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Hydrogen Sulphide (H2S) is known as the gas with the rotten eggs smell but once in my life, it caused much mirth to all those around me.
I was a first year science student of college and all of 16 years old. The venue of this remarkable event was the chemistry laboratory, where presumably bright young researchers are produced.
I was conducting an experiment which required me to use H2S. The problem was that there were a bunch of others who wanted to do the same and there was only one gas tank (for lack of a better word). A bunch of noisy boys and girls gathered round that and were trying to outdo each other in getting a share of the gas. I guess the action got a little general and Rakesh brought the hose pipe from the tank a little too close to my nose.
The next thing I knew was that I was being transported by six people from one end of the laboratory to another. This was after I opened my eyes, for there was a short period when my eyes were firmly shut on falling down unconscious after inhaling the gas. They carried me as though I was on a stretcher and deposited me on a chair on which I managed to sit down. Ms Potnis, the teacher was cool, calm and collected. She ordered a hot cup of tea for me. I was considerably refreshed after all this but was excused form further laboratory work for the day.
My classmate and friend Sivakumar brought a refreshing perspective to the entire affair. “Hey, I really envied you as the attention of the entire class, including the girls was upon you,” From a 16 year old’s perspective that wasn’t exactly a rotten experience.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Cricketer and Nitya
I have earlier written about how my friends recognized my love for cricket but not my talent for the game. Here is yet another evidence of this.
My building Punam where I lived for about three decades was renowned for its circket team. Also, the Punam team was not drawn from just the residents of the building but also included many people from the adjoining buildings. Since talent was the criteria for getting into the team, I was more out of the team than in it. In fact barring the unexpected, I never was in the team.
The only time I found myself in the team was whenever there was a shortage of people. During one such occasion I was asked to join the team. I protested saying that the moment another person came along even if I was originally a part of the team, I was soon evicted. This time I was assured that no such thing would happen. So off we went to a playground nearby to play the match.
The match began with our fielding first and I was stationed at first slip. In the early stage of the game one of the opening batsmen from the opposite team nicked one and the ball was traveling my way. To everyone’s surprise, including my own, I took the catch. Nitya was out. Suddenly a couple of other regular Punam players who were not a part of the original team appeared... Sure enough standard procedure was employed. I was out of the team and a newcomer took my place.
I walked back and stood near Nitya who was obviously upset about his early decision. When he saw me, he remarked, “What was the use of taking my catch. Both of us are out now”
I must confess that since I myself was upset the humour of the situation did not occur to me. Later on I had a good laugh over Nitya’s comment. To this day whenever I narrate this story to anyone, it never fails to induce a smile, if not a laugh.
Maybe I am not the most talented cricketer alone but the game has given me one of my most cherished moments.
My building Punam where I lived for about three decades was renowned for its circket team. Also, the Punam team was not drawn from just the residents of the building but also included many people from the adjoining buildings. Since talent was the criteria for getting into the team, I was more out of the team than in it. In fact barring the unexpected, I never was in the team.
The only time I found myself in the team was whenever there was a shortage of people. During one such occasion I was asked to join the team. I protested saying that the moment another person came along even if I was originally a part of the team, I was soon evicted. This time I was assured that no such thing would happen. So off we went to a playground nearby to play the match.
The match began with our fielding first and I was stationed at first slip. In the early stage of the game one of the opening batsmen from the opposite team nicked one and the ball was traveling my way. To everyone’s surprise, including my own, I took the catch. Nitya was out. Suddenly a couple of other regular Punam players who were not a part of the original team appeared... Sure enough standard procedure was employed. I was out of the team and a newcomer took my place.
I walked back and stood near Nitya who was obviously upset about his early decision. When he saw me, he remarked, “What was the use of taking my catch. Both of us are out now”
I must confess that since I myself was upset the humour of the situation did not occur to me. Later on I had a good laugh over Nitya’s comment. To this day whenever I narrate this story to anyone, it never fails to induce a smile, if not a laugh.
Maybe I am not the most talented cricketer alone but the game has given me one of my most cherished moments.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
1983: A Cricket Story
“ You people are always negative where India is concerned. Of course, India can do it”, said my mother. My brother chimed in, “ Yes, India has the capacity to win.”
They were both referring to the chances of India winning the Cricket World Cup of 1983. Considering that India had done poorly in the two previous editions –1975 and 1979—the confidence evinced by my mother and brother seemed quite misplaced. “This is confidence born out of ignorance. India just doesn’t have the ability to do this,” I retorted. After all the West Indies who were the winners of the two previous cups were at the peak of their prowess. Not only was their bowling awesome their batting included the likes of the legendary Vivian Richards, the captain Clive Lloyd and the resplendent opening pair of Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes.
India of course had big names like Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev but as a unit they did not inspire confidence in me. History is witness to the fact that I was wrong and completely wrong. I was in good company too with practically every cricketing aficionado agreeing with me. The only person who seemed to have any inkling about India’s prowess was the then Australian Captain Kim Hughes who said that India was the dark horses of the tournament.
India not only won the World Cup in but did it in style by defeating the West Indies by 43 runs. As the drama of the final unfolded all of us at home reached for sugar as there were no sweets at home. Everyone had forgotten as to who had predicted what. As I slipped sugar into my mouth the taste of being proved wrong was never sweeter. It was one of the happiest moments of my life although I had been proved thoroughly wrong..
