dont read this. i wrote it but i too did not read it afterwards. i dont i ever will.

Sometimes I get too tired. Mentally and that affects me physically. In fact I have been trying to understand my true purpose. What is it that I am supposed to do here? Am I supposed to do what the company wants me to or do what I think the company desperately needs? The thing with this is that I know that I can do much more than what the company wants or expects me to do. Performing to expectations is difficult because the expectations are so dam low. So how does one motivate oneself to come to office and deliver on low expectations? I am sure I don’t want to deliver on these low expectations. I have to do better. My benchmarks are something I create on my own. Now this brings me to the interesting conundrum. How do I get up in the morning and push my self. What is my reason to live? What is it that makes me get up everyday, face all the pressure and push myself?
I thought I found a new ‘ikigai’. People. My people. I was always in love with my team. In fact many years ago I struck upon a mental formula. No matter how irritating the person or no matter how much the person and I are not likely to get along, always say to yourself – no, I must make this work. That is the only way to work. Sometimes great luck comes your way and you are blessed with a great team and sometimes you are not. And I can’t even take credit for great teams because I have in the past handpicked outstanding people and complete misfits. So I have no statistical evidence to prove my superior people picking skills. I might believe to have it but the truth is that I don’t know. Possibly what I can say is that the people that I tend to pick in the team are slightly better than average and definitely more aggressive than most. I tend to abhor meek employees at interviews.
So now I come in to office trying to mould this team, trying to create careers and mindsets for this team. Trying to push this team into doing better. That is something that drives me. The problem with the approach I have is that it seems to be arrogant. Who on earth am I to play God with this team. Why should I be the deliverance? What makes me qualified to do so? Is it in their interest that I do so? And do they even want it or ask for it?
To which I think possibly not. Possibly they don’t want it. Possibly they don’t ask for it. Possibly they even hate me for it. They probably don’t believe in it and possibly think of my attitude as condescending or overbearing. So while it works with some it completely becomes a cropper with others. I understand this and I don’t even have a great issue with this. What I do recognise is that I must not let this show up as arrogance. Come I have come to teach you. Sometimes I am sure I would be guilty of throwing this arrogance around, but I also realise that I must change. It must begin with deep introspection. The bigger thing is not the pain associated with dealing with criticism. That is still ok to handle. I have been made a villain many a times in the past and probably rightly so. The biggest challenge is the energy that something like this takes up, or should I suck up.
When you talk to someone and try and bring about change it not possible at this moment for me to take a disconnected stand. I am outside and helping you. How must I be away from it all and yet feel deeply. Every time I try and help someone move along, push them and urge them, I end up losing a bit of me. As if I have left a bit of me in every person in my team. That is where the trouble starts. Now by leaving a bit of me everywhere I am in effect tying my emotions to them. I am open to them. I am vulnerable to them and their growths, feelings, disappointments and such. How much emotion can I have?
