How Starbucks Saved My Life...

I read a number of books in the last couple of weeks. One among those was 'How Starbucks Saved My Life' by Michael Gates Gill and it did strike a different perspective on life, though very mildly. A life that has suddenly switched from one of prestige, power, money, glam and glitz to that of an ordinary common man, a barista at Starbucks.

It is the sweet bitter story in the first few chapters which transforms into a bitter sweet tale in the later half of the book. It's the story of Michael Gates Gill who was born in a highly reputed family and was son to Brendan Gill, well-known writer for the New Yorker. Gill's early life was all that one could aspire for, education at Yale University, job at the prestigious J. Walter Thompson advertising agency, acquaintance with Ernest Hemmingway and other crème de la crème in the field of literature, etc. You name it; he had it, all the symbols of modern day success and badges of material accomplishments by the time he was fifty.

One fine day J. Walter Thompson un-ceremonially dismisses him, thanking Gill for his service for more than two and a half decades. A high profile executive is now unemployed and that too at a time when he discovers that he is a new father with a woman he had an affair with and needs to take care of a little girl. The affair brings an end to his twenty-year marriage and he is isolated from his former wife and his children. Life comes to a sudden halt as Gill is also diagnosed with a small tumor in his head. Depression and cover of darkness dominates Gill's life.

With no money, no health insurance, and no prospects, one day Gill spends his time in a Manhattan Starbucks with his last affordable luxury "a latte" brooding about his misfortune and how to take care of his little baby girl. Something magical happens and a young African-American woman asks the suit clad Gill if he is looking a job. Gill accepts the offer without a second thought and later learns that the godsend, 28 year old young woman, Crystal, is a Starbucks manager.

Once on job floor, Gill undergoes a major shift in life from commanding an army of advertising specialists to scrubbing toilets, making coffee, handling the cash counter and doing other day-to-day activities at Starbucks working with a team of young African-Americans. Gill, the only old white guy in the team begins to see life from a different perspective, appreciates the harsh realities of survival, and also rectifies his ingrained prejudices related to many aspects. Respect and kindness become his crutches, when his entire armor of entitlement had been stripped away. Gill learns from his co-workers who are half his age in their mid twenties, that 'gratitude' and 'will to fight' doesn't follow any equation having color, class, race, religion, age, skin pigmentation, language, or gender as variables.

Crossing over the Starbucks bar was the beginning of a dramatic transformation that cracked Gill's world wide open. That's the pulp of the storyline and so the name 'How Starbucks Saved My Life'.

The book was a Ok Ok read though and I finished it in two sittings. At times I found that stories and the tales that Gill, the former corporate shark spews at regular intervals in the book were a bit kitschy. The author has spent page after page explaining how the utopian corporate culture of Starbucks transformed his life, the repeated theme of working with African-Americans, etc. While reading the book, I found these opinions were over done, often giving the impression that it was a Starbucks promotional pap impersonating as a memoir.

I am a bit thrifty and give it a 6/10 on my reading scale. Try it if you wish to.

The New York Times published an interesting interview-article with the author in which one can learn some surprising things that weren’t mentioned in the book.

More about Starbucks here.

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The Last Lecture...

I generally don't like reading autobiographical books, but sometime back, I had picked a book after reading reviews about it. It was for the simple reason that I was thrilled when I heard the first few minutes of a lecture (nah nah not the kinds that we have in grad schools, anyways I was always a last bencher) by the central character of the book on iTunes. To me it is always more pleasurable to read a book, rather than to see it, converted into a movie or a television series.

So pause, pause after 2 minutes of viewing the video on my iPod and I made sure I read this book. For all those who believe that 'The Last Lecture' would be a gyan book considering the word 'lecture' in its title, please don't be misguided. Once you have completed reading it, you would realize the real worth of this book. I am not sure, if someone would buy my views but that's how I felt once I flipped the last page of this book.

The Last Lecture is a book on Randy Pausch, a Computer Science professor at Carnegie Mellon. It centers around a remarkable speech he gave - Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams after being diagnosed with terminal cancer on September 18, 2007. The book is simple and talks about living a satisfying and productive life and these are cited by means of incidents that Pausch confronted and faced in his personal life. That’s why people say, there is no better classroom in this world than 'Life'. This word of wisdom may sound hypothetical but that's true to the core.

I felt the kernel of what Pausch wants to convey is that, dream, dream, dream and work towards it.

"Almost all of us have childhood dreams; for example, being an astronaut, or making movies or video games for a living. Sadly, most people don't achieve theirs, and I think that's a shame. I had several specific childhood dreams, and I've actually achieved most of them. More importantly, I have found ways, in particular the creation (with Don Marinelli), of CMU's Entertainment Technology Center of helping many young people actually *achieve* their childhood dreams."

"It's not about how to achieve your dreams, it's about how to lead your life. If you lead your life the right way, the dreams will come to you."

Randy Pausch, was recognized as a pioneer in human-computer interaction and design, and one of the very first person who worked extensively on virtual reality research. Although diagnosed with incurable pancreatic cancer in September 2006, it was his spirit and zest for life that won him accolades as a teacher and a mentor. Though he is no more, (he left this world on July 25th, 2008) he has left behind a treasured legacy.

One of the most important points that Pausch speaks about that impressed me was 'Head Fake'. What's that?

When we send our kids to play organized sports -football, soccer, swimming, whatever - for most of us, it's not because we're desperate for them to learn the intricacies of the sport.