They were both referring to the chances of India winning the Cricket World Cup of 1983. Considering that India had done poorly in the two previous editions –1975 and 1979—the confidence evinced by my mother and brother seemed quite misplaced. “This is confidence born out of ignorance. India just doesn’t have the ability to do this,” I retorted. After all the West Indies who were the winners of the two previous cups were at the peak of their prowess. Not only was their bowling awesome their batting included the likes of the legendary Vivian Richards, the captain Clive Lloyd and the resplendent opening pair of Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes.
India of course had big names like Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev but as a unit they did not inspire confidence in me. History is witness to the fact that I was wrong and completely wrong. I was in good company too with practically every cricketing aficionado agreeing with me. The only person who seemed to have any inkling about India’s prowess was the then Australian Captain Kim Hughes who said that India was the dark horses of the tournament.
India not only won the World Cup in but did it in style by defeating the West Indies by 43 runs. As the drama of the final unfolded all of us at home reached for sugar as there were no sweets at home. Everyone had forgotten as to who had predicted what. As I slipped sugar into my mouth the taste of being proved wrong was never sweeter. It was one of the happiest moments of my life although I had been proved thoroughly wrong..
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Kanna
My earliest memory of Kanna goes back to childhood. He was escorting me around in the scooter meant for kids, which was so much a part of growing up in those days. My latter day memories of Kanna consist of meeting him practically every day during my teenage days in the eighties. Adolescent that I was the early part of the eighties was truly my summer of 1942. Kanna and I of course discussed the great adolescent obsession—girls.
During this period Kanna introduced me to the delights of listening to Mohammad Rafi and the joy of watching Shammi Kapoor on screen. Rafi and Shammi Kapoor are now an enduring part of my consciousness.
More importantly through Kanna, I also met Shridhar who to this day remains one of my closest friends and whose advice has stood me in good stead over the years.
As we got busy with our respective careers (Kanna was a CA while I became a journalist) our meetings over the years reduced. After marriage and parenting we hardly met each other. On the few occasions we met, he made no secret of his joy at meeting me.
It was a rude shock when about five months back, I came to know that he had been diagnosed with Cancer and was fighting for his life in hospital. A quick visit to the hospital and I managed to see him on his bed. He was on life support systems and far from the happy soul of my adolescence.
Even then when four days later I heard the news of his death, I was shocked. The mind had continued to hope against hope.
To make matters worse, on that day I could not even attend his funeral due to my professional commitments and heavy traffic on the roads. I felt that I owed this to Kanna. Farewell dear friend. Time will no doubt heal this wound as it does all others. A friend like you perhaps will never be a part of my life again.
During this period Kanna introduced me to the delights of listening to Mohammad Rafi and the joy of watching Shammi Kapoor on screen. Rafi and Shammi Kapoor are now an enduring part of my consciousness.
More importantly through Kanna, I also met Shridhar who to this day remains one of my closest friends and whose advice has stood me in good stead over the years.
As we got busy with our respective careers (Kanna was a CA while I became a journalist) our meetings over the years reduced. After marriage and parenting we hardly met each other. On the few occasions we met, he made no secret of his joy at meeting me.
It was a rude shock when about five months back, I came to know that he had been diagnosed with Cancer and was fighting for his life in hospital. A quick visit to the hospital and I managed to see him on his bed. He was on life support systems and far from the happy soul of my adolescence.
Even then when four days later I heard the news of his death, I was shocked. The mind had continued to hope against hope.
To make matters worse, on that day I could not even attend his funeral due to my professional commitments and heavy traffic on the roads. I felt that I owed this to Kanna. Farewell dear friend. Time will no doubt heal this wound as it does all others. A friend like you perhaps will never be a part of my life again.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Raja, Cigarettes & Zyban
A few days back I went to see my friend Raja in hospital. It was a piteous sight. Raja was in coma after a motor cycle accident, a couple of months back. His mother in-law and two other relatives were there. The one sign of improvement in the last few days was that he was now able to move his eyes although he still could not recognize people. Suddenly, he had a coughing fit at which one of his relatives remarked about Raja’s chain smoking habits.
This took me back in time to my own travails with smoking. I was a smoker for about 17 years and I chain smoked for about 12 years. It was a visit to a hospital that convinced me of the error of my ways. I was admitted in hospital after I complained of chest pain. I was just 35 years old and not even married. My heartbeat was monitored on a minute to minute basis. It was at that point that I made a decision.. If I got out of the hospital without any damage, I would give up smoking. Luckily, I was diagnosed as only suffering from hyper-acidity and was soon out of hospital. Much as I wanted to quit, I realized that it was proving to be impossible. The urge was quite simply too strong.
It was then that I decided to take the help of a drug which had been launched by Glaxo-Zyban. The company had made it absolutely clear that the drug should be taken under medical supervision. I guess in the end it was 50 per cent Zyban and 50 per cent will power that helped me kick the habit. Almost immediately my life changed. In about six months my marriage was fixed. Till that point, it was proving to be an elusive quest. I was reminded of what an acquaintance had told me—“Quit smoking, it will change your life.”
I pray and hope that my friend Raja (who is incidentally married) comes out of his coma and then quits smoking. For him it would not be just a life changing experience but quite really a new life.