That causes more stress than anything else. How do I love without attachment? How do I care with bothering about being cared in return? How do I speak the truth without worry that my words could be misconstrued? These are tough questions that I have no answers to. Jaininsm is interesting in a way that it says that at the highest level, the monk must not be bothered about teaching. He must live his life as he seems right and must not even have the desire to preach. He merely lives and his life serves as an example to those around, inspiring by mere presence and not by intending to inspire. Hmmm.
Wow. Can that be possible? Can one love so much so as to conquer love itself? Can one have so much faith in oneself? What about mere mortals like us? Can we achieve bits of this? Possibly yes. Can I simply state an axiom from time to time and let people drive their own meaning. Should I talk less when I teach? Should I leave people to find their own meaning in words that I found deep meaning in?
Its possible, isn’t it? When I teach Jispa science of mathematics I have a desire to be precise in my teaching and in her learning, but when we talk about other stuff, about behaviour or attitude; I let her get it herself. I talk much less and let a lot of things hang. Possibly I do that because she is still to young. But possibly there is a lesson in there somewhere. Must I merely state and leave things to interpretation. The biggest lessons one learns when understands the meaning of words oneself, through ones own discovery.
My gurus have been teaching much after I left their shadows. I have learnt by their absence much more than by their presence. In fact slowly slowly their truth has dawned upon me. By experience and by the wisdom that their words come back to haunt. They ring hard in my ears.
My yoga has suffered by my thoughts. I end up clearing my mind through the time I spend doing yoga. But that is not the ideal yoga. Yoga is being able to keep it all at bay. My yoga is my active period. Its when I can see clearly and think straight. But I know that the mind free of thought is most clear. I promise to try and not think. I should be clean of thought and of office and of life.
I think I have this desire to be understood and understand. Possibly I am asking too much. interestingly, right now I am reading the book The Moral Animal. This tries to explain our behaviour using Darwin’s natural selection. Hopefully I would be better placed to understand myself. Hopefully I might get a better explanation of what I desire, think and act. Why we do such things. Why we humans are so queer. Hopefully that would bring me to some senses. Hopefully it would put my mind at ease.
This blog has been quite strongly introspective. And I have been noxiously short of mental energy right now. The day is starting and a lot is left to be done. Hopefully I would be able to channel my energy right. Hope fully I would be able to make some difference to my life starting today.
How many times I have used ‘hopefully’ and ‘possibly’ on this blog? I know I use that often. And the reason I do so is because I don’t know the truth. And the density of these words reflect my mental state. But you know what – one of the traits of mine that I truly thank god for having – resilience. I know whatever I get I will be back. No matter how bad it looks, I will bounce. BOUNCE BOUNCE. That is good. Yes. The ability of a crazy ball to bounce back. To use the spin every time to spin like crazy and in opposite directions. The more you spin it the crazier it moves around. I love that analogy. I am a crazy ball. I will be back.
I started this blog with a slight hunch in my shoulders and a certain loss of energy and I am ending it with some verve in my breath. The crazy ball is back. Wow. Let’s see what I do today? Thank you blog. It great to write this stuff. I don’t even care who reads it. I don’t most would. It’s too long and too emotional. I don’t think Jispa might also read it too much. I don’t anybody but I would get any lessons from it. But the fact that I am writing is helping me clear my own thoughts, my own actions.
Let’s see if I can run through my new found enlightenment without running afoul of too many people.

