and satellite penetration showed a big correlation to women welfare, I too believe that this impacts what women are “allowed” to wear and then it manifest in changing mindsets. For themselves and others. Also if they treat each other with a little more respect, in busses and in trains and treat others with confidence (I am assuming their rudeness towards men comes from insecurity), they would move a lot further than they are currently.
I have always wanted to treat Jispa as equal as a boy. In fact sometimes Jasmine thinks I am making her grow up as a boy. But I think that’s the way it must be. No special considerations as a girl. You fall down and if a boy is expected not to cry then a girl must not as well. She is going to grow up in a place where men and women will be treated the same, will be expected to be treated on par. Then why must she be any weaker? If you believe in yourself then the world be bend over and believe in you. No self doubt and no self pity. I was just explaining to Jispa the other day. I don’t remember what she said but I said. No self pity. No feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t think that shit is only happening to you. Stand up tall and deliver. Shit happens. Get up and no self pity. She got it at the time. She even used it in another context and asked me ‘isn’t that self pity’. Yup. That’s the way. When shit happens, as it will, you can’t get down and cry but you have to get up and see what you can do about it. At the very least laugh. Shit man.
On the singing bit – we told Jispa that of all the things we can’t teach her to sing. Sorry Jispa. And yesterday, she was obviously not selected for the singing contest. She was woefully out of tune. When I spoke to her in the night, she did not seem at all disappointed. That’s cool. At least I am relieved. Training her in something I have zilch expertise in was creating tremendous pressure on me. I could see her mistakes but under no circumstance could I have known how to correct her. Whoops.
Monday, January 17, 2011
connections
Sometimes it takes a simple strain in a chest to write a post. Huh? Well if you realise the reason I write and if you are familiar with my family’s medical history then you might better understand my thought process.
I write this as a note to my daughter who might be able to understand the choices I took and the fun I have had and the growing up I underwent while I had her as my daughter. Thats the ciomplicated part. The easy part is that in my family, we all males seem to be dying the day we are born. All the males from my dad’s side suffered cardiac arrests. They were all hale and hearty till the very end, suffering from no other complications like diabetes, blood pressure or other complications. Simple blocked arteries. My dad got his first attack while we were in Ahmedabad attending my cousin’s wedding. He was around 45 years old. He second and fatal attack came in 13 years later.
I have had a few long conversations with dad. I have hung on to every word he said. I have tried to understand his thought process and his value construct. It has helped shape me tremendously as a person. He was largely at home in those 13 years and they possibly gave rise to the opportunity to have these conversations. Who knows, if those 13 years would not have been granted then what would life have turned out. here I am not so worried about the financial/ practical implication but the more important philosophical implications. I learnt to read a lot from one boss – dharen, and I have had a few such important guiding forces, but I guess my dad for me has remained my moral compass, which is essentially on which everything else was slapped on.
Like when I listen to any one, it’s not what he says that interests me, it is the thought process. The authors of the blogs I read or the lecturers I go for. It’s always the thought process. Once the thought process is in place, the rest would follow. So when I meet smart people I am instinctively drawn to their way of thinking. How does she respond to issues? How does he raise issues, how does she identify issues etc? So when monkey follows, the monkey is slightly more evolved and smarter. That’s how I think I improve, not by merely imitating but by keenly following like a good detective tracking his target. Getting into the mind of the target. I guess I might do better if I do the same by getting into the mind of people who tend to piss me off. But then that’s too much of an effort. Wasted effort. I would rather concentrate and use my energies into people I admire rather than loathe. But ya the latter do give you insights into what not to do and what you definitely don’t want to become.
So these days I have been fairly busy but enough not to write a post. And one little chest niggle (probably indigestion) now and it made me reach out for the word processor and type furiously what came to my mind. While I was writing I also checked on the Google for symptoms during an attack to be doubly sure.
Here they are
If you have never been diagnosed with heart disease but develop any of the following symptoms, consider the possibility that you have angina. Make an appointment with your doctor, and arrange for a cardiac screening as soon as possible.