This took me back in time to my own travails with smoking. I was a smoker for about 17 years and I chain smoked for about 12 years. It was a visit to a hospital that convinced me of the error of my ways. I was admitted in hospital after I complained of chest pain. I was just 35 years old and not even married. My heartbeat was monitored on a minute to minute basis. It was at that point that I made a decision.. If I got out of the hospital without any damage, I would give up smoking. Luckily, I was diagnosed as only suffering from hyper-acidity and was soon out of hospital. Much as I wanted to quit, I realized that it was proving to be impossible. The urge was quite simply too strong.
It was then that I decided to take the help of a drug which had been launched by Glaxo-Zyban. The company had made it absolutely clear that the drug should be taken under medical supervision. I guess in the end it was 50 per cent Zyban and 50 per cent will power that helped me kick the habit. Almost immediately my life changed. In about six months my marriage was fixed. Till that point, it was proving to be an elusive quest. I was reminded of what an acquaintance had told me—“Quit smoking, it will change your life.”
I pray and hope that my friend Raja (who is incidentally married) comes out of his coma and then quits smoking. For him it would not be just a life changing experience but quite really a new life.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
A Bonus and a Tragedy
It was to have been one of the happiest moments of my life. Fate however willed otherwise.
After many years I was to receive a performance linked incentive (PLI) or a bonus as some would call it. I got a sudden call on my cell phone from my boss wanting to see me urgently.
When I entered his room he was all smiles as he gave me a cheque saying that this was my PLI cheque. I saw the amount and could not help remarking “ This is a good amount”. I smiled back in appreciation and went back to my seat.
In a short time everything turned upside down. The news channels had started flashing the news of trains in Mumbai being bombed. It was July 11, 2006 and terrorists had bombed a number of trains in Mumbai. I huddled alongwith my colleagues and tried to catch the news. The tragedy was to eventually claim 187 lives –that of innocent people whose only crime was that they had boarded a train as they went about the daily business of earning a living.
It was soon time for me to respond to frantic phone calls from my home and assure every one that I was safe. I sat quite late in the office and left for home with another colleague who went by car. No trying to take the evening train for me on that day.
It was to have been one more addition in my cup of joy. Another piece of happiness to be added to a 14 month period when I had switched careers, become a father and bought a house. Alas, that wasn’t to be. The memory of the first substantial bonus cheque was forever marred by the tragedy that hit Mumbai on that day.
After many years I was to receive a performance linked incentive (PLI) or a bonus as some would call it. I got a sudden call on my cell phone from my boss wanting to see me urgently.
When I entered his room he was all smiles as he gave me a cheque saying that this was my PLI cheque. I saw the amount and could not help remarking “ This is a good amount”. I smiled back in appreciation and went back to my seat.
In a short time everything turned upside down. The news channels had started flashing the news of trains in Mumbai being bombed. It was July 11, 2006 and terrorists had bombed a number of trains in Mumbai. I huddled alongwith my colleagues and tried to catch the news. The tragedy was to eventually claim 187 lives –that of innocent people whose only crime was that they had boarded a train as they went about the daily business of earning a living.
It was soon time for me to respond to frantic phone calls from my home and assure every one that I was safe. I sat quite late in the office and left for home with another colleague who went by car. No trying to take the evening train for me on that day.
It was to have been one more addition in my cup of joy. Another piece of happiness to be added to a 14 month period when I had switched careers, become a father and bought a house. Alas, that wasn’t to be. The memory of the first substantial bonus cheque was forever marred by the tragedy that hit Mumbai on that day.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Cats, Mirrors and Raju
“This has never happened before,” Raju exclaimed as he surveyed the rear view mirror of his car in my hands.
All I had done was run my hand through the rear view mirror and presto it was in my hand. This put us in a piquant position. Rajus’s parents had gone to meet a doctor leaving both of us in the car. The immediate task was to restore the rear view mirror to its original position. Although Raju was no engineer, he managed to fix the mirror back before his parents came.
This is an enduring memory in a friendship that is over a quarter century old. Raju and I came into contact in 1981 when both of us joined the same college in Mumbai. In the first year we were mere acquaintances and realized that we had some common interests like a love of the English language. Acquaintance deepened into friendship in the second year It has continued to this day. Over the years, Raju went on to do his MBA and I went on to become a communications professional .
If in the previous instance I was the culprit, there have been times where Raju’s honorable ideas have clearly not lived up to their potential. Like the cat business for instance. A cat had strayed into one of the rooms of his ground floor flat and quite naturally, he wanted to evict it from his premises. How I got roped into the endeavour, I shall never comprehend. After a couple of abortive attempts I had to inform Raju that I could not assist him further in his endeavour. More so after one of the cat’s mews suspiciously sounded like the roar of another specimen of the cat family.
There were of course other lesser efforts which he roped me in. One of them was to place the order for the gas cylinder. Those were the days when piped gas was unavailable and cylinders were in short supply. One in fact had to remember a rather long number. I always managed to remember his gas number but not mine. So often did I find myself accompanying him for booking his cylinder.
On balance I must say that he has been a real friend who has been there for me every time I needed him. Raju is one of the very few persons who has managed to influence my life. I mean, convincing me to do things other than just chasing cats.
All I had done was run my hand through the rear view mirror and presto it was in my hand. This put us in a piquant position. Rajus’s parents had gone to meet a doctor leaving both of us in the car. The immediate task was to restore the rear view mirror to its original position. Although Raju was no engineer, he managed to fix the mirror back before his parents came.