winning matters?

It’s a difficult thing to sit inside a secluded cabin and work. I think there are more distractions inside a cabin than outside. So today I decided to finish a lot of my pending work. Not that it would not have been possible inside. But a change in settings helps the mental make up. the cabin is good for meetings but is practically useless to get any work done. Too many distractions. And the worst part of it all is that I don’t get the mental frame to write my blog. BAH!
To continue from last time’s entry, Jispa and her swim team got called into the head of department’s office on Friday. They were given the news that they needed to turn in their silver and they would get a GOLD instead. Some back room discussions seem to have prevailed. Interesting. Well talk about having your cake and eating it too. She got the lesson for by winning silver yet she got her Gold! There also everyone in her team was congratulating her for the amazing performance. Aint a proud dad?
To top the weekend was the amazing world cup match played on Saturday. I always felt that India would never ever again lift the world cup and definitely not in my lifetime. I remember the t20 world cup and I was in London at the time. I had this meeting scheduled when India was playing its bolwing their last ten overs. I was in my London office and we were trying to watch the match streaming on a website. Obviously the bandwidth got choked as India was close to winning. I told my head of ops at the time. Boss, I don’t think India will ever win a world cup in my lifetime. I was too small when we won in ’83. And I don’t remember it at all. I wasn’t going to miss this one. I told him lets go to the pub across and watch it dude. He did not require too much egging on. Pronto I witnesses history and I thought that image will remain with me for the rest of my life. Till... Saturday. Oh god! We won the world cup. WE WON THE WORLDCUP. We were screaming and dancing and jumping in joy. We went to eth streets to see Mumbai celebrate on the streets. Everyone was friends with each other. People ‘hi fiving’ each other. I just wanted to be a part of the celebrations.
So I stood on the circle, near the edge with the Indian flag and just screamed at all the guys who passed by on their bikes and cars. They screamed back and I raised my hand. They instinctively reacted and slapped my hand on their way. A small gesture brought me closer to the whole of Mumbai. Actually whole of India. It’s funny how we all on the street were suddenly feeling like one. Its a great feeling. A victory such as thus can somehow unite everybody.
Hmm... It seems like an interesting lesson in management. It is so important to be united and what better way to feel united than to celebrate victories. I think my matter of fact approach to life probably costs me dear. I am happy to quietly celebrate and walk around but I think it’s important that we celebrate together. One can’t be a lone twerp all the time. I think there are two things that get a team together – one is a common adversity typically in the form of an enemy and the other a victory. While we all close ranks on a adversity its becomes critical to close ranks and feel the victory.
Simple lesson learnt. Not that it was not there in my mind but sometimes an incident helps in imbibing it. It becomes a story, a vivid example that connects. Hopefully this will keep the example in my mind and help in me being a slightly more happier person. Hopefully.

