It was about a quarter of a century ago in Matheran (when I was all of 20 years) that I discovered that the sky was blue. Rather late in the day one might think. If you are however brought up in Mumbai you would have never seen a blue sky. I dare say that this is true of most Indian cities. Finally looking up at the heavens in Matheran that I managed to confirm what I had learnt probably in kindergarten.
It was during that trip to Matheran that I also discovered the meaning of another expression “Blue Haze of Smoke”. All had just started smoking. It wasn’t until I visited what is described as the world’s smallest hill station that I was finally able to grasp the meaning of the expression. Finally, I could see the blue haze of smoke as it wafted it ways across to the sky.
Naturally, the first thing that I wanted to see when I visited Matheran this weekend was to check out whether one could still see the smoke. Forget the fact that I had quit smoking or there is a ban on smoking in public spaces, I could clearly see the person in front of me smoke as I rode on a horse covering the last mile in Matheran. Sure enough the kid in front of me (possibly 20 years) smoking and the blue smoke curling up. The smoke however didn’t travel the distance. I asked the escort\owner of my horse as to whether the climate in this hill station had deteriorated. He answered in the affirmative. This despite the fact that no pollution emitting vehicle is allowed inside Matheran. After all even this hill station could not remain immune to the overall deterioration in the atmosphere.
Over the course of the next 24 hours I had to concede that the place had retained its pristine purity and not fallen prey to commercialization unlike other hill stations. While I rode on horse most of the time, my wife and son rode on a rickshaw drawn by two people. Horses and rickshaws are the only two modes of travel available in Matheran. Since my 4 year old son vetoed the idea of riding on a horse, we had to enlist the services of a rickshaw. This set me thinking again.
Matheran had managed to retain its charm by not falling prey to commercialization. Maybe the decision to not allow vehicles in just had something to do with the fact that the roads are extremely narrow. At any rate, this had resulted in many of its inhabitants having to take up pulling risckshaws for a living. Something against which the very fiber in one’s body revolted. If other hill stations had paid a price for commercialization, the residents of this hill station had paid a price for not going the commercial way. Taking the road less travelled clearly extracts a price too.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Connecting with the Mahatma
This weekend I was at New Delhi to attend a wedding and I took the opportunity to visit Rajghat, the memorial of the Father of the Nation—Mahatma Gandhi. This is the second or third time that I am visiting Rajghat and the experience has always been the same. A sense of peace and quiet descends on me. Indeed it was this search for peace that took me to Rajghat again. It was as though I wanted to reconfirm that I would feel this peace again.
As I closed my eyes before the Samadhi, I saw before me the light (the jyoti) which was enclosed in a glass container of sorts. Till that point I was merrily clicking pictures on my mobile phone. It seemed to be sacrilege that one should click photographs at a spot like this. While I refrained, I could not but see that crass commercialism had intruded here too. A photographer was offering to click anyone who wanted to pose at the Samadhi and give instant photographs for a fee of course. .
While this sight filled me with revulsion, on closing my eyes I not only experienced overwhelming peace and quiet but also felt energized. I think that perhaps I went into brief meditation. This is not something that I have experienced even in religious places and maybe this has something to do with the fact that I am not particularly religious by nature. Gandhiji of course stood for religious harmony which is a strong article of faith with me. The Mahatma is perhaps my shepherd.
As I walked away from Rajghat and went about the daily business of life and living, I could not but think of Jawaharlal Nehru’s famous speech after the assassination of the Mahatma—The light has gone out of our lives. After beginning with these lines Nehru says in his speech, “The light has gone out I said, yet I was wrong. For the light that shone in this country was no ordinary light. The light that has illumined this country for these many years will illumine this country for many more years, and a thousand years later that light will be seen in this country and the world will see it and it will give solace to inuumerable hearts.”
Gandhiji had fallen to an assassin’s bullet many years before I was born. The light at Rajghat not only gave solace to my heart but enabled me to connect with the Mahatma.
As I closed my eyes before the Samadhi, I saw before me the light (the jyoti) which was enclosed in a glass container of sorts. Till that point I was merrily clicking pictures on my mobile phone. It seemed to be sacrilege that one should click photographs at a spot like this. While I refrained, I could not but see that crass commercialism had intruded here too. A photographer was offering to click anyone who wanted to pose at the Samadhi and give instant photographs for a fee of course. .