This is an enduring memory in a friendship that is over a quarter century old. Raju and I came into contact in 1981 when both of us joined the same college in Mumbai. In the first year we were mere acquaintances and realized that we had some common interests like a love of the English language. Acquaintance deepened into friendship in the second year It has continued to this day. Over the years, Raju went on to do his MBA and I went on to become a communications professional .
If in the previous instance I was the culprit, there have been times where Raju’s honorable ideas have clearly not lived up to their potential. Like the cat business for instance. A cat had strayed into one of the rooms of his ground floor flat and quite naturally, he wanted to evict it from his premises. How I got roped into the endeavour, I shall never comprehend. After a couple of abortive attempts I had to inform Raju that I could not assist him further in his endeavour. More so after one of the cat’s mews suspiciously sounded like the roar of another specimen of the cat family.
There were of course other lesser efforts which he roped me in. One of them was to place the order for the gas cylinder. Those were the days when piped gas was unavailable and cylinders were in short supply. One in fact had to remember a rather long number. I always managed to remember his gas number but not mine. So often did I find myself accompanying him for booking his cylinder.
On balance I must say that he has been a real friend who has been there for me every time I needed him. Raju is one of the very few persons who has managed to influence my life. I mean, convincing me to do things other than just chasing cats.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
At The Temple
Sometime back, I went to the Balaji temple at Nerul in Navi Mumbai along with my family and some relatives.
As I closed my eyes in prayer I saw a child, perhaps three or four years old. What struck me about the child was a particular look in his eyes, perhaps a vacant look. As soon as I opened my eyes, I again saw the same child. I have seen enough of these looks to understand that the child had some kind of a mental problem.
I could not help feeling relieved at that point. My son Sanjiv who was two years old at that time was playing in the background with some relatives. My wife was praying. Suddenly my mind went back to the time when my wife was carrying my son. At that point, I was very apprehensive that my child to be born would have some mental deformity. There was no reason for me to think thus but I was totally apprehensive. I even contemplated doing some tests to ascertain whether this was indeed the case till my wife
put her foot down.
Suddenly I could not help feeling blessed in life. My son is a normal kid, my domestic life is good and my job is well pretty good too. What was I really complaining about? Here are persons in life who carry a cross not knowing what the destination is many times.
A few minutes earlier, I had seen another child around Sanjiv’s age with whom he was trying to get friendly. I could not help noticing that the child had a protruding belly-the result of malnutrition.
I suddenly realized that as I waited for the priest to open the curtains, that would help us glimpse the deity, that life is quite good after all. In a country of a billion people in which half the population lived below the poverty line cribbing about relatively minor professional and personal problems was tantamount to a crime if not a sin.
I realized then that life is not about the constant search for more but one had to practise contentment too. This alone would lead to happiness. As the priest rolled up the curtains, I bowed my head in thanksgiving to the lord. Perhaps such an important lesson could have been learnt only at a temple.
As I closed my eyes in prayer I saw a child, perhaps three or four years old. What struck me about the child was a particular look in his eyes, perhaps a vacant look. As soon as I opened my eyes, I again saw the same child. I have seen enough of these looks to understand that the child had some kind of a mental problem.
I could not help feeling relieved at that point. My son Sanjiv who was two years old at that time was playing in the background with some relatives. My wife was praying. Suddenly my mind went back to the time when my wife was carrying my son. At that point, I was very apprehensive that my child to be born would have some mental deformity. There was no reason for me to think thus but I was totally apprehensive. I even contemplated doing some tests to ascertain whether this was indeed the case till my wife
put her foot down.
Suddenly I could not help feeling blessed in life. My son is a normal kid, my domestic life is good and my job is well pretty good too. What was I really complaining about? Here are persons in life who carry a cross not knowing what the destination is many times.
A few minutes earlier, I had seen another child around Sanjiv’s age with whom he was trying to get friendly. I could not help noticing that the child had a protruding belly-the result of malnutrition.
I suddenly realized that as I waited for the priest to open the curtains, that would help us glimpse the deity, that life is quite good after all. In a country of a billion people in which half the population lived below the poverty line cribbing about relatively minor professional and personal problems was tantamount to a crime if not a sin.
I realized then that life is not about the constant search for more but one had to practise contentment too. This alone would lead to happiness. As the priest rolled up the curtains, I bowed my head in thanksgiving to the lord. Perhaps such an important lesson could have been learnt only at a temple.
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Cricketer
My love for cricket is acknowledged by all my friends but not my talent for the game. That is the reason even in my college days I never made it to the local team. I wasn’t therefore very keen on attending the matches featuring the team either.
Once in my life I not only made it to the local team but also played a match winning innings as well. It began ordinarily enough. I just came out of my house for a smoke only for another person from my building Raju Khakharia to insist that we troop out to watch a match being played by the local team. Brushing aside my protests that a pyjama was not a suitable attire for watching a match he almost pushed me into his car and dragged me to watch the match.
As luck would have it, the local team was a man short. The toss up was between me and Raju to make it to the playing eleven. Even I advocated Raju’s cause as he was a stroke player, while my chief talent consisted of being able to offer a dour defence to the most innocuous of deliveries. Raju for some reason was not willing and soon I was in the playing eleven.
The opposing team batted first and to be very frank I dont remember the score. It was our turn and the net result was that we had to get four runs with three balls left and with one wicket in hand. I entered the field as the last man. My team members had convinced the opposing team that I was injured and consequently needed a runner. This was done with the express intention preventing my weak running between the wickets being exposed to the opposition.