we went on the streets with Jispa in tow. hopefully she will remember the big party when India won!

how you played your game...

Yesterdays was Jispa’s swim meet at her school. Since she could take part in only three events she chose to skip the butterfly and opt for the breast stroke in addition to freestyle and back stroke. This year she is in the third standard and she is at a disadvantage as the thirds compete with the fourths to take the medals. To add pressure some of the kids in the fourth standard are inter school gold medallists. So this year we aren’t really expecting much to happen for her in terms of medals.
The format here is all time trials. Which in effect means that everybody gets one swim and the best timings are taken to decide the medal table. In her free style time trail she swam pretty neat and fast to win her trial but she managed a credible finish overall but missed the podium. In the backstroke there was no competition and she managed to crack the gold. And on her breast stroke – she is absolutely pathetic and came in last. Somehow she has managed to do well in back stroke but completely bounce out of the breaststroke. Today she and I were joking on how really bad her breast stroke works. It’s nice to see her admit and laugh on her own rubbish strokes.
The swim meets are normally very boring and I take almost no interest in them. The races are nothing exciting and I too have had a policy of being dead pan in seeing them. No show of emotions. Also competing in a school which has only two divisions and 30 kids in it is not a real test of speed. So its largely a non event. But last year I saw something I thought was amiss. Jispa swam well but seemed to run out of steam. She inexplicably slowed down half way through her races. Something was wrong. Yes. Her nutrition. She had some idlis which is nothing but steamed fermented rice flour cakes. That can’t be the food of a sports person. I have been trying to toy with nutrition and me with my limited readings and my empirical tests on the cricket field. Something was surely wrong with her food. So this time, in the morning I ensured she had a diet that seemed to work for me. A healthy dose of breakfast cereal. So it’s basically wheat flakes, corn flakes, shredded wheat, a few chocos and strawberries with a little milk. Jispa doesn’t digest milk too well and so next time Jasmine and me will experiment with soy milk and figure if that works for her. then we packed her snack box with a paneer, sandwiches, cheese, nuts, a healthy ladoo that has wheat, chocolates and bananas. So she would have a good mix of high release and slow release sugars. I know I am not a nutritionist but at least she got a better meal than most of her other friends. More suited to physical exertion. This what has worked for me and I suspected it worked for her.
So my contribution was that nutrition and I kept telling only one thing – I don’t care if you win or lose but reach out, cup your hands and listen to your biceps. That’s all I want you to do. That’s all.
The swim meets are boring till you get to the final act. The relay. Jispa’s exploits ensured she was the anchor of her tiger house relay team with kids from each standard taking part. As the race progressed the tiger house was in the second place with the third and fourth place being far behind. It was pretty ok till the penultimate person jumping in. The relay is one place where I find my emotions going haywire. You end up cheering like crazy and you never know who the hell will some through next. The last swimmer for the first place team jumped in and I started counting the seconds before Jispa would get a chance to jump in. 1,2,3,4... I remember counting till ten. Jispa had a ten second disadvantage. Oh shit no chance. Later in the video that Jasmine shot, it was more like 6 seconds, but I guess time was flying at a different pace at the meet.
I asked Jispa what was going on through her mind when she was about to swim. She said that all she was thinking was that ‘reach out, cup your hands and listen to your biceps and catch up with the other girl. That was all on my mind. I told myself that, I must catch up’. She finally got her tag to jump in. she also said that she thought she had a great dive. Her coach had taught her to dive with her head looking down and behind, as far behind as she could see. She followed it and she thought she did well.
So a 6 to 8 second lead is almost half the length of the pool. Fat chance. Suddenly as Jispa began furiously swimming, the lead was getting short. It’s hardly a 20 – 25 second dash. Oh god, Jispa is actually catching up. She still has steam in her strokes. Her legs are kicking furiously. Somewhere near the three fourths, she had caught up. Somehow the lead swimmer seemed to have lost some kick in her swim. Jispa was just too fast. The last few meters and both are neck to neck. I am screaming, the whole meet is screaming, Jasmine is screaming, Go, GO,GO,GO,GO... yes... and the final touch. AAAAAAA. I jump in joy. It was a photo finish. Too close to call, but almost everyone at the meet was sure. Jispa had done it for the Tiger house. They finished first according to everyone there. When the judge’s decision came in..... the judges use stop watches for every lane and everyone presses their stop watch individually. So in these photo finishes, one judge who clicks a micro second late can account for second place. The verdict came in and Jispa’s team was awarded the second place. I wasn’t going to fight with the judges. There were a few protests but the decision was final.
Today morning I got to chat up with Jispa. So Jispa, you swam like crazy yesterday. Yup. “so Jispa, everyone told you you swam well” “yaa. Everyone was telling me that. When I came out of the pool I was surrounded by everyone. Everyone was telling me well done. In the bus also everyone was congratulating me” “yes Jispa, but did you win or lose?” “huh” “did you win or did you lose? Did you get Gold or Silver?” “Silver” she replied. “do you remember the athletes prayer?” “what prayer?”. “when a great scorer come to write against your name..” she completed it with a smile “he writes not whether you won or lost, but how you played your game”. She had the smile of a champion who just realised the meaning in poetry. She understood. She came second. But no one cared about that. All people cared about was, how she fought. How she swam. How she refused to quit even if was well and truly behind. She was surrounded. All around were congratulating her, not because she won, but on how she played her game.