While this sight filled me with revulsion, on closing my eyes I not only experienced overwhelming peace and quiet but also felt energized. I think that perhaps I went into brief meditation. This is not something that I have experienced even in religious places and maybe this has something to do with the fact that I am not particularly religious by nature. Gandhiji of course stood for religious harmony which is a strong article of faith with me. The Mahatma is perhaps my shepherd.
As I walked away from Rajghat and went about the daily business of life and living, I could not but think of Jawaharlal Nehru’s famous speech after the assassination of the Mahatma—The light has gone out of our lives. After beginning with these lines Nehru says in his speech, “The light has gone out I said, yet I was wrong. For the light that shone in this country was no ordinary light. The light that has illumined this country for these many years will illumine this country for many more years, and a thousand years later that light will be seen in this country and the world will see it and it will give solace to inuumerable hearts.”
Gandhiji had fallen to an assassin’s bullet many years before I was born. The light at Rajghat not only gave solace to my heart but enabled me to connect with the Mahatma.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sachin Tendulkar : Man or Myth ?
This week I too but cannot celebrate the genius of Sachin Tendulkar. I am reproducing below an article I wrote in 2005 when Tendulkar was out of the game with an injury and facing tremendous criticism for his alleged lack of performance.
Article:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At sixteen he burst into a nation’s collective consciousness Sixteen years later, the nation is questioning whether he has the right to occupy that consciousness.
Today, as he grapples with injury and hears questions being asked about his legacy and indeed even if there is one, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar might be forgiven for thinking that he lives in an unfair world.
The knives are in many ways out for this man who the great Don Bradman said –reminds him of himself . Tendulkar is in many ways being asked to being prove himself all over again. The man who owns practically every record in the books ironically finds his greatness being questioned for precisely being buried under the weight of runs. Records are fine his critics say, but where are the match winning innings ? What is the use of the solo shows, when it did not translate into wins for the team?
Haven’t his contemporaries achieved more ? Lara at Barbados, Laxman at Kolkata and Dravid at Adelaide ? Further, how many times has Tendulkar pulled India out of trouble a la Dravid, played that defining knock Laxman knock or simply redefined batting like Lara?
Also, can this man display the bravado of a Sehwag or play with the abandon of a Gilchrist when the chips are down?
By the way is this guy as tough as Gavaskar.? Didn’t the original little master play better quality attacks especially the famed west Indian quartet and get runs by the ton.? Is this little man really as great as Vivian Richards ? Is the to be or not to be version of Tendulkar a patch on the king who reigned for much of the seventies and eighties.For that matter was he ever that great at all ?
Finally, isn’t this guy who gazes out of cola ads and plugs cell phones a pure creation of marketing hype? Have Sachin’s over enthusiastic spin doctors done the little man a disservice by creating a level of hype that perhaps helps him earn millions but also created the image of a fairy prince who was slated to lead the nation out of the cricketing morass it found itself in for a large part of his career but simply couldn’t?
Instead even while one associates a fairy tale victory to Mohammed Kaif and Yuvraj Singh like the Natwest trophy final at Lords in June 2002 the enduring memory of Tendulkar is perhaps that of the man who almost pulled it off against a rampant Pakistan at Chennai.. Indeed Chennai has in many come to characterise the Tendulkar cricketing story, runs for the man which couldn’t prevent ruins for the team..
There is merit in all these arguments. A Lara on song is probably the best batsman to have played the game after the Don. Dravid continuously redifines mental toughness while Laxman seems to conjure up the big one just when his team needs it the most.
At Kolkata his innings turned a series on its head, while his wand of courage in the last one dayer at Pakistan ensured that India beat its arch rivals in a series in their own backyard for the first time in history.
Further, it was Sehwag’s triple hundred that set the tone for the epoch making series win in Pakistan. Bowlers round the world have described Gilchrist as the most dangerous batsman in the world.
Certainly, Tendulkar has not faced the same quality of attacks that Gavaskar did. To be sure, Richards imposed himself on the facing some of the best bowlers in the history of the game in a way that Tendulkar hasn’t.