I took guard while my team watched more in despair than hope. The first ball came along and I was down the wicket in a trice lofting it over the head of the bowler. The applause of my team soon turned into expletives as along with the runner, I too had scampered. Luckily I managed to regain my crease while the runner ran two runs. Two balls left and two to get. We managed a bye of the next ball, and my team mate managed a single of the last ball for us to post a famous victory.
Needless to say I was madly congratulated by my team mates and my feat passed into local cricketing folklore. I also made a momentous announcement- retiring from all forms of cricket at the ripe young age of 27 years. After all it was better to go out when your team mates for once acknowledged your talent for cricket.
Once in my life I not only made it to the local team but also played a match winning innings as well. It began ordinarily enough. I just came out of my house for a smoke only for another person from my building Raju Khakharia to insist that we troop out to watch a match being played by the local team. Brushing aside my protests that a pyjama was not a suitable attire for watching a match he almost pushed me into his car and dragged me to watch the match.
As luck would have it, the local team was a man short. The toss up was between me and Raju to make it to the playing eleven. Even I advocated Raju’s cause as he was a stroke player, while my chief talent consisted of being able to offer a dour defence to the most innocuous of deliveries. Raju for some reason was not willing and soon I was in the playing eleven.
The opposing team batted first and to be very frank I dont remember the score. It was our turn and the net result was that we had to get four runs with three balls left and with one wicket in hand. I entered the field as the last man. My team members had convinced the opposing team that I was injured and consequently needed a runner. This was done with the express intention preventing my weak running between the wickets being exposed to the opposition.
I took guard while my team watched more in despair than hope. The first ball came along and I was down the wicket in a trice lofting it over the head of the bowler. The applause of my team soon turned into expletives as along with the runner, I too had scampered. Luckily I managed to regain my crease while the runner ran two runs. Two balls left and two to get. We managed a bye of the next ball, and my team mate managed a single of the last ball for us to post a famous victory.
Needless to say I was madly congratulated by my team mates and my feat passed into local cricketing folklore. I also made a momentous announcement- retiring from all forms of cricket at the ripe young age of 27 years. After all it was better to go out when your team mates for once acknowledged your talent for cricket.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Singer
My friend Vaidy is very clear about his views on my singing. Whenever I ask him his views on my rendition of a popular Hindi film number he says without hesitation, “Gaana achcha hai lekin to muth ga,” meaning that “the song is good but you don’t sing this song”.
A little harsh perhaps but remarkably the overwhelming majority of humanity that I come in touch with agrees with him. Indeed the only person who listens to my song is my son Sanjiv. The only explanation that I can think of for this is the fact that he is just about three years old and therefore is yet to develop an ear for music.
This lack of ability of mine to be a singer first came to the fore when I was in school. At that time, I was riding high on confidence after winning a few awards for my public speaking skills. So when the chance came to participate in a singing competition, I immediately jumped at it.
Even as I strode towards the microphone, I could hear the applause ringing in my ears—from my previous stint as a public speaker. I was convinced that there would be nothing but an encore. I soon began singing the title song of the popular Hindi film “Yaadon ki Baarat”. Sure enough there was pin drop silence as I sang. The audience soon made their views clear. As I sang , they booed. I was startled but continued with my endeavours. The more I sang the more they booed making their views absolutely clear.
There was only one thing that I could do and I did that—I quietly left the singing floor. The audience had given the verdict which Vaidy was to give years later—Gaana Achcha hail lekin tu mat ga.”
A little harsh perhaps but remarkably the overwhelming majority of humanity that I come in touch with agrees with him. Indeed the only person who listens to my song is my son Sanjiv. The only explanation that I can think of for this is the fact that he is just about three years old and therefore is yet to develop an ear for music.
This lack of ability of mine to be a singer first came to the fore when I was in school. At that time, I was riding high on confidence after winning a few awards for my public speaking skills. So when the chance came to participate in a singing competition, I immediately jumped at it.
Even as I strode towards the microphone, I could hear the applause ringing in my ears—from my previous stint as a public speaker. I was convinced that there would be nothing but an encore. I soon began singing the title song of the popular Hindi film “Yaadon ki Baarat”. Sure enough there was pin drop silence as I sang. The audience soon made their views clear. As I sang , they booed. I was startled but continued with my endeavours. The more I sang the more they booed making their views absolutely clear.
There was only one thing that I could do and I did that—I quietly left the singing floor. The audience had given the verdict which Vaidy was to give years later—Gaana Achcha hail lekin tu mat ga.”
Monday, October 6, 2008
The language of Children
My three year old son Sanjiv never ceases to amaze me. Sometime back he gave yet another insight about himself in particular and children in general. Our servant –Kavita-had brought her six year old son—Sumeet- home. While she was doing her work, Sanjiv quietly went about playing with him. He even shared his precious toy- a musical instrument with Sumeet. The two of them literally made music together.
When it was time for Kavita to leave she naturally wanted to take Sumeet with her. Sanjiv however would have none of it. He wanted Sumeet to remain and play with him. It was with great difficulty that we managed to let Sumeet go.
Contrast this with Sanjiv’s behavior when he plays with Siva the child of a good family friend. Adult logic has it that the two should get along very well. After all they come from a similar socio-economic background and speak the same language-Tamil. In reality, although Sanjiv plays with Siva he is really not that comfortable with him. He refuses to part with his toys where Siva is concerned although Siva shares his toys with Sanjiv. The two children play together but it is not that comfortable a relationship.