What we really want them to learn is far more important: teamwork, perseverance, sportsmanship, the value of hard work, an ability to deal with adversity. This kind of indirect learning is what some of us like to call a 'head fake."

There are two kinds of head fakes. The first is literal. On a football field, a player will move his head one way so you'll think he's going in that direction. Then he goes in the opposite way. It’s like a magician using misdirection. Coach Graham used to tell us to watch a player's waist. "Where his belly button goes, his body goes," he'd say.

The second kind of head fake is the really important one - the one that teaches people things they don't realize they're learning until well into the process. If you're a head fake specialist, your hidden objective is to get them to learn something you want them to learn.

Limpid style of telling things and it’s so simple that it aplies to each and every aspect of our lives. Pausch mentions in his book that, there were few hidden intentions of delivering the speech, Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams at the University.

"The lecture was for my kids, but if others are finding value in it, that is wonderful," Pausch wrote on his Web site. "But rest assured; I'm hardly unique."

This was probably the best gift he would have offered his three kids: Dylan, Logan and Chloe who would miss their father when they grow up. Kids definitely bask in the warm cocoon of their fathers and their presence makes life more meaningful. One of my friends, Kishore has written a letter to his father and sent it with the hope that he would reply to it soon.

"Under the ruse of giving an academic lecture, I was trying to put myself in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for my children."

Pausch loved his wife, a lot and this lecture was his gift to his wife whose birthday was on the same day, as he delivered the speech. Before concluding his talk, he invited his wife, Jai to the stage, embraced her and the entire crowd sang 'Happy Birthday' song for her. Another head fake, if you got it.

What goes deep down and finally settles after reading this book is the message of optimism. When Pausch was asked on the day of his lecture, 'What was the best thing that had happened to him that day?'

He replied, "Well, first off, I'd say the day's not over yet. So there's always a chance that there will be a new best."

Well, can one think of a reply that is more optimistic and affirmative than this, when one knows that six months down the line there is no road ahead?

A jubilant read definitely for book lovers. For others, even though you can watch the entire lecture on some forums or video website on the internet, just try on this book. And I am pretty sure each and every word would distill and settle down as you turn the pages.

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(Note: None of the pictures used in this post are taken by me.)

Diwali Wishes...



May this festival of lights, light up your life.
May the glow of the divas usher in good times for you and your family.
Live upto your dreams and keep moving...

Wishing you and your family a very Happy Diwali.

More about Diwali here.

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The Reluctant Fundamentalist...

"Excuse me, sir, but may I be of assistance? Ah, I see I have alarmed you. Do not be frightened by my beard: I am a lover of America. I noticed that you were looking for something; more than looking, in fact you seemed to be on a mission, and since I am both a native of this city and a speaker of your language, I thought I might offer you my services as a bridge."

This is how the story starts at a café table in Lahore where a bearded Pakistani man is talking to an American stranger. The dusk has set in and slowly as the camaraderie builds, the bearded man unravels the tale that has brought them to this fateful meeting.

Time goes back to four and half years ago, when the now bearded Pakistani, Changez was offered an admit along with scholarship to the Princeton University for his education. In 2001, as he explains, he tells that he was hardly a radical. Being the smartest chap in his graduating class at Princeton, he is snapped by 'Underwood Samson', an elite firm that specializes in the valuation of companies. He thrives on the energy of fast and competitive life of New York living the American dream. He is accelerating in his career in the elite Manhattan society, rubbing shoulders with some of the best talent in his area of expertise.

But things take an unexpected turn after one of the bloodiest attack ever in human history, the 9/11 attack rocks the shores of the US. And from then on, we begin to see how Changez, begins to turn his back on America, even though this was the land that offered him all he wanted in life. He is non-supportive of the policies and the actions of the US government, which inflicted injustices on the world, despite his earning a lucrative American salary, and his infatuation for an American woman, Erica. A 'Yes-No' situation suffocates him.

"No country inflicts death so readily upon the inhabitants of other countries, frightens so many people so far away, as America," says Changez at one point while talking to the stranger.

On the day of the 9/11 attacks, Changez was in Manila on a business visit and on his return to the US he is treated by the immigration staff as a suspect just because of his identity. He is marked for a life of American success and affluence, he drinks, he sleeps with his American girl friend without any religious qualms but few things just choke him. His Muslim identity, in the wake of the 9/11, begins to bother him although from a different perspective.

His job life continues but his doubts multiply. Soon he realizes that in his Manhattan life, something less visible or unclear is attacking him internally. In the constant strive to realize a financial future, he is not spared for the critical personal and political issues that affect one's emotional presence. That's how business is, where one's final output on the plate counts and not the price of one's emotions. But human expressions, beliefs, opinions and views explode beyond a particular threshold and so was Changez's.

Did he sacrifice his identity in pursuit of status? Changez has already begun to ask himself these questions when he sees the twin towers fall, a mighty attack on the American pride. Many events in the surrounding world further alienate Changez's interest in work: the tensions escalating between India and Pakistan, and the United States caught up in displays of patriotism following the attack, etc. The turning point in Changez's life occurs in Valparaiso, Chile where he has gone to evaluate an old publishing company targeted for a takeover. Over lunch, the publisher tells him the story of Janissaries of the Ottoman empire, who were captured Christian boys trained to fight against their own people.

Changez feels..."I was a modern-day Janissary, a servant of the American empire at a time when it was invading a country with a kinship to mine..." and finally takes a conscientious decision and returns to Lahore.