The actual little quote by Gartland Rice goes thus:-
"For when the One Great Scorer comes
To write against your name,
He marks - not that you won or lost -
But how you played the Game."
(from the poem "Alumnus Football")


No matter how many stories I can tell her, no matter how much I can preach, the experience will teach her the value of certain words, certain phrases, certain mottos. To lose Gold was to win the ultimate knowledge. She wouldn’t have realised the importance of these lines if she had won gold. It struck her the moment she completed the prayer. Her smile and radiant smile said it all. Its how you play the game. Jasmine and I were the proudest parents on that day. It’s a good thing I was wearing glares. I was crying, I was choking, I couldn’t talk. A come from behind fight back. An attitude that doesn’t die. If anything we could have taught her, was this. It’s how you play your game. I am still all emotional when I type this. What a game.



there she is, extreme right with the faded red swimsuit and blue cap. I will treasure this podium finish forever.

performance matters?

Sitting in my office the best thing is that the TV is here. My entire team is here sitting and watching the match. The match in question is the world cup semi final between India and Pakistan. I know as of now anyone reading the blog would wonder what’s the point of the stating the obvious but just to remind you , I write this blog so that it is possibly read 20 years hence. So this is the most important match of the last four and the next four years and obviously that would do a great deal of damage for the productivity of the day. I can imagine the frustration of the top bosses. We are a brokerage house that is largely a daily turnover game. One day less of trading and that would mean consequently one day less brokerage, and if we assume around 200 days of trading, we are looking at 0.5% less for the year. But what to do. As Rajesh, my one time boss/ mentor said, ‘I am very clear. Love for country over love for company’. Haha. It is difficult to concentrate and has been so during the day. The match has been on everyone’s mind. To concentrate a change was warranted and I sat in one of the empty cubicles of my office, along with my team. Now I wonder why I don’t do that more often. The cubes have so much more buzz, somehow there is the energy that gets work done. The cabin has been very silent and boring otherwise. I think I must go off more often and sit there. It’s definitely much more fun. All these years ... you pine for one and then once you get one, you get pleasure in sitting where you would have if you were a trainee. This is the story of life, I guess. So here we are watching the first half of the match. The TVs in the lobby still play CNBC but my TV is firmly on cricket. So what we lose on productivity we gain dramatically on team work. No matter what, sitting and watching a crunch match together does get all the adrenaline flowing. And when we get them all flowing all together, teams get built. You get enough joys and sorrow to share with all. So I guess it’s an even steven, you might gain more in bonding than what you lose in productivity. But thats a difficult to take. The higher you go the tougher the call gets.. well.. But then let’s talk about something different all together. This Sunday I raced Jispa in a swimming competition. First on was a 25 meter dash. I beat her by possibly 1/3 rd of a second. I had to push myself, cup and stretch my hand, and flap my legs like crazy. Then we got a 50 meter dash done. Here too I had to push myself like crazy and the result was a tie according to Jasmine. Wow. I couldn’t beat my own 8 year old. I thought that was really really fast. I might not be superbly fast but I know my crazy sprint will be fast. And I was out of breath for some time afterwards. Surely a 75 meter race I would have ... poof... I would have overheated and magically disappeared. I have said it many times in the past and I say it again. Nothing beats getting a good coach to teach you a sport... any sport, early enough in your life. There will one game that will give you a perspective on an alternative life, an alternate discipline. I am so happy that Jasmine and me have managed to give her this. This is an education that will hold her in good stead. Well done Jispa and thanks jasmine. Jasmine takes a whole lot of credit. Sometimes I wonder she suddenly grows a pair of horns and gets all aggressive, telling Jispa to do well, push harder. And I am looking at her and trying to calm her down. Relax. Its ok. hehe.

shut up and stop complaining

The contrast could not have been starker. From the wild jungles to a gilded cage. Last week I was on a trip to the north east. I have always wanted to someday got o Kaziranga. The last refuge of the one horned rhino. It has been a desire since I was a young boy. Assam always had this mystical aura around it. Heavy rains, tribals, long really long grass; so long they call it elephant grass. And of course the mighty grass chomping rhino. My wish was fulfilled and I hope Jispa was also richer for the experience. We went to two places. Nameri and Kaziranga, both quite nice and pretty and so far – almost unspoilt.
Here’s the Nameri tent!