Make no mistake though. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar is not just one of the all time greats of cricket but sport. No man in the history of sport has been subjected to the pressure of expectations that this man has been. For a billion Indians watching Tendulkar is not about witnessing one of the finest feats of batsmanship but an act of catharsis.
For a nation that has been perenially starved off heroes, watching Tendulkar was not about witnessing a divine feat of batsmanship
but an escape from a dreary and dull existence. In some ways watching Tendulkar bat was for a billion people a fulfilment of themselves. In some ways, in the satellite television era Tendulkar more than the afternoon matinee hero, the man who allowed India’s billion to surf their dreams.
.
The greatness of Tendulkar is that despite being subjected to such wild expectations he carried on with the business of scoring runs. Inspite of being part of a team that played during circket’s darkest hour, Tendulkar still played two innings at Sharjah against Australia in 1998 that was his own version of operation desert storm.
Remember that Lara who too faced enormous expectations almost fell away. Don’t forget that he too has had to go through his version of trial by fire. There have been times when he has just got away from the game and worse has had his own team mates say that he considers himself larger than the game.
True Dravid and Laxman have delivered when the team needed it most. Further, Sehwag and Gilchrist play with an abandon not witnessed in the history of the game. Where however were the expectations.?
Sachem Tendulkar unlike communism is not the god who failed but a man who has faced expectations never experienced in the history of sport. Despite this he has performed and well has retained his sanity cum humility. Don’t forget he came back to shoulder India’s burden in the 1999 world cup just after paying his last respects to his father. Greatness is not just about winning matches. For Sachin Tendulkar it has just been leading his life.
Article:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At sixteen he burst into a nation’s collective consciousness Sixteen years later, the nation is questioning whether he has the right to occupy that consciousness.
Today, as he grapples with injury and hears questions being asked about his legacy and indeed even if there is one, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar might be forgiven for thinking that he lives in an unfair world.
The knives are in many ways out for this man who the great Don Bradman said –reminds him of himself . Tendulkar is in many ways being asked to being prove himself all over again. The man who owns practically every record in the books ironically finds his greatness being questioned for precisely being buried under the weight of runs. Records are fine his critics say, but where are the match winning innings ? What is the use of the solo shows, when it did not translate into wins for the team?
Haven’t his contemporaries achieved more ? Lara at Barbados, Laxman at Kolkata and Dravid at Adelaide ? Further, how many times has Tendulkar pulled India out of trouble a la Dravid, played that defining knock Laxman knock or simply redefined batting like Lara?
Also, can this man display the bravado of a Sehwag or play with the abandon of a Gilchrist when the chips are down?
By the way is this guy as tough as Gavaskar.? Didn’t the original little master play better quality attacks especially the famed west Indian quartet and get runs by the ton.? Is this little man really as great as Vivian Richards ? Is the to be or not to be version of Tendulkar a patch on the king who reigned for much of the seventies and eighties.For that matter was he ever that great at all ?
Finally, isn’t this guy who gazes out of cola ads and plugs cell phones a pure creation of marketing hype? Have Sachin’s over enthusiastic spin doctors done the little man a disservice by creating a level of hype that perhaps helps him earn millions but also created the image of a fairy prince who was slated to lead the nation out of the cricketing morass it found itself in for a large part of his career but simply couldn’t?
Instead even while one associates a fairy tale victory to Mohammed Kaif and Yuvraj Singh like the Natwest trophy final at Lords in June 2002 the enduring memory of Tendulkar is perhaps that of the man who almost pulled it off against a rampant Pakistan at Chennai.. Indeed Chennai has in many come to characterise the Tendulkar cricketing story, runs for the man which couldn’t prevent ruins for the team..
There is merit in all these arguments. A Lara on song is probably the best batsman to have played the game after the Don. Dravid continuously redifines mental toughness while Laxman seems to conjure up the big one just when his team needs it the most.
At Kolkata his innings turned a series on its head, while his wand of courage in the last one dayer at Pakistan ensured that India beat its arch rivals in a series in their own backyard for the first time in history.