This brings us face to face with one of life’s great truths. Children are not conscious about socio-economic considerations. This becomes a part of their lives when childhood recedes and adulthood beckons.
In this case the fault does not lies in either Sanjiv, Siva or their stars. It is just the way that some things are meant to be. This is what allows, Sanjiv to communicate in a language that only children can understand with Sumeet but is unable to do so with Siva.
When it was time for Kavita to leave she naturally wanted to take Sumeet with her. Sanjiv however would have none of it. He wanted Sumeet to remain and play with him. It was with great difficulty that we managed to let Sumeet go.
Contrast this with Sanjiv’s behavior when he plays with Siva the child of a good family friend. Adult logic has it that the two should get along very well. After all they come from a similar socio-economic background and speak the same language-Tamil. In reality, although Sanjiv plays with Siva he is really not that comfortable with him. He refuses to part with his toys where Siva is concerned although Siva shares his toys with Sanjiv. The two children play together but it is not that comfortable a relationship.
This brings us face to face with one of life’s great truths. Children are not conscious about socio-economic considerations. This becomes a part of their lives when childhood recedes and adulthood beckons.
In this case the fault does not lies in either Sanjiv, Siva or their stars. It is just the way that some things are meant to be. This is what allows, Sanjiv to communicate in a language that only children can understand with Sumeet but is unable to do so with Siva.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Kerala: The conundrum of God's own country
It has been billed as God's own country. Indeed as one sits on a motorboat and sails along the backwaters, watching palm trees pass by it is hard to disagree. The beauty lends a serenity to the stressed life of a corporate executive. Life is no more about targets and deadlines but a chance to soak in the peace and quiet.
Not all is quiet in this state though. Not all visitors go away with this feeling of unalloyed pleasure. Take my sister-in-law Rita for instance. Having spent all of her life in Mumbai, the state came as quite a shock to her when her husband was transferred last year to Kochi. "You cannot bargain in the shops. Prices of everything are fixed. Shopkeepers make their displeasure obvious when you try to bargain,” she says.
Take the auto rickshaws. The drivers do not bother to switch on the meters. They charge Rs 30 for a distance which would cost Rs 10 in Mumbai—which is generally regarded as India's costliest city.
Things are not much different in the temple town of Guruvayur which draws devotees in droves every year. After standing in the queue for four hours for a glimpse of the deity the story turns quite different at a nearby lunch home. When I order (request is the word actually) to clean a particular chair for us, he says coolly, "Why don't you take another one?" When I insist on having the same chair, he says "Look the person who is supposed to clean this has not come today. Why don't you take the other chair?" In Mumbai this would have been unthinkable.
This attitude explains why Kerala, the country's most literate state does not attract industry. Communist influence and money from expatriates from the Gulf has fuelled sloth and give a damn attitude. Otherwise Kerala with its literate population shouldn't be left out of the thriving call centre business.
God's own country is also home to the God that is widely regarded to have failed—Communism. Till the state resolves this conundrum, despite its literacy levels it is condemned to not take its rightful place in the unfolding India story.
Not all is quiet in this state though. Not all visitors go away with this feeling of unalloyed pleasure. Take my sister-in-law Rita for instance. Having spent all of her life in Mumbai, the state came as quite a shock to her when her husband was transferred last year to Kochi. "You cannot bargain in the shops. Prices of everything are fixed. Shopkeepers make their displeasure obvious when you try to bargain,” she says.
Take the auto rickshaws. The drivers do not bother to switch on the meters. They charge Rs 30 for a distance which would cost Rs 10 in Mumbai—which is generally regarded as India's costliest city.
Things are not much different in the temple town of Guruvayur which draws devotees in droves every year. After standing in the queue for four hours for a glimpse of the deity the story turns quite different at a nearby lunch home. When I order (request is the word actually) to clean a particular chair for us, he says coolly, "Why don't you take another one?" When I insist on having the same chair, he says "Look the person who is supposed to clean this has not come today. Why don't you take the other chair?" In Mumbai this would have been unthinkable.
This attitude explains why Kerala, the country's most literate state does not attract industry. Communist influence and money from expatriates from the Gulf has fuelled sloth and give a damn attitude. Otherwise Kerala with its literate population shouldn't be left out of the thriving call centre business.
God's own country is also home to the God that is widely regarded to have failed—Communism. Till the state resolves this conundrum, despite its literacy levels it is condemned to not take its rightful place in the unfolding India story.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The Mind Reader
I ran into Bassanji, many years ago, during a period in my life when I was more out of jobs than in them.
Now Bassanji was an elderly bachelor whose claim to fame was his proficiency in astrology and various other self professed spiritual gifts. He had managed to collect around him a bunch of loyal acolytes which included many persons from my friends' circle who like me were grappling with their own respective crises. Looking back it is easy to see why Bassanji became so influential---troubled young\middle –aged minds trying to come to grips with life’s problems. Many of my friends began looking upto him for advice on various issues concerning their lives. After all, the man had his charm and well he had spiritual powers didn’t he ?