• Chest pain that comes with physical exertion and eases with rest.
• Chest pain that is brought on by emotional stress.
• New or unusual shortness of breath-if you suddenly find you're winded after climbing a flight of stairs when you used to be able to take the same flight of stairs in stride, for example.
• Indigestion, particularly if indigestion is unusual for you, if it does not respond to antacids, or if you do not associate its occurrence with eating.
Talk about being well prepared or simply put – paranoia. This paranoia drives me to be insured and fill in my mediclaim checks on time.
But write I must and it has given me more meaning. I hope someday it will give Jispa some meaning. Hopefully I live enough to have some ‘life chats’ with Jispa. Hopefully she likes them and doesn’t get bored of them. She is growing up fast and she is likely to get actively disinterested in her dad’s voice.
Just the other day I was at this new hair salon at king’s circle getting my hair cut for 99 bucks. I was trying this new place and I feel that at 99 itself I am overpaying but my good old men’s saloon I think is now losing it ... finally. Its getting sad by the day and the AC might not work or the guys cutting are really not up to mark. But at 99 this place called hair expresso by Javed Habibi (I think)is still better than some other salons in the area that charge more than this. So at this place I walked in to see a bare bone salon, nicely simple though. A middle aged guy around 45 plus or so was getting his hair cut along with a girl and another person. A decent mix. The girl was quite finicky and a little unsure about herself and the cut she was getting. Afterwards I realised that the guy was her dad and her dad was reassuring her ‘beta, it’s ok and trust the hair stylist. She knows her job’. I couldn’t help wondering, would I ever take Jispa when she older for a hair cut. Would she want me around? I guess not. The odds are way off. From my side and hers. And even if I am around to foot the bill, I am not likely (I hope not) to interfere in her conversation with her stylist. But it’s interesting how the city has moved. From an exclusive mens and womens domain which the salons used to be, now we can have daddy and beti getting a cut side by side. Some trivia – I think Jispa’s first hair cut was done while she was around two and she sat on my lap at the time.
I don’t know when the umbilical cord gets detached and by whom and in which respects / situations. Sometimes I like to be attached to my daughter and sometimes not. Ditto for her. These days Jispa is getting extra attached before sleeping. She insists that one of us puts her to sleep. Why is that? I have to sleep beside her and read or at least sit beside her with my legs on her bed and read or at the very least sit around the room. It funny. We wonder why she regresses into these demands from time to time. And I don’t know what to do. Be the doting father who agrees or be the guy who says ‘ grow up kid’. Jasmine has given up on trying to stop me. I always get up and give in. I like it myself, but I always bargain with her that tomorrow she would have to sleep. So yesterday she said that tomorrow I will sleep on my own.... she then added a line saying... I don’t know what will happen day after tomorrow. A daughter of a banker will always add a disclaimer I guess. Fine print!
I write this as a note to my daughter who might be able to understand the choices I took and the fun I have had and the growing up I underwent while I had her as my daughter. Thats the ciomplicated part. The easy part is that in my family, we all males seem to be dying the day we are born. All the males from my dad’s side suffered cardiac arrests. They were all hale and hearty till the very end, suffering from no other complications like diabetes, blood pressure or other complications. Simple blocked arteries. My dad got his first attack while we were in Ahmedabad attending my cousin’s wedding. He was around 45 years old. He second and fatal attack came in 13 years later.
I have had a few long conversations with dad. I have hung on to every word he said. I have tried to understand his thought process and his value construct. It has helped shape me tremendously as a person. He was largely at home in those 13 years and they possibly gave rise to the opportunity to have these conversations. Who knows, if those 13 years would not have been granted then what would life have turned out. here I am not so worried about the financial/ practical implication but the more important philosophical implications. I learnt to read a lot from one boss – dharen, and I have had a few such important guiding forces, but I guess my dad for me has remained my moral compass, which is essentially on which everything else was slapped on.