Further, it was Sehwag’s triple hundred that set the tone for the epoch making series win in Pakistan. Bowlers round the world have described Gilchrist as the most dangerous batsman in the world.
Certainly, Tendulkar has not faced the same quality of attacks that Gavaskar did. To be sure, Richards imposed himself on the facing some of the best bowlers in the history of the game in a way that Tendulkar hasn’t.
Make no mistake though. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar is not just one of the all time greats of cricket but sport. No man in the history of sport has been subjected to the pressure of expectations that this man has been. For a billion Indians watching Tendulkar is not about witnessing one of the finest feats of batsmanship but an act of catharsis.
For a nation that has been perenially starved off heroes, watching Tendulkar was not about witnessing a divine feat of batsmanship
but an escape from a dreary and dull existence. In some ways watching Tendulkar bat was for a billion people a fulfilment of themselves. In some ways, in the satellite television era Tendulkar more than the afternoon matinee hero, the man who allowed India’s billion to surf their dreams.
.
The greatness of Tendulkar is that despite being subjected to such wild expectations he carried on with the business of scoring runs. Inspite of being part of a team that played during circket’s darkest hour, Tendulkar still played two innings at Sharjah against Australia in 1998 that was his own version of operation desert storm.
Remember that Lara who too faced enormous expectations almost fell away. Don’t forget that he too has had to go through his version of trial by fire. There have been times when he has just got away from the game and worse has had his own team mates say that he considers himself larger than the game.
True Dravid and Laxman have delivered when the team needed it most. Further, Sehwag and Gilchrist play with an abandon not witnessed in the history of the game. Where however were the expectations.?
Sachem Tendulkar unlike communism is not the god who failed but a man who has faced expectations never experienced in the history of sport. Despite this he has performed and well has retained his sanity cum humility. Don’t forget he came back to shoulder India’s burden in the 1999 world cup just after paying his last respects to his father. Greatness is not just about winning matches. For Sachin Tendulkar it has just been leading his life.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Roebuck Rhapsodies
“Watching Brian Lara bat has been a delight to put alongside African sunsets, dry white wine, eating a ripe mango, catching a wave, reading P G Wodehouse and listening to Mozart and Bob Dylan”.
I doubt whether anyone else has captured better the joy of batting epitomized by Brian Charles Lara. This is Peter Roebuck writing at his very best and this is not even a book about the great Trinidadian but an excerpt from “In it to win it---The Australian Cricket Supremacy”
The book puts in context the Australian psyche, the country’s history, the influence of the Chappell brothers, the rise, fall and the rise again of Australian cricket. The book gives an insight into the psyche of Allan Border which was so scarred by repeated defeats by the West Indies that, the great Australian captain displayed timidity when the rivals were down and all but out. It takes you through the Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh eras and ends with the triumph of the Englishmen in the 2005 Ashes. It throws rare vignettes like how Matthew Hayden who destroyed bowling attacks at will actually needed reassurance from his captains to do well.
The book manages to add a context and perspective which is not easily seen in other writers. For instance the rise of Indian cricket is juxtaposed with the country’s economic rise and the ability of its people to embrace the best of both East & West.
In the end the book is much about Roebuck’s felicity with the pen as about Australian cricket. Peter Roebuck may have been a batsman of modest ability and never donned his country’s colors (England) although he had a good record for his county-- Somerset. When it comes to cricket writing he clearly stands a class apart. The former Somerset opener may not be in the business of writing to win it. Maybe reading Roebuck may not give one the same pleasure as watching Lara bat but it comes pretty close. If Lara made the ball race to the boundary with a deft flick of the wrist, Roebuck’s writing has the touch of a master if not a genius. Clearly, the purple patch that eluded him in his career as a cricketer has given way to purple prose.
I doubt whether anyone else has captured better the joy of batting epitomized by Brian Charles Lara. This is Peter Roebuck writing at his very best and this is not even a book about the great Trinidadian but an excerpt from “In it to win it---The Australian Cricket Supremacy”
The book puts in context the Australian psyche, the country’s history, the influence of the Chappell brothers, the rise, fall and the rise again of Australian cricket. The book gives an insight into the psyche of Allan Border which was so scarred by repeated defeats by the West Indies that, the great Australian captain displayed timidity when the rivals were down and all but out. It takes you through the Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh eras and ends with the triumph of the Englishmen in the 2005 Ashes. It throws rare vignettes like how Matthew Hayden who destroyed bowling attacks at will actually needed reassurance from his captains to do well.