The Bharatpur trip that we as a family made a few years ago was the turning point in our lives. That exposed us to the scores of birds around us and we began to take an extraordinary interest in the birds around us. Suddenly then a national park comes to life. If you are normally in the hunt for mammals then you tend to get disappointed at these parks. You can go from one point to another rushing and driving just in a bid to see the elusive tiger or bear or another wild mammal. You will miss the beauty of the barbet clattering or the lovely elegant hornbill flying. Such elegant life. They have their own ecosystem. It is a lovely thing to see birds along with animals.
Nameri was a different experience altogether. A jungle where you are supposed to walk through. That itself is rare. We walked through the woods and the tall swampy grass in a bid to catch the white wood duck. I had no clue how endangered it was and how rare a sighting was over there. But to merely reciprocate the enthusiasm of the guide and the forest guard was worth the entire walk! Kaziranga too was alive thanks to the birds more than the lazy chomping rhino.
Coming back to Mumbai I came to this new office of ours. The big shiny new office with the shiny new cube. I have always coveted I guess the cabin but on getting it I am first to admit – it is kind of too large for my taste. Really large. And it blocks me out from all the buzz that is happening in the office. In office the bigger you get the more caged you become. Offices look like botanical gardens. With the simple common species that could be found everywhere but really large wild cats will be found in the cages which commensurate with their size. So here I am in this cage, large cage which thankfully has a window right near my computer. I was lucky to be around when it was getting built this helped me choose the right cage of the three options. One had no windows, the other had a lot of windows but also had a pillar and the third was just right. Not too enamoured by vaastu I just choose the one I thought whose window will be nice and bright and just the right size. Nice to have light filtering through in the morning.
I can also see some greenery around here. The best of all, one of my favourite city birds, the coppersmith barbet makes it tonk tonk sound all day long. What more can I ask for. And today as I am writing this post I almost jumped in joy. I spotted the lovely bird from my window. Wow. Nice. It put me in a good mood. This cage is not so bad after all. Besides the gilded trimmings it also has a view. And I can see a barbet from it.
A week back I was happy to be in the free and open, watching the blue throated barbet making its chattering sound and now I am here watching the coppersmith. How we amuse ourselves. How we look at our situation and find joy in it. What must be the animals at the zoo thinking. The pelican must be happy to get his dose of fish served to him. I too must remain happy thus. Every month end I get my cheese delivered to me in my bank account. For that all I must endure is this cage. It’s got carpeting, it’s got a small personal TV, air-conditioning and a view to the tree. What more should one ask for? Why do cribpots complain? Who said man is free to roam around and explore the wild. It is for him to be happy like a lion is in the zoo. He is the star attraction and he is kept happy, vaccinated and fed. It seems (I was reading somewhere) that animals in the zoos might enjoy a longer life than in the wild. Here they are free from disease and hunger. Most importantly they are free from predators.
So all those who believe that man is essentially meant to be in the wild, take your theory and stuff it down your..... *&^%. Be happy in the zoo. You will be well fed and your fat around your belly is just a sign of prosperity. Sure you might get a few illnesses thanks to fat and overwork, but you rather get ill than be eaten by predators, right? All you have to do, like any other zoo, is keep the performance up. Keep fluttering your feathers and shine your mane. The peacock who keeps showing his feathers no matter if it rains or not, is always the pride of the zoo. Similarly here. Keep the act up and you will be well fed, you cage will get bigger. You might get more toys in your cage, better seating area. The big guys are even allowed to eat in their cages and the really big ones have opaque cages so that they can get their mate in them and enjoy moments of privacy. Haven’t you been to a zoo? The big cats always have an ante room in their enclosure, where they can catch a few private moments. It’s the same here.
Oh come on, don’t get too cynical about these things. Unlike the zoos, here you have a door in which you can you walk out anytime. There is no one holding you back in it. No one. Go... shooo... you crib pot.
here's my cage, opps cabin. two views of it. u like it?



oh hell I just realised. It also faces the east tying in with my desire to see the east! wow. yaaaa

you win some... you lose some (sigh)