Hamid, who himself attended Princeton and worked in corporate America, aptly captures the ups and downs, the triumphs and the traumas of Manhattan life through the lenses of Changez. I would consider this as a failed love story between a Pakistani and the American Dream, though many of the readers would have expected a tone of religion and faith from the title of the book. But there is barely any mention of it. To me it was a story about confusion, self-abnegation, regret and malice, all these assuming flagitious shades post 9/11 attacks period.

Though the author has made many generalizations about the US but what I felt was, as the plot develops, Chengez is trying to communicate his displeasure at being branded a fundamentalist, which he is not. His personal world and his views never had a tinge of fundamentalism, but he is looked upon as one just because of his place of origin, his blood and his roots. I also think that the ending was a bit hurried, because I had read somewhere that Hamid actually wrote a 1000 page manuscript which finally boiled down to a 184 page publication for this book. The plot could have taken a much better contour.

'The Reluctant Fundamentalist' was an easy read, thoroughly gripping. This is Hamid's second book and he spent close to seven years banging his head to give the final framework to his plot. The plot is a potpourri of fiction, history and polemics and is dotted with examples of great writing and once such piece is as below.

"Perhaps we currently lack wealth, power or even sporting glory—the occasional brilliance of our temperamental cricket team notwithstanding—commensurate with our status as the world’s sixth most populous country, we Pakistanis take an inordinate pride in our food. Here in Old Anarkali, that pride is visible in the purity of the fare on offer; not one of these worthy restaurants would consider placing a western dish on his menu."

I enjoyed reading this book and hope anyone who reads it likes it too. Just a question, I found the name Changez to sound a bit Frenchish, or is it my bad to think that way?

This book, 'The Reluctant Fundamentalist' was short listed Man Booker Prize for Fiction 2007.

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The Cream of the Crap...

To me, cartoonist Matt Diffee has a splendiferous sense of humor and keeps a regular tab on things happening in the outside world. This chap has spent a greater part of his youth in Texas, before moving to the busy life at Manhattan.

Moving to New York after winning the famed famed New Yorker's cartoon contest eight years ago, today he is one of the most popular cartoonists for this magazine (New Yorker) as well as the e-zine.
Any creative end product requires oodles of enthusiasm, imagination and talent; there is no doubt about that. Cartooning falls in that bracket, but is the road that easy as it seems. I mean it's as challenging an occupation like any other, with greater probabilities for rejection and failure. You can trade the word, 'occupation' for 'passion', sounds lot better that way.

A bit of digression here. To make it clear the difference between 'occupation' and 'passion' in real life. Frankly speaking the former churns out a pay cheque at the end of the month. While the later keeps the flame of one's passion burning, this may or may not bring any monetary benefit. I bet lucky is one who gets a drink that has the perfect combination of 'occupation' and 'passion'.

Most people are unable to earn money from their passion. Most people are unable to devote time to their passion. Come to think of it, a majority of people don't even know what they are good at. They work because they have to, not because they want to.

An insightful post on this by Deepti, at Desicritics here.

Now back on track again. Keep you ears open for criticism too , of course of all flavors. Diffee feels that that nearly 90% of any cartoonist's work is rejected. But for this gifted individual, even disapprovals were a blessing in disguise. He happily collated all his ignored works to publish a book, The Rejection Collection: The Cream of the Crap.

"Now proudly out in its second volume, It was an idea I had after gathering a pile of my rejected cartoons that I sort of still liked. New Yorker cartoons are famous, but hardly anyone knows the cartoonists. So a big part of the book, for me, is to share these personalities and the way they think and the way they work."

Now this reminds me of a very important lesson that I learnt during a photography course by renowned photographer, Anand Saran. He told me, never ever delete or discard any of the photographs, even though it doesn’t touch or appeal to others when someone sees it the first time. Preserve those and may be one day, those snaps would win admirations and appreciations from a different section of viewers. That's again goes on to say, to each it's own.

Visit Diffee's collection of cartoons here . Also an interesting interview in which he speaks his heart candidly.

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Don't get confused with the title of the post, it's the book by Diffee and he owns the rights for it.

Dance like this...

Dance is one of the simplest forms of communication and expression. Damn....or I shall replace, 'the simplest' for 'the most difficult'. Don't you often feel that words sometimes hide deeper truths that only the body can guess at, but when it comes to dance, it just flows like fluid? Errors, no errors, perfect step, in-correct step, nothing really matters, all that weighs is that it provides some kind of indescribable pleasure sans all inhibitions.

People of all ages dance in discos, pubs, parties, etc giving free expression to their will. Now try this, someone invites you to a dance floor and asks you to shake your hips, (hey unlike Shakira though, as 'Hips don't lie'). No no, I am exaggerating here. All I meant to say was that, you were invited to do, a step here and a step there. Sometimes we acknowledge to such requests without any second thoughts, but sometimes we do hesitate.

Ask a kid, the same, most of the time, the response would be hey-i-was-waiting for that. Dance can include a preset symbolic vocabulary, such as ballet, or it can resort to symbolic gestures, or common signals, as in the case of pantomime, where the body speaks wordlessly. But all these require lots and lots of practice. Now think of something simple by which every human being has the ability to express her/him self through some movement. You get me, right, it's the bindaas type, the last time you did in your graduate school dorm.