The book manages to add a context and perspective which is not easily seen in other writers. For instance the rise of Indian cricket is juxtaposed with the country’s economic rise and the ability of its people to embrace the best of both East & West.
In the end the book is much about Roebuck’s felicity with the pen as about Australian cricket. Peter Roebuck may have been a batsman of modest ability and never donned his country’s colors (England) although he had a good record for his county-- Somerset. When it comes to cricket writing he clearly stands a class apart. The former Somerset opener may not be in the business of writing to win it. Maybe reading Roebuck may not give one the same pleasure as watching Lara bat but it comes pretty close. If Lara made the ball race to the boundary with a deft flick of the wrist, Roebuck’s writing has the touch of a master if not a genius. Clearly, the purple patch that eluded him in his career as a cricketer has given way to purple prose.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Worldview of the Child
“Hi, which class are you in,” asked my friend Prasad to my four year old son Sanjiv. “ I am in junior KG,” Sanjiv replied. “ When will you go to senior KG,” Prasad asked ? “When I become big,” said Sanjiv. “And when will you become big,” continued the irrepressible Prasad. “ When I begin eating vegetables,” replied Sanjiv as all of us in the room dissolved into laughter. Sanjiv’s last remark was prompted by everyone at home constantly telling him that it was important for him to eat vegetables (for which he exhibited a child’s disdain) if he were to grow big, strong or for that matter get better than his friend and rival Siva.
Children I have noticed have a logic of their own which clearly defies comprehension by an adult. Many, many years ago my friend James’s nephew took a look at the water tank in his building that was being cleaned up and came up with the classic—“ Orange water”. He didn’t see the dirt or the grime but only the orange colour.
Another child, my nephew –Manav—I suspect regards me as McDonad’s uncle as I make it a point to take him to Big Mac every time we meet. Once when I was fooling around with him and was quizzing him about girlfriends he turned around and asked me
“Isn’t Vidya mami your girlfriend”? While I thought it was worth a good laugh, Vidya mami who happens to be my wife certainly didn’t. I had to listen to a lecture on the inappropriateness of such jokes being cracked with children. Serves me right I guess.
I haven’t yet stopped cracking jokes with children. Although I am now careful about not cracking what is termed as “inappropriate jokes” No more talks of girlfriends. Just sticking to the mundane. A child’s worldview is however anything but mundane. Whether it is about eating vegtables, catching a glimpse of orange water or quite simply talking about girlfriends.
Children I have noticed have a logic of their own which clearly defies comprehension by an adult. Many, many years ago my friend James’s nephew took a look at the water tank in his building that was being cleaned up and came up with the classic—“ Orange water”. He didn’t see the dirt or the grime but only the orange colour.
Another child, my nephew –Manav—I suspect regards me as McDonad’s uncle as I make it a point to take him to Big Mac every time we meet. Once when I was fooling around with him and was quizzing him about girlfriends he turned around and asked me
“Isn’t Vidya mami your girlfriend”? While I thought it was worth a good laugh, Vidya mami who happens to be my wife certainly didn’t. I had to listen to a lecture on the inappropriateness of such jokes being cracked with children. Serves me right I guess.
I haven’t yet stopped cracking jokes with children. Although I am now careful about not cracking what is termed as “inappropriate jokes” No more talks of girlfriends. Just sticking to the mundane. A child’s worldview is however anything but mundane. Whether it is about eating vegtables, catching a glimpse of orange water or quite simply talking about girlfriends.
Monday, September 7, 2009
A Tribute to the Mulund Mountains
As I was walking down Devidayal Road in Mulund (Mumbai’s northernmost tip), the sight of the mountains filled me with wonder. All of 16 I turned to my friend Dharmesh (nicknamed Bhauli) and asked, “ Do you require to use oxygen masks to climb that mountain”. Bhauli burst into laughter and said, “ Certainly not. I have climbed this mountain many times with other people quite easily.”