What a shit pot of a month. I have hardly had the time to write anything in the blog. Today has also been possible only due to the fact that I am in my other office one hour earlier than I am due. Part of me wanted to some in early purely because it gave me the chance to write something. And like most days – this too starts with random babbling without really knowing what I will write and where will I reach. The blog has been a process of self discovery taking me to the deep recesses of my mind that I wouldn’t have accessed otherwise.
Yesterday I got a chance to catch up with a collegue from the UK. We would have hardly met a few times. Possibly twice or thrice, but we have managed to build a decent relationship purely online. One of the few instances of building a sweet relationship within office collegues and that too long distance. Very rare. This lady got to know of my blog through my Facebook account and ended up following it regiularly. After my Facebook account got swamped by ‘friends’ and relatives (both mine and my wife’s) I got that bit of information removed from there. The last thing I want is my wife’s cousin coming up to me and saying – hey nice blog. Yuck. Sometimes it easier for strangers to know about you than acquaintances. Funny world. It’s a koan.
I have always been pretty open on the blog in the safe knowledge that idiots at office will not read. Some idiots will always know about it, get to know about it, but reading a blog regularly? Reading anything regularly? Hah! Shit pots don’t read anything. Even if it was shoved down their throats. My new team is no exception. No one who would really read. I find that queer that if your boss read so much and spoke at every opportunity about reading and from the books he read, then why would you still not take up. I recommend the right books, even told them this time that I would pay for it. But I guess it’s a losing war. That’s why I stopped lending books to anyone. They all want to borrow but no one, NO ONE wants to read anything.
How did I get to this rant? I was talking about this real sweet colleague of mine from London. Speaking to her this time, I was reminded about another sweet colleague at work. These sweet women have gotten this Jekyll and Hyde syndrome. They are really sweet people but have such a hard ball attitude at work. For both of these women whom I really like, when they talk about work, their back straightens, they lips pucker up, their natural smile goes away; the anger and firmness and tough attitude is palpable. Uff. I have always believed that in corporate life you slowly slowly lose your soul, or rather SELL your soul. You lose a part of you that is essential to you. You know it’s there buried in somewhere, the sweet good natured lady with a golden heart and a desire to love and be loved. Simple earthy desires. But dam, I feel so bad when the switch happens from love and laughs to anger and , and, should I say attitude.
So I try and always talk to them. Once a senior whom I respect once told me, that Jaimit, I have known you for 7 years now, the innocence you first had on your face is now lost. That’s when I realised it that ‘yes’, I too have been selling my soul. But I have been trying since then not to. To retain what is essentially me and don’t get sold to these slave traders. Easier said than done. Fighting these instincts every day to survive. At least I try to ensure that those I work with and something that I see worth saving, I do my bit to save.
I know I have no business to play Guru, but people have lost soul thanks to the people around them who make it imperative to do so. People will reward that behaviour and laud it to only reinforce it. I have decided never to encourage this. I will try my best to get these sweet people to be sweet. First thing I do is tell them that they are really sweet. And I love them for it. But more importantly I then try my best to behave in a manner that really brings out their sweet caring nature and refuse – fatly refuse to deal with them when they slip back. For some it works like a charm and for some... for some they have tipped over. Nothing I can do about it. They have lost the ability to trust anyone at work. They view with suspicion everything, everyone.
Well you lose some, you win some. But what gives the right to do this to people and take moral calls. Nothing. I have no right and no duty. But I feel love is an emotion worth saving. I am not good enough to spread love to all. I am only adequate to spread love to those I see with a glimmer of it. I cant fight them all but at least I can make a difference to a few who are receptive.
The colleague I met yesterday for breakfast was amazing. She is a lovely ‘girl’ when talking about food, her boyfriend, her desires and a tough nut tight ass when she talks about work. Wow! What will you do? Talk only about ... everything but office. Am I manipulating people. No. I am only attempting to show them what they are best at and what they actually are. Let down your mask, I mean no harm lady.
Why only ladies. I don’t know. Possibly I work/ relate better to ladies? I don’t know. Possibly the men switch easier. They let their guard down and get it up pretty fast with other men. The women have a process and possibly the flips are more polarised. I don’t know. But I sure seem to notice this more with women than men. Men bonding is different. Just a pat on the back and a common joke is enough to flip. I don’t know. Its worth a thought.
But these lovely sweet women make office life colourful. They have the capability to add so much love in office and change the workspace. They can actually be catalyst for a nice productive and caring office culture. As a boss, it is my duty to do it and spread a culture that I think allows people to go home with happiness in their heart. Hopefully it will eject all the counter cultures fast enough. People either start loving and start caring or just ship out.
One of things I have noticed is the anti Gandhi syndrome. Like Einstein said - Generations to come, it may be, will scarce believe that such a one as this, ever in flesh and blood, walked upon this earth. So many people wont believe a good thing even if they stare at it in the face. They don’t believe it if you are good to them. No can be, there had to be an ulterior motive. They seem to hate you if you are good. It only feeds their hate and anger. You are an ass and a pretence. No one can be sweet and good. It like all these who bash Gandhi. They refuse to believe the good in the world and best of all – I feel so many even refuse to see the good in their own hearts. So sad. But what to do. One starfish at a time....