Bend, stretch, jump, and gyrate your body. That's exactly what Matt Harding, did with some peachy music playing in the background, dancing in different locations in India, Kuwait, Bhutan, Tonga, Timbuktu and the Nellis Airspace in Nevada, where he performs his act in zero gravity for his road to global fame. Matt didn't follow any steps and rules that are generally conformed to, in any of the dance forms. For him it was simple, a bit of arm-swinging, and then a pinch of butt-shaking, mild spot hopping would sound good for the second bit. Then finally an elementary knee-pumping. Mix these three movements and even though it may appear zany, but these can trigger an endless array of let-me-do-it feelings in any individual.



You are at your work station or in the kitchen or in your reading room or in the bathroom, didn’t you feel, let me try it once. I guess, that was because, KISS (Keep It Simple and Smart) principle was the crux of the video.

Matt Harding, a 31 year old chap today, grew up in Westport, Conn., thought pretty early that college education was not his cup of tea. Having ditched college, he got himself employed in a video game store, as a designer of video games. But above all this, he preferred to travel, from anywhere to everywhere. So now you get the link, how come so many panoramas from across the globe in his video. 14 months in the making, 42 countries, and a cast of thousands. Brilliant. Matt's site is here.

Now this is a bit of insider info, Matt's girl friend, Melissa Nixon, who works for Google is also related to the video above in some way. The song in the video is sung in Bengali by Palbasha Siddique, a 17-year-old native of Bangladesh now living in Minneapolis. It was Melissa Nixon who had discovered Siddique on YouTube. The song is based on a poem by Rabindranath Tagore, a Nobel laureate (there is a desi touch in everything.) and the music which is both resilient and spirited is by Gary Schyman, a friend of Matt. As music reverberated in my mind, I got a feeling of the tunes that are played just before the flight is about to land. Don't you feel so? More so felt as though my flight was about to land at Schiphol Airport after hovering over the tulip gardens.

Now you if I jot down the fine points from all these, I have 3 important take-aways.

• Follow KISS principle.
• Internet is the new blood corpuscles of our lives.
• Follow one's own heart and deep dive into something that one is passionate about.

But right now, my bums, my legs, my hands and all my muscles are in a mood to jump, and dance, just as you see in this video.



Do I sound like a nutcase or have I gone cranky?

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For the title of the post, we all know that "Hips Don't Lie" is a famous song based in a Salsa and Cumbia mix and fused with reggaeton beat performed by Colombian singer Shakira and Haitian rapper Wyclef Jean. The song is a remake of Jean's 2004 song 'Dance Like This'.

Sunfeast World 10K Run...run maadi run...

For a moment forget the regular kvetching that one hears in various sources of news and media regarding Bangalore's woeful infrastructure issues. Keeping aside all these daily resentments, everyone rushed to the Kanteerva Stadium on a bright Sunday morning.



But what for? To be a part of the Sunfeast World 10K run, this is an international annual event, and was organized in India for the first time. The Sunfeast World 10k was touted as the richest 10k runs with total prize money of 150,000 USD up for grabs.



The event comprised of six races: World 10K Elite Men, World 10K Elite Women, Senior Citizens run (4 KM), Wheelchair event (4 KM), Open 10K Run and Majja Run (5.7 KM). Since the event was slotted between 6AM and 10:30AM, the city police authorities had made punctilious plans for minimal diversion of traffic during the four-hour marathon which saw active participation of around 20,000 people.



When I reached the spot around 7:30AM, preparations were in full swing for the Senior Citizens run which saw an impressive crowd of 700 plus participants. Most of senior citizens were aged above 60 but the energy and the exuberance that they displayed, quashed the roar of helicopters circling the stadium. Harmony, an NGO organized the senior citizens run. Each of the participants was given a T-shirt by Harmony and once they were dressed, there was a wave of uniformity at the starting point, very similar to a sight when children assemble in schools for morning prayer before classes commence. The highlight of this race was the high energy level of the senior citizens making them feel as if they were still in their teens. Jokes were cracked, few laughs were shared and there was an infectious air of camaraderie among these people who came not only from Bangalore but also from different parts of India.



Oprah Winfrey once said running is the greatest metaphor for life, because you get out of it what you put into it. This was the kind of perseverance exhibited by a group of steel-willed people. Braving the heat and the dust, the handicapped persons maneuvered their wheel chairs, reflecting the true spirit of participation.



Suddenly the action shifted to inside the stadium because the World 10K Elite Men/Women had entered the final stage. In a closely contested run, Zersenay Tadese of Eritrea bagged the 1,50,000 US Dollar Sunfeast World 10K title by completing the marathon in 27:51 seconds just three seconds ahead of his rival Moses Kipsiro of Uganda. The women’s section witnessed the rarest of rare photo finishes in any 10k run, with both Grace Momanyi of Kenya and Elevan Abeylegesse of Turkey, declared joint winners. The complete results can be seen here..



There was cut throat competition in the Open 10K run which had large groups of amateur runners, trying their level best to live up to their own expectations. Few ran, few jogged and rest others just walked in the spirit of sport.



Everyone was indeed up and running. It was a place where the east met the west while running.



The most delightful aspect was to see each one run irrespective of caste, creed, color, religion, sex, age, language, region, etc.



There was one single motive to be a part of the excitement and ebullience.



The Majja Run as the name signifies (majja means fun) merriment was the epicenter of frolic and liveliness. Though the distance to be covered for this particular race was only 5.7 kms, what separated this one from the others were the variety and the diversity. There were runners turning up in varied costumes with powerful messages, banners and placards.



Few celebrities like Dino Morea, Rahul Bose, Charu Sharma and Vijay Amritraj had the crowd screeching as they made their appearance for the Majja Run. Everything here resembled a mini-carnival and fancy dress competition. Girls with different attention-getting dresses very much like the Indianized version of IPL cheerleaders attire.