Soon, I was off on an expedition with Bhauli and the rest off the gang to climb the mountain. As we climbed, I realized that it was not one but really three mountains. The first was a small hillock which was taken in one’s stride quite easily. The second was a bigger mountain where we all relaxed for a while and then began the assault on the third one. That was quite big. Just before we reached the very top we struggled a bit and then were soon witness to breathtaking beauty. We could just see two of the lakes that supplied water to Mumbai—Tulsi, Vaitarna and could catch a glimpse of a third lake –Powai. The natural greenery all around and a hint of wildlife all added to the mystique. We boys often promised ourselves that we would one day get tents and park ourselves for a night on the mountains.
Soon it became quite a routine to take my cousins, friends whoever visited us for that matter from outside Mumbai\Mulund for a trip to the mountain. The effect was always the same—a gasp of admiration for the beauty at the top.
A couple of years after my first visit to the mountain top, we moved to a larger flat in the same building on the fifth floor and we had a picture postcard view of the mountains in the living room. My father says to this day that he paid a premium for just the view.
Over the years, the view of the mountains became a part of my life and would play an important role as I studied for my B.sc final examinations. My frayed nerves would be often calmed by the sight of the mountains. I came to understand the expression –rock of Gibraltar-much better. I realized that exams and for that matter life itself is transitory. The mountains would go on forever. Sometimes uphill, sometimes downhill but they would always be there. Withstanding the ravages of time and civilization they would remain a mute witness to life and history. Giving to the world beauty and serenity and really taking nothing away from it.
Soon, I was off on an expedition with Bhauli and the rest off the gang to climb the mountain. As we climbed, I realized that it was not one but really three mountains. The first was a small hillock which was taken in one’s stride quite easily. The second was a bigger mountain where we all relaxed for a while and then began the assault on the third one. That was quite big. Just before we reached the very top we struggled a bit and then were soon witness to breathtaking beauty. We could just see two of the lakes that supplied water to Mumbai—Tulsi, Vaitarna and could catch a glimpse of a third lake –Powai. The natural greenery all around and a hint of wildlife all added to the mystique. We boys often promised ourselves that we would one day get tents and park ourselves for a night on the mountains.
Soon it became quite a routine to take my cousins, friends whoever visited us for that matter from outside Mumbai\Mulund for a trip to the mountain. The effect was always the same—a gasp of admiration for the beauty at the top.
A couple of years after my first visit to the mountain top, we moved to a larger flat in the same building on the fifth floor and we had a picture postcard view of the mountains in the living room. My father says to this day that he paid a premium for just the view.
Over the years, the view of the mountains became a part of my life and would play an important role as I studied for my B.sc final examinations. My frayed nerves would be often calmed by the sight of the mountains. I came to understand the expression –rock of Gibraltar-much better. I realized that exams and for that matter life itself is transitory. The mountains would go on forever. Sometimes uphill, sometimes downhill but they would always be there. Withstanding the ravages of time and civilization they would remain a mute witness to life and history. Giving to the world beauty and serenity and really taking nothing away from it.
Monday, August 3, 2009
A day in the life of Baby Sanjiv
Hi, I am Sanjiv and I am about 4 years old. Today is Saturday. It means Ravi appa will be at home and play with me. He will also give me a bath. He is supposed to do it on all weekends. Actually, he does it everyday. Why? I simply holler and force him to give me a bath in the morning. Good thing too. Otherwise he will continue sleeping.
Today it has been no different. Ravi appa tried getting out of it saying that today Amma will give me a bath. Usual tactics. I cried and there he was giving me a bath. What is more he took me to the bank. There was one long queue and I kept wanting to go-back home. This time appa won (ie because I also did not cry).and later on took me to the ATM. Now this is something that I have never been able to understand. Whenever I ask Appa why he comes from office so late, he says that he has work to do. When I tell him to simply sit at home and not work , he says he needs the money and for that he has to work. This is very confusing. All you have to do to get money is to go to the ATM and do some thing with the keyboard there. Now why don’t grown ups understand simple things like these ? If you want money simply go to the ATM. Why work ? When I ask Appa this question he simply laughs. That is not funny.