Like when I listen to any one, it’s not what he says that interests me, it is the thought process. The authors of the blogs I read or the lecturers I go for. It’s always the thought process. Once the thought process is in place, the rest would follow. So when I meet smart people I am instinctively drawn to their way of thinking. How does she respond to issues? How does he raise issues, how does she identify issues etc? So when monkey follows, the monkey is slightly more evolved and smarter. That’s how I think I improve, not by merely imitating but by keenly following like a good detective tracking his target. Getting into the mind of the target. I guess I might do better if I do the same by getting into the mind of people who tend to piss me off. But then that’s too much of an effort. Wasted effort. I would rather concentrate and use my energies into people I admire rather than loathe. But ya the latter do give you insights into what not to do and what you definitely don’t want to become.
So these days I have been fairly busy but enough not to write a post. And one little chest niggle (probably indigestion) now and it made me reach out for the word processor and type furiously what came to my mind. While I was writing I also checked on the Google for symptoms during an attack to be doubly sure.
Here they are
If you have never been diagnosed with heart disease but develop any of the following symptoms, consider the possibility that you have angina. Make an appointment with your doctor, and arrange for a cardiac screening as soon as possible.
• Chest pain that comes with physical exertion and eases with rest.
• Chest pain that is brought on by emotional stress.
• New or unusual shortness of breath-if you suddenly find you're winded after climbing a flight of stairs when you used to be able to take the same flight of stairs in stride, for example.
• Indigestion, particularly if indigestion is unusual for you, if it does not respond to antacids, or if you do not associate its occurrence with eating.
Talk about being well prepared or simply put – paranoia. This paranoia drives me to be insured and fill in my mediclaim checks on time.
But write I must and it has given me more meaning. I hope someday it will give Jispa some meaning. Hopefully I live enough to have some ‘life chats’ with Jispa. Hopefully she likes them and doesn’t get bored of them. She is growing up fast and she is likely to get actively disinterested in her dad’s voice.
Just the other day I was at this new hair salon at king’s circle getting my hair cut for 99 bucks. I was trying this new place and I feel that at 99 itself I am overpaying but my good old men’s saloon I think is now losing it ... finally. Its getting sad by the day and the AC might not work or the guys cutting are really not up to mark. But at 99 this place called hair expresso by Javed Habibi (I think)is still better than some other salons in the area that charge more than this. So at this place I walked in to see a bare bone salon, nicely simple though. A middle aged guy around 45 plus or so was getting his hair cut along with a girl and another person. A decent mix. The girl was quite finicky and a little unsure about herself and the cut she was getting. Afterwards I realised that the guy was her dad and her dad was reassuring her ‘beta, it’s ok and trust the hair stylist. She knows her job’. I couldn’t help wondering, would I ever take Jispa when she older for a hair cut. Would she want me around? I guess not. The odds are way off. From my side and hers. And even if I am around to foot the bill, I am not likely (I hope not) to interfere in her conversation with her stylist. But it’s interesting how the city has moved. From an exclusive mens and womens domain which the salons used to be, now we can have daddy and beti getting a cut side by side. Some trivia – I think Jispa’s first hair cut was done while she was around two and she sat on my lap at the time.
I don’t know when the umbilical cord gets detached and by whom and in which respects / situations. Sometimes I like to be attached to my daughter and sometimes not. Ditto for her. These days Jispa is getting extra attached before sleeping. She insists that one of us puts her to sleep. Why is that? I have to sleep beside her and read or at least sit beside her with my legs on her bed and read or at the very least sit around the room. It funny. We wonder why she regresses into these demands from time to time. And I don’t know what to do. Be the doting father who agrees or be the guy who says ‘ grow up kid’. Jasmine has given up on trying to stop me. I always get up and give in. I like it myself, but I always bargain with her that tomorrow she would have to sleep. So yesterday she said that tomorrow I will sleep on my own.... she then added a line saying... I don’t know what will happen day after tomorrow. A daughter of a banker will always add a disclaimer I guess. Fine print!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
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
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
Monday, January 10, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, January 03, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, December 27, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, December 24, 2010
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
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
Thursday, December 09, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, December 06, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
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.
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.
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