Someone even put on special clothes to appear princely, like the mighty Tipu Sultan.



The one that surpassed every other costume in terms of ingenuity and colorations was the Ravana attire. Like a bee gets attracted towards nectar, participants were pulled in towards this individual dressed as Ravana to take a few snaps in the midst of the race.



There were lots of groups and voluntary associations such as Parikrma, Harmony and others who all came under one umbrella 'Bangalore Cares'. This aggroup participated in the race for a number of causes such as children welfare, greener and pollution free Bangalore, togetherness, etc.





How can an event of such extensive magnitude and variety happen without the support from corporate and business sponsors and advertisers? Well of course there were some sponsors from a wide spectrum. DHL was the logistics partner and it participated in big numbers, with few of the team members having flown from Mumbai. To name a few, Nike was the running partner, Kingfisher, the airline partner, Radio Mirchi as the radio partner, Manipal Cure and Care, as the medical and health partner, etc who passionately supported the cause and diversity of the World 10K experience. CNBC-TV18 was media partner and it brought the event live to millions of Indians on that day, to the television sets from 7AM onwards, along with a potpourri of other coverages and programmes related to this the event.





All is all it was a well organized event that got equally receptive reactions from all those who participated for this run. This race put Bangalore in the map of conducting with dynamism and zings a global marathon. More so, it was a testimony to the fact that multiple goals can be achieved through sports and citizen's active participation and above all how sports are a social leveler.



In this huge ocean of human beings, I could see some human faces which pulled my attention like a magnet pulls pieces of iron. There was this elderly woman selling ground nuts who was a bit perplexed to see a sea of people just running, a very new site from what sees in her day to day life.



This man was also confused to see this sudden wave of sneaker lovers on an otherwise traffic struck road.



But one of the most satisfying moment in this entire event running with my camera was to capture this bubbly toddler, who had come with her dad and brother (if you can see, the young brother is just hidden from the father) to be a part of this race. She was giving poses which to me meant, 'Daddy isn't allowing me to run or crawl this year, well next year I would be there to tip toe with other people'. That's a smart and emotionally charged expression, so I and my fellow Bangaloreans would wait for you, sunshine girl, till we meet again.



The rest of the pictures are in this album. Naama Bengaluru rocks as always.

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Who was she?...

Was Sa happy or was he chasing the rat race? Run, run and run and the road keeps extending. He doesn’t have a definite answer to this query but all he could say is that he was following a pattern, a pre-set societal blueprint. Every morning when he woke up, he used to think about the milestone that he had planned to reach, and late at night when he hit the bed, he used to do a catharsis of how close or how far he was from that destination.

Now if some sensible person asked Sa what he was after, he would struggle for a befitting reply, but all that mattered at that moment, clear like a crystal was to make it big, real big in life. He felt this 'real big' word was a bit deceptive. 'Real big' is like a mirage, the more nearer one goes, the farther the view range extends. Still there is a stage in life, when all these dichotomies just don’t matter much and there is one thing creeping in the mind. That one thing is some goal about which he knew but then again he didn't know.

Time passed by and the so did, Sa in his journey. He worked very hard, learned every trick in the trade. Soon he was walking, talking and behaving like one of those in the business circles, the 'in', 'with it' crowd. Everything he did was always pointed towards getting what he wanted, measured, calculated and assessed. It's not that success was his partner all the time, even the numerous lessons in failure alongside, made him worked harder. His career needle was accelerating northwards, with muddiness still sitting like a couch potato within him. He made lots of friends, who were always there in times of celebration and festivity but couldn't count on any when there was dark cloud over his ceiling.

The badges and emblems of worldly success were slowly getting into his bag. Everyday at around midnight, when he opened the door of the apartment, he was sure that he was getting one step closer to his target. He was not afraid of the loneliness that awaited him as he knew it was only for half a night, and then as morning drew close, he felt energized hoping that in a few hours he would be in his kingdom, with his rules of governance.

And then she came, to use a cliché, like a breath of fresh air after long gap. She was everything that he was not, she stood for everything that he did not, she believed in everything that he did not, she did everything that he did not.

She reminded Sa of the senior professor, who had assigned him with a bagful of responsibilities about a decade ago while he was an intern. Polite, poised, well-behaved, never loosing temper, accommodating, in short humility personified. These are a few commonalities that they shared, but there was a lot more to this remarkable woman. It was kind of a scenario in which one feels overloaded with words to express but you just can’t express. Heart in heart, there is a sudden flood of phrases, similar to the kind when water gushes when the dam gates are opened. She seemed too good to be real. Did he mention she was good? Maybe he was using that word because he was short of words as to how to describe her. Yes, she was good in the sense that she was good in what she believed in, stood for or did. And perhaps that was what made him like her, though he often found her beliefs unearthly, her attitudes and values outdated. Sa could not but admire the way she stood for them and acted on them and, yes, she was really good in that. She stood for 'what you preach is what you practice'.

Sa having come across a host of personalities in his work-circle somehow found her to be unreal. She did not behave like the people he interacted with or dealt with in his day-to-day life, and that really made him comfortable on the surface and uncomfortable in the interior.

She made all his years of bookish experience and knowledge feel like useless, though that was never her intention. That’s how Sa felt it, all acquired skills were just bi-sected and looked upon in a different angle. He was trained to always read between the lines, to study the body language, to know what a person really meant. He always tried to study the expression in the eyes, as they normally did not lie. He also developed the skill that enabled him to see through the veils of words spoken and signals sent. He was trained to differentiate between a genuine smile and a fake one. He learnt to gauge the degree of warmth in a person.