In the afternoon Appa took me and Amma to a movie—Love Aaj Kal at Nirmal mall. Very confusing again We go to the mall to eat, buy books, have a ride on a toy horse and see the movies too. Anyway I enjoyed myself. I asked for popcorn before the movie and during the movie. Appa had to go and get it right in the middle of an important scene. Serves him right. He had most of my popcorn the first time. Appa grumbled that the movie was very bad. Really, I enjoyed myself. Lots of noise and I went for a walk whenever I felt like.
After the movie I asked for balloons and a ride on the toy horse.. When I didn’t get it, I tried my usual hollering. It didn’t work this time.
We next went to uncle Ram’s house whose daughter Anagha was celebrating her birthday. I was really naughty there. I ate all the cake and didn’t wish Anagha at all. I really don’t like babies all that much. They cry too much. At night Amma had to forcefully put me to sleep. This time I didn’t holler. Look I am not really a cry baby. Anyway I was very tired and was happy going to sleep. I dreamt of popcorns and money making machines. Appa says that he dreams of them too.
Today it has been no different. Ravi appa tried getting out of it saying that today Amma will give me a bath. Usual tactics. I cried and there he was giving me a bath. What is more he took me to the bank. There was one long queue and I kept wanting to go-back home. This time appa won (ie because I also did not cry).and later on took me to the ATM. Now this is something that I have never been able to understand. Whenever I ask Appa why he comes from office so late, he says that he has work to do. When I tell him to simply sit at home and not work , he says he needs the money and for that he has to work. This is very confusing. All you have to do to get money is to go to the ATM and do some thing with the keyboard there. Now why don’t grown ups understand simple things like these ? If you want money simply go to the ATM. Why work ? When I ask Appa this question he simply laughs. That is not funny.
In the afternoon Appa took me and Amma to a movie—Love Aaj Kal at Nirmal mall. Very confusing again We go to the mall to eat, buy books, have a ride on a toy horse and see the movies too. Anyway I enjoyed myself. I asked for popcorn before the movie and during the movie. Appa had to go and get it right in the middle of an important scene. Serves him right. He had most of my popcorn the first time. Appa grumbled that the movie was very bad. Really, I enjoyed myself. Lots of noise and I went for a walk whenever I felt like.
After the movie I asked for balloons and a ride on the toy horse.. When I didn’t get it, I tried my usual hollering. It didn’t work this time.
We next went to uncle Ram’s house whose daughter Anagha was celebrating her birthday. I was really naughty there. I ate all the cake and didn’t wish Anagha at all. I really don’t like babies all that much. They cry too much. At night Amma had to forcefully put me to sleep. This time I didn’t holler. Look I am not really a cry baby. Anyway I was very tired and was happy going to sleep. I dreamt of popcorns and money making machines. Appa says that he dreams of them too.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Two facets of Canara Bank:
Last weekend I made my way to Canara Bank. Now I have been banking with Canara bank for almost 30 years. Yet one thing never fails to amaze me. There are basically two counters in the bank. One is for the counter titled -Receipts while the other is for the counter titled-Payments. One has to deposit cash in the Receipts counter and receive cash in the Payments counter. Now I have always thought that this should be the other way round. The titles are bank centric. In reality they should be customer centric—one has pay cash in the Payments counters and receive cash in the Receipts counter.
I remember thinking that the bank despite its new found zeal in altering its look still has a long way to go. A new logo hadn’t altered the customer experience in any way which in the final analysis is the key to brand building.
My next stop was at the ATM of the bank to withdraw cash. After the usual procedure, the message flashed on the screen that my card was being returned to me. The cash was then disbursed. This set me thinking again. In the ATM of every other bank that I have been to, cash has to be first withdrawn and only then is the card returned. The problem is that sometimes in a hurry, one forgets to take the card back after pocketing the cash. I myself have had my card returned a couple of times by people who were standing behind me in the queue.
This I felt was the other side of Canara Bank. Trust, reliability and old world charm. This is the bank’s USP and the ultimate customer experience which helps its brand building more than any change in logo. This experience only reinforced my faith in public sector banks in general and Canara Bank in particular. I must clarify that I have nothing against the private sector as well as MNC banks. It is the presence of these banks that has galvanized change in the public sector banks. It is just that I prefer the public sector banks. Now if Canara Bank could only get its act right when it comes to the way its counters are titled.