There was one confirmed sceptic in that group—me. It was nothing personal about Bassanji but a simple distaste on my part towards such pursuits. While other friends of mine hung on to his every word over innumerable cups of tea at Hotel Vijay, I would often excuse myself from such gatherings. Not for my troubled mind solace in the spiritual but the grind of hard work backed up by irrefutable logic. During one of those sessions at Vijay, while everyone was listening to him, I guess the boredom showed on my face and it obviously hurt the great man. Suddenly he turned around and told me, “You don’t want my presence here. I can read your mind.” Everyone looked stunned at this outburst while I made a quite exit. Later on my friends tried to explain to me Bassanji’s behaviour in a half-apologetic, half reprimanding tone.
I was clear in my mind on one thing which I shared with all concerned. This is a world which functions peacefully since we cannot read each other’s minds although we can guess other people’s thoughts A person like Bassanji was basically asking for trouble by acquiring such gifts (which I still doubt). The moral of the story is that God intended the world to function in a particular way and therefore in his infinite wisdom has ensured that gifts like mind-reading (clairvoyance) are not freely available to humanity. A person by acquiring such gifts was in my opinion going against nature. It is better to function in accordance with God’s wishes and not acquire such surreal gifts.
Soon the incident blew over and life went on as usual although I took even greater care to avoid Bassanji. As a senior communications professional today in a reputed corporate house I can testify that I manage my life and job quite well without being clairvoyant. And yes as far as Bassanji’s followers are concerned---many of them continue to be my friends and they maintain a safe distance from the Mind Reader.
Now Bassanji was an elderly bachelor whose claim to fame was his proficiency in astrology and various other self professed spiritual gifts. He had managed to collect around him a bunch of loyal acolytes which included many persons from my friends' circle who like me were grappling with their own respective crises. Looking back it is easy to see why Bassanji became so influential---troubled young\middle –aged minds trying to come to grips with life’s problems. Many of my friends began looking upto him for advice on various issues concerning their lives. After all, the man had his charm and well he had spiritual powers didn’t he ?
There was one confirmed sceptic in that group—me. It was nothing personal about Bassanji but a simple distaste on my part towards such pursuits. While other friends of mine hung on to his every word over innumerable cups of tea at Hotel Vijay, I would often excuse myself from such gatherings. Not for my troubled mind solace in the spiritual but the grind of hard work backed up by irrefutable logic. During one of those sessions at Vijay, while everyone was listening to him, I guess the boredom showed on my face and it obviously hurt the great man. Suddenly he turned around and told me, “You don’t want my presence here. I can read your mind.” Everyone looked stunned at this outburst while I made a quite exit. Later on my friends tried to explain to me Bassanji’s behaviour in a half-apologetic, half reprimanding tone.
I was clear in my mind on one thing which I shared with all concerned. This is a world which functions peacefully since we cannot read each other’s minds although we can guess other people’s thoughts A person like Bassanji was basically asking for trouble by acquiring such gifts (which I still doubt). The moral of the story is that God intended the world to function in a particular way and therefore in his infinite wisdom has ensured that gifts like mind-reading (clairvoyance) are not freely available to humanity. A person by acquiring such gifts was in my opinion going against nature. It is better to function in accordance with God’s wishes and not acquire such surreal gifts.
Soon the incident blew over and life went on as usual although I took even greater care to avoid Bassanji. As a senior communications professional today in a reputed corporate house I can testify that I manage my life and job quite well without being clairvoyant. And yes as far as Bassanji’s followers are concerned---many of them continue to be my friends and they maintain a safe distance from the Mind Reader.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Legs and legroom
Legs and Leg Room
As I stretched my legs on the Air India flight at Bangalore, sometime back, waiting for it to take off one phrase sprang to my mind for the nth time. "The choice is between legs and leg room"
Well, I was comparing once more in my mind the difference between Air India which I had flown since I was a child and the new airlines like Kingfisher. In Air India one was waited upon by matronly looking air hostesses, who in the words of the late P G Wodehouse were built for stability and not speed. Kingfisher on the other hand has a collection of pretty young things with hourglass figures. Another Wodehousian expression describes their speed of service--she almost met herself while coming in. Add to this the fact that the chairman of the UB Group which runs Kingfisher Airlines himself welcomes you on board with a video taped message, a la Richard Branson on Virgin Atlantic, the aura is complete.
There is one thing though that you cannot do on a Kingfisher flight and for that matter on many of the flights of the new airlines--i.e. stretch your legs. The new airlines represent the world and lifestyle of today-compression of time and space. And yes package it attractively. That explains the attractive air-hostesses and the welcome by Mr. Mallya as well as the lack of leg room.
An Air India flight despite the matrons and a belated welcome by the pilot (which incidentally comes closer to the time you are going to land on short duration flights) offers you the chance to stretch your legs. The aircraft size harks of an era gone where the accent was on doing things right than just doing them fast. It is also a reminder of the days when, unlike now, leisure was a part of life.
True the only thing constant in life is change and even Air India has to change. That explains the merger with Indian Airlines and the birth of a new entity The National Aviation Company of India Limited (NACIL)
I hope that NACIL at the time of replacing aircraft does not shop for the new and sleek ones but sticks to the wide bodied ones. For that matter if the airline shores up its service its comfortable aircraft could emerge as the real differentiator in the marketplace. The choice may then not be so clear between legs and legroom.