Did any book teach him that, nah nah never.

Everybody around Sa was an actor. Yes, they did show emotions, but everything was calculative. Every smile was calculated every tear was accounted for, every hug executed to enhance relationships, every handshake to convey messages. He was with everyone, but did not belong to anyone. Every relationship had its own value and place in the larger scheme of things and served some purpose or the other and always acted as a mean. Sa was not apologetic about this because everybody did it. That’s the way, life is modeled after in today’s age. Rather, that’s the only way Sa had seen the world so far.

And as Sa said at the very beginning, was he happy? Still no clues about that.

But, she changed all that. He tried to read between the lines, study the body language and always noticed for the eye movements; few were positive hits but every time he failed, he failed miserably. This irritated him, frustrated and angered him; Sa felt he was losing the edge, the ability to get through the veils of people, and that really was a scary thought. So, he tried harder since he never accepted defeat, he was not a loser. But, he failed time and again. But there are times in life, when even the taste of defeat brings comfort.

Her actions always matched the words she spoke, her smile was always genuine, and her hug was always full of warmth. But, how could this be true? How could a person live without pretending or shamming?

From the day she started living with him, his world turned upside down. He returned home early, yes it had become a home, it was not a house bordered by concrete walls anymore. Now, when he inserted the key, he knew there was someone to attend to him. He knew she genuinely cared for him. Her relationship was free flowing, because Sa was the end as well as the starting point for her. Her love for him was unconditional and unselfish and it did not have any ulterior motive, she loved him for what he was.

She cooked all his favorite dishes; she knew what he wants, when. She nurses him when he is ill, she takes him in her arms when he wants to cry (most often in the railway stations and airports before the final departure call) so that Sa feels secure. After so many years, he can laugh and cry when he wants to, not when others expect him to.

Sa is no longer a restless soul anymore. He doesn’t wake up everyday to run and remain ahead of the crowd. Yes, he still enjoys his work, but it is no more the centre point of his existence. There is a big world to explore, just that someone needs to provide one with the right lens to checkout the right colors. He does no longer want to achieve 'it' or reach 'there'. And yes, he is very happy, and this happiness is not a superficial, non-penetrating and deep, vacant feeling like it was earlier. Now his happiness does not need a measuring rod, is not linked to the things Sa is doing or achieving. This makes his new found happiness, complete, composite, stress-free and devoid of any pressure or worries. Yes, it is for real.

And, this has become possible because of her. Sa wonders how he managed all these years without her, after he left for his graduation school. He regrets not having her with him for so long. But, he is glad that he has her now and he wants to make up for all the lost time. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how essential and integral she is to his existence, how meaningful she has made his life, and Sa wants to thank her for all the things she has done and keeps doing for him, for all the love she has given him, for the care and concern she has shown him and, most importantly, for always being there for him whenever he needs her.

That night after dinner, when she came and sat beside Sa, all he could do was look into her eyes and say, 'Maa, I love you.'

She took him in her arms, patted his back and said, 'Stupid, you need not say that. I know you love me.'
Happy Mother's Day.


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(Note: The pic in this post is by David Zimmerly, an anthropologist and world traveler.)

The Common Man...

'Whatever I make must be affordable to the common man'. These were the words of Chinni Krishnan who is acknowledged as the father of the sachet revolution in India.

But who is the common man?

Is he the fictitious character which R.K.Laxman, created that has decorated the Times of India's front page even before I was born. A man in his puckered dhoti and a checked shirt, ever silent yet always representative of the hopes, aspirations, troubles, achievements, strengths, weaknesses and idiosyncrasies of an average India.

Or

Is he is part of the crowd that is today most sought after by the various engines of India's burgeoning economy. A 'Nano' car for the common man, 'Nokia' mobiles for the common man, 'Simputer', the computer for the common man, 'Air Deccan', the common man's airline, etc.

Or

Is he the one who is today fading in the shadows of anonymity? Someone lost in this world of consumerism and inflation, hunted down by the agents of power and prestige, someone who puts his sweat for his daily bread, but whose voice is on the fringe of decision making circles.

Replies to this simple question: 'Who is the common man?' was the theme of an interactive play, 'The Common Man' by the Yours Truly team, that I attended a couple of days back at Rangashankara in Bangalore.



Before we proceed, let me tell you, why this was tagged as 'interactive' play. The plot of the story would flow for a while and then it stops abruptly in the midway. Then the audience is asked to weave its viewpoints to end the chronicle. Opinions are then stitched to end the story, after which the actors complete the ending as given to them by the audience.

The story begins with the birth of a common man who like you and me attends school, becomes ardent follower of rote learning, graduates from an average college, gets married, has a regular job and runs his family. All these stages are 'ordinary' and 'common' and is very much a part of the social fabric that surrounds us.

In this portrayal of daily life and its interconnected parts, the artists on stage covered a kaleidoscope of events. To cite a few are, the regular neighborhood scuffle, the incursion of mobiles into each and every aspect of our lives, traffic jams, etc. The common man works in an office among some smart IIT-IIM educated graduates, believes hard work and honesty as priceless tenets only to realize one day that the 'Best Employee' award is feted to someone always kowtowing to his boss. The common man witnesses tinges of city life and wants to be a part of that lifestyle, but his meagre pay cheque throttles his inclinations. The dark irrational blocks of thought acting like a corrosive fluid had destroyed the way he looked at life. As time passes by his only child grows, is educated and is married to a girl who prefers to be a part of the apartment culture, rather than stay with the in-laws. In short, the plot swinging between modernity and bumpkinly, clouds the common man in state of confusion.