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On another note – someone was asking me why I drive a hatch back (Hyundai i ten) and my wife drives a bigger sedan (Honda city)? Well my counter is that – my wife’s husband is a Head of marketing in a big bank, but I have no such luck.

It resurfaces time and again.

a tatoo that does not let you say - thats advanced

I have always wanted to get a tattoo, and now reading this article I have made up my mind.... I will get a tattoo done. Here is the link http://io9.com/#!5768038/science-proves-that-teachers-should-get-tattoos but for those too bored to read through, it broadly says this - "128 undergraduates' perceptions of tattoos on a model described as a college instructor were assessed. They viewed one of four photographs of a tattooed or nontattooed female model. Students rated her on nine teaching-related characteristics. Analyses indicated that the presence of tattoos was associated with some positive changes in ratings: students' motivation, being imaginative about assignments, and how likely students were to recommend her as an instructor."
I now have a rational reason for a personal decision. I wish I had a few teachers with tattoos as well. I am sure his (definitely if it was a ‘her’) lectures would be more likely to be filled. Kids would like teachers with a bit of wild side to them! Now to figure a good tattoo artist. What would I like to tattoo? Well that’s simple – anything that denotes, yes, - opposites must reconcile. So I either go with the yin and yang or go with the Natraj.
Talking about teachers – we wiggled more stuff out of Jispa of her tryst with her teacher and birds. It seems she showed a picture of a parakeet and called it a parrot. To the uninitiated it’s the same. But to a child who has been going on bird watching vacations since three four years – it’s the ultimate sacrilege. She pointed out that these are parakeets and that you only get parrots in cages that people keep after importing them from some other country. India does not have parrots. But the teacher said, no you get them in the jungles, but Jispa has been to enough jungles in India to figure out that its wrong. You get parakeets in India. Jispa was pretty tired of her teacher. “She just isn’t obeying me”. Obeying? Wow that comment is going to stick for some time to come.
Then when a friend spoke about seeing a parrot from her house that had a red ring around its neck, Jispa immediately identified it as the rose ringed parakeet. But her teacher said – ‘that’s advanced’. Then her teacher sowed a picture of a kite (the bird). She said, miss that’s a pariah kite. Her teachers standard refrain ‘that’s advanced’. So I was having a chat with her Jispa and we were jointly lamenting about her school, when Jispa said that once she was told to write a essay or something about winter. Jispa wanted to write about winter having the winter solstice and how that is the longest night in the year. Her teacher’s reaction? Yup you got it right ‘that’s advanced’.
I guess its difficult teaching precocious bunch of 8 year olds. Nopes I don’t think Jispa is super extra talented. All kids have a super specialisation. Somebody will be an expert on cars, some of snakes, some on lizards, some on football, some on music and some on birds. They naturally veer towards something they like and I guess many time sit lead by the family. And then they like to show their talents in school, leaving the poor teacher flummoxed. So if the teacher were to listen to these kids, then regular studies would be an issue. But also I guess the teacher must have a better reaction. If she would have heard her and believed in her then the class would have been better off. Possibly she should have told Jispa to make a short presentation on birds or explain some of them or anything. The class would possibly have been richer for the experience. But as their favourite line that keeps popping up – that’s advanced.
Which makes me think, if she had a teacher who had a tattoo that was clearly visible? What do you think her reaction might have been? A bit different from what she got? A bit more consideration perhaps? Now suddenly the emergence of a tattoo on a teacher changing student opinion may not sound that incredulous.
Now where can I get a good tattoo parlour? And yes, I have to get it done in a visible spot.
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An update on the swimming marathon – well in practice the coach showed how easily they do 80 laps. Jispa does it in 49 mins and then the coach makes them do more rounds after that. And after the session is done, the kids simply jump out and hit the showers and fool around. No one is out of breath or is panting. They are just fine. Cool. But Jispa will miss the competition tomorrow as she has to attend her cousin’s ceremony. Jasmine’s brother’s son’s ‘mundan’. Cool. Whatever!

he who laughs last...

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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

lead by not

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

you have to live it to know it

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