As I stretched my legs on the Air India flight at Bangalore, sometime back, waiting for it to take off one phrase sprang to my mind for the nth time. "The choice is between legs and leg room"
Well, I was comparing once more in my mind the difference between Air India which I had flown since I was a child and the new airlines like Kingfisher. In Air India one was waited upon by matronly looking air hostesses, who in the words of the late P G Wodehouse were built for stability and not speed. Kingfisher on the other hand has a collection of pretty young things with hourglass figures. Another Wodehousian expression describes their speed of service--she almost met herself while coming in. Add to this the fact that the chairman of the UB Group which runs Kingfisher Airlines himself welcomes you on board with a video taped message, a la Richard Branson on Virgin Atlantic, the aura is complete.
There is one thing though that you cannot do on a Kingfisher flight and for that matter on many of the flights of the new airlines--i.e. stretch your legs. The new airlines represent the world and lifestyle of today-compression of time and space. And yes package it attractively. That explains the attractive air-hostesses and the welcome by Mr. Mallya as well as the lack of leg room.
An Air India flight despite the matrons and a belated welcome by the pilot (which incidentally comes closer to the time you are going to land on short duration flights) offers you the chance to stretch your legs. The aircraft size harks of an era gone where the accent was on doing things right than just doing them fast. It is also a reminder of the days when, unlike now, leisure was a part of life.
True the only thing constant in life is change and even Air India has to change. That explains the merger with Indian Airlines and the birth of a new entity The National Aviation Company of India Limited (NACIL)
I hope that NACIL at the time of replacing aircraft does not shop for the new and sleek ones but sticks to the wide bodied ones. For that matter if the airline shores up its service its comfortable aircraft could emerge as the real differentiator in the marketplace. The choice may then not be so clear between legs and legroom.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Facets of Life
Sense and Simplicity
I was speaking to Akul the other day. All of 11 years his world view is very clear. What mummy, daddy and teacher say have to be necessarily right. Life is all about playing with other children, protecting his 7 year -old sister and occasionally having to endure uncle Ravindran's telephonic questions on girlfriends.
While he confesses to like talking to uncle Ravindran, when the subject of girlfriends is brought up he takes recourse to a very simple method of discontinuing the conversation, " Would you like to talk to mummy," he asks politely and passes the telephone to his mother.
While talking to Akul the other day, I asked him what was he doing during his vacation. H e said that he was studying Why ? Shouldn't he be really playing with other children? Wasn't vacation the time to do such things? No. "How will I come first in class if I don’t' study now ? he said ever so simply .
I had to continue trying to have fun at his expense of course . “My dear friend”, I said with an air of wisdom, “Look at all the rich persons. Did any of them really come first in class ? Do you want to come first in class or do you want to be rich.”
"Come first of course," he said in all innocence and in a voice that hinted that I was not quite intelligent enough to understand such things. He was of course too polite to say any such thing . It was my turn to ask to speak to his mother.
On the other hand, take the conversation that I have with most of my other friends. When I recently talked of doing my MBA, I was roundly discouraged. The question usually asked was "Why do you want to waste time and money on such endeavors.
“Aren’t' you already holding a senior position in communications. Come on pal, focus on making money and retiring early”, thus went the advice.
Well. I took that advice and thought that it was more worthwhile improving my lot in life by working, saving, investing and planning to retire rich. The advice was impeccable after all. and the logic compelling. On the wrong side of 40 with a wife and kid to support and ever reducing career spans brought about by long work hours, it was safer to take this route. Not for me the road less traveled.
I wish however that I could share Akul's worldview .The simplicity of his thoughts on life. His conviction that coming first in class and by extension that education is more important than getting rich. And yes share his conviction, mummy, daddy and in my case the wife and boss are always right.
I was speaking to Akul the other day. All of 11 years his world view is very clear. What mummy, daddy and teacher say have to be necessarily right. Life is all about playing with other children, protecting his 7 year -old sister and occasionally having to endure uncle Ravindran's telephonic questions on girlfriends.
While he confesses to like talking to uncle Ravindran, when the subject of girlfriends is brought up he takes recourse to a very simple method of discontinuing the conversation, " Would you like to talk to mummy," he asks politely and passes the telephone to his mother.
While talking to Akul the other day, I asked him what was he doing during his vacation. H e said that he was studying Why ? Shouldn't he be really playing with other children? Wasn't vacation the time to do such things? No. "How will I come first in class if I don’t' study now ? he said ever so simply .
I had to continue trying to have fun at his expense of course . “My dear friend”, I said with an air of wisdom, “Look at all the rich persons. Did any of them really come first in class ? Do you want to come first in class or do you want to be rich.”
"Come first of course," he said in all innocence and in a voice that hinted that I was not quite intelligent enough to understand such things. He was of course too polite to say any such thing . It was my turn to ask to speak to his mother.
On the other hand, take the conversation that I have with most of my other friends. When I recently talked of doing my MBA, I was roundly discouraged. The question usually asked was "Why do you want to waste time and money on such endeavors.
“Aren’t' you already holding a senior position in communications. Come on pal, focus on making money and retiring early”, thus went the advice.
Well. I took that advice and thought that it was more worthwhile improving my lot in life by working, saving, investing and planning to retire rich. The advice was impeccable after all. and the logic compelling. On the wrong side of 40 with a wife and kid to support and ever reducing career spans brought about by long work hours, it was safer to take this route. Not for me the road less traveled.
I wish however that I could share Akul's worldview .The simplicity of his thoughts on life. His conviction that coming first in class and by extension that education is more important than getting rich. And yes share his conviction, mummy, daddy and in my case the wife and boss are always right.
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