For someone, part of a herd known for slow cooking and eating leisurely, adjusting to a microwave cookware generation is not easy. The common man finds himself in such a situation.

Life goes on and everything moves on the regular way.

One day while returning from work, something unusual and not so ordinary thing happens. Out of the blues, the common man is selected to appear on a TV interview.

Stop stop stop, the story comes to a sudden halt here.

Will the common man come on TV interview? If yes, why? Will he speak and if he does, what will he speak? This opened a train a questions, the answers to which was provided by a potpourri of views by the audience. An air of camaraderie engulfed the auditorium as comments bounced back and forth among the viewers before tailoring the final plot. It took about twenty minutes to complete this exercise.

The performers were sitting on the stage and listening as the plot was knit. They were back again on action without any rehearsal once the final plot was decided.

The common man attends the TV interview and for the first time in the play, he opens his mouth and speaks out. He becomes a small time celebrity, an unheralded change from his previous image of a common man. Few in the society look upto him with awe, offer him regards and perfunctory politeness. The common man is still the same person as he was, before metamorphosis to his new stature to his family members and a handful of his relatives. Some things change for good, some remain as it was before, but the inner soul of the common man is still in turmoil, in civil war. One fine day, he breaks free from the monotony of life and ventures into a secluded place where he can find peace. Shaky but much better perched, the common man starts writing his autobiography highlighting the traumas, the annoyances, the triumphs, the frictions, etc. A dozen different scenarios all fleshed out in considerable detail.

Then there is a brief silence. The common man cries like a child and says, 'time goes fast and yet it is so dull here and all he wants is to be the same common man and lead his life the common way'.

The play ends.

All these scenes were played on stage with the effective usage of light and gestures, without any props. The only accessories that were used were a few colored dupattas and a bunch of umbrellas. The performers on stage made good use of tingling umbrellas which when used in a bunch symbolized the vexations that crossed the common man’s mind.

The sudden appearance of the common man in a TV interview was a symbolic representation of reality programming that has put the viewers at the heart of a transformation. A transformation that is allowing a few to attain the 'megastar' status, leaving rest others as small time celebrities who are tickled for a short while to be left on their own to struggle later. This was my interpretation.

The team was definitely enjoying while performing on stage as the audience could feel the flow of energy and enthusiasm in a palpable wave. The play was written by Nandini Rao and was directed by Nandini Rao and Ranji. The young cast consisted of Amit Agarwal, Amrutha Varshini, Gaurav Gupta, Karan Shah, Nandini Rao, Pramod Nair, Radhika Mehra, and Sumit Acharya. There was no elaborate settings for music too. The background music was through a keyboard played by Vasanth Mohanraj and few songs that garnished the play were by Gaurav Hombali.

All in all a good performance that all the more made an otherwise ordinary evening stuck in traffic, more pleasant.

The play got over by 9PM and I went out for dinner with Ni at a restaurant. Once we were done with the dinner, it suddenly started raining cats and dogs. Ni left for home and I was all alone on a lonely road, rain pouring down with ferocity. I was walking with a meek umbrella above my head, which couldn't bear the pitter-patter of the rain drops as they danced violently over the thin membrane. An unappeasable wonder which believes that there is a speck of a general truth in every thing, suddenly traversed my mind. I guess it was right, as like the common man with an umbrella, I was another common man, with my umbrella fighting with low visibility to reach home soon.

There was a comment that temporal, an editor at Desicritics had left. I liked the fluidity of his expression.

i do not know when i became a 'man'
yes i was young once and watched
other boys playing cricket in the street
i was naked and had runny nose
and other boys would not include me
but i did clap and leapt with joy
whenever someone hit a six
sometime later the other boys would
hit on my sister, but me? no such luck
i was scraping the floor at iron smith's
and while helping the old geezer
i would still applaud when the boys
returned from school and played cricket
occasionally my boss would curse and
twist my ears red for applauding a six
in some years they became babus
and i learned to mold iron in clay
and got married and had my own kids
one after another with runny noses
and bloated stomachs and they also
applauded from sidelines wistfully
i am forty now and look sixty plus
and i still do not know
when i became a 'man'
this is my common story

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Jalta Hii Jaye...

Hey, what is your name?

My name is Roshni. I don't know but different people call me by different names, some call me Tejaswini and some call me Ruchi.



But you know what....I dislike the most. My live is so short lived that sometimes, I feel that, wish I could have lived a little longer.

But then, does the time span that one lives matter? No generic answers to this. Again to each it's own. For some small is big and for few big is small.



But mere dost,

In this world you could easily,
Get lost, embodying bigness.
But then at least, there are few who can
see the beautiful darkness.
And when the flare journeys
from flickering to fading mode,
it discovers a dream and a tender idea.

What's that dream or big bang idea ?

In the temporal riches of life, still someone keeps enunciating 'jalta hi jaye'. I just love that attitude.



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Merry Christmas...

Today Bangalore is a home to varied cultures, linguistic and regional backgrounds and with each festive season the city bounces back with zestfulness. The warm festive season of Christmas is celebrated by one and all in their own ways, not just the Christians for that matter. With the temperature falling and the city experiencing one of the coldest winters in recent days, its nice to see people with sweaters, jackets, pullovers, with ladies in their shawls, though the cold is not that intense as it is in Northern India or aboard that I have sensed.





For some Christmas means lots of shopping, for few it's just window shopping and then a cozy dinner, for few others it's a sip of coffee in the new high-toned and elegant coffee shop. There is brightness and luminance in the air and one can find people returning home with the bagfuls of goodies and plum cakes from the nearby store or getting ingredients to prepare the traditional Christmas cake at home.





In the traffic junctions one can find, small kids embroiling the bikers and those in cars to buy the Santa caps. This is one sight which I dislike intensely but come to think of it, it's all about survival. Most of these kids try to utilize, the festive season to make some extra bucks, so that they can have an extra share of piece meal.

The city is bedecked in colorful lights and sparkling Christmas trees. Santa is seen in departmental stores to entertain kid customers. Churches are decorated with poinsettias and lit with candles and lichi lights for Christmas Eve service. For a change, the ears are not tuned to the cronks and irritating honks from a traffic signal. One can see caroling processions on the busy streets and thoroughfares with the mild cold and buzzing wintry night, soothing the mind and heart of every passer-by.



I was most amazed by the buoyancy, the delicacy and the irrepressible liveliness and good spirit that rule the atmosphere. Everything appears simple, comforting and for a while, it appears there is something in the air that quickly put the darn things up.

I got this short message from Anou and want to share with piece with you all. It goes like this.

This Christmas...
On this Christmas…Pray,
To your enemy, forgiveness
To an opponent, tolerance
To a friend, your heart
To a customer, service
To all, charity
To every child, a good example
To yourself, respect.



Merry Christmas wishes to you.

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(Took these pics, in the streets of the city, where I reside.)

Where there is a will there is a way...

Couple of days back, traveling thorough one of the punishing traffic struck routes during the early hours of yet another day I saw a remarkable man who would be in his mid thirties. He was waiting just beside my vehicle near the traffic junction. The noteworthy reality was that here was a man who had two artificial limbs and was firmly holding the arm of a redesigned scooter, with three wheels and like any another regular commuter was waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

In the course of our daily life, we come across many such panoramas which often make us think that many of us are fortunate not to have any of those physical disfigurations. These defacements may be there since birth, or would have been the result of any mishap or accident.

Most people learn about disabled persons and disability issues from the mass media, few have some family members who are handicapped or from some other source. The general trend is we tend to attend to these individuals with blanket of sympathy. It is unquestionable that we are a bunch of generous people and many a times we take a coin and drop it into the hands of a disabled person lowering the window glass when struck in a traffic jam. Their sad faces, their invocations, their sob stories generate the most diverse emotions in us. Is it correct or in-correct, even I don’t have a confirmed answer to that which can be accepted by all. But that said, in my opinion sympathy should not be used as a tool to canvass for donation. It is an inelegant and graceless portrayal of disabled persons. I read about a few stories over the last week that fortified my view that disabled persons do not need sympathy and all that they need is opportunities to actualize their full potentials.

Among these disabled persons, there is a sizeable number that prefers to sustain life by garnering sympathy. But there is another lot that does not need the dramatization of their lives with pathetic scripts of commiseration; rather they are interested in individual action transcending the limitations that they have. Their activities not only bring in monetary benefits but also spread a positive message in the entire community for the long run. Give a person a fish and you satisfy him for a day. The same repetitive action of an individual can gratify the person the next day, the day next to that and so on. On the contrary, if the person is taught how to fish, s/he is fed for life.

A couple of days back, it came in the news that in a unique bid, the President and CEO of Costa Coffee, Virag Joshi has employed ten people who can not hear or speak for its outlet in South Delhi. This group of ten people was hired on experimental basis, was trained for forty-five days and later after conditioning, these smart individuals managed the show with a high degree of professionalism and customer satisfaction.

Virag Joshi says, "They are a part of the society and there's nothing wrong in them. What we can do, maybe they can do it better".

Complete video is here.

Today internet has become the oxygen of our lives and without the World Wide Web we feel choking, lagging and muzzling. With this fact in mind, access to the internet is one of the ways to lift disabled persons up from the marginalized status that they are in today. Victor Tsaran, the Accessibility guru and who himself is visually impaired did a yeoman job in breaking the barriers of prejudice that stand in the way of participation. Victor along with his team has come up with something groundbreaking that enable the visually impaired to use the Internet to check email as well as search for content.

The prime motive behind this modern idea is to play a positive part by empowering the disabled persons with the same tools as those used by able persons.

These glimpses into the lives of a few disabled people but who are differently able in some form or the other to faces the challenges in life, re-affirms the spirit of human life and also the cognitive opinion that 'where there is a will there is a way'.

The International Day of Disabled Persons is around the corner on the 3rd of December. We have gone past this day many times over the years but looking back, have we done anything substantial to offer equal opportunities to this disabled lot and to integrate them seamlessly in all walks of our societal life? Or do we still continue to pour our sympathies from the corner of the window-glass of the car in the traffic junction. Does that address the touched on issue with proper sensitivity?

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Pics from Dussehra in Naama Bengaluru...

Last weekend was Vijay Dashmi, the day Goddess Durga was submerged into the waters after ten days of festivity, the effigies of Ravan were burnt, crackers and fireworks flared up the night sky, its the victory of the good over the evil and finally the nine day Navaratri celebration came to an end.

I tried to capture few moments of the festival and hope you like the pics. I am not going to write anything with the feeling that the pics would convey the message of great warmth and intensity.

















Till we meet again the coming year.









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