I remember thinking that the bank despite its new found zeal in altering its look still has a long way to go. A new logo hadn’t altered the customer experience in any way which in the final analysis is the key to brand building.
My next stop was at the ATM of the bank to withdraw cash. After the usual procedure, the message flashed on the screen that my card was being returned to me. The cash was then disbursed. This set me thinking again. In the ATM of every other bank that I have been to, cash has to be first withdrawn and only then is the card returned. The problem is that sometimes in a hurry, one forgets to take the card back after pocketing the cash. I myself have had my card returned a couple of times by people who were standing behind me in the queue.
This I felt was the other side of Canara Bank. Trust, reliability and old world charm. This is the bank’s USP and the ultimate customer experience which helps its brand building more than any change in logo. This experience only reinforced my faith in public sector banks in general and Canara Bank in particular. I must clarify that I have nothing against the private sector as well as MNC banks. It is the presence of these banks that has galvanized change in the public sector banks. It is just that I prefer the public sector banks. Now if Canara Bank could only get its act right when it comes to the way its counters are titled.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Life and The Godfather
“Life is so beautiful”
“Be Aware. You are what you are and the world is what it is.”
Who do you think wrote these two immortal lines? Aristotle, Socrates, Pluto? Or is it drawn from the scriptures? If you answered in the affirmative to either of these questions, you would be wrong. These two immortal lines were written by Mario Puzo in two different books. The first line is from Puzo’s classic- The Godfather- ironically uttered by Don Vito Corleone as he was dying of a heart attack. The second is from The Last Don where Don Clerucuzio says these words.
Puzo’s classic The Godfather was published in 1969 the same year in which Neil Alden Armstrong became the first man to set foot on the moon and say the immortal words—A step for a man, but a leap for mankind” Puzo’s Godfather too was leap when it came to the genre of crime fiction. All future writings in this genre would be benchmarked against the Godfather.
Now I admire the book in particular and Puzo’s writing in general for a totally different reason. I think his books contain some of the greatest truths of life. As we rush about the business of living it is so easy to lose sight of the fact that “Life is so beautiful” .That Vito Corleone who built his empire by shedding blood could think of something like this is for lack of a better word amazing.
Take the other sentence—“Be Aware. You are what you are and the world is what it is.” Tell me isn’t it again one of life’s simplest things. Dale Carnegie said it even simpler—Find Yourself and Be Yourself in his classic—How To Stop Worrying and Start Living. How often are we assailed by self doubt when things are not going our way? How often do we think that something is wrong with us when the simple truth is that circumstances are not in our favor if not positively against us. Does that mean that we keep changing to stay in step with each circumstance? Do we lose ourselves in the quest for success ? In today’s ultra competitive atmosphere, we are constantly told as to how important it is to change. Now that is fine and individuals must be open to a certain level of change. Does that mean we abandon our core skills and core beliefs for success? Is success that is attained by such means success at all? Clearly, a line has to be drawn somewhere.
Or take Michael Corleone’s reaction in Godfather when he was told his father’s shooting was not personal but purely business. He described it as “Every bloody bit of it is personal” And it is. Come on when we lose out in the professional sweepstakes say a promotion are we able to see it purely in professional light. Isn’t there always feeling, emotion involved and even a tendency to blame the boss rightly or wrongly.
Let us face it –every bit of it is personal. But be aware-you are what you are and the world is what it is .Then like Vito Corleone you will find that life is so beautiful.
“Be Aware. You are what you are and the world is what it is.”
Who do you think wrote these two immortal lines? Aristotle, Socrates, Pluto? Or is it drawn from the scriptures? If you answered in the affirmative to either of these questions, you would be wrong. These two immortal lines were written by Mario Puzo in two different books. The first line is from Puzo’s classic- The Godfather- ironically uttered by Don Vito Corleone as he was dying of a heart attack. The second is from The Last Don where Don Clerucuzio says these words.
Puzo’s classic The Godfather was published in 1969 the same year in which Neil Alden Armstrong became the first man to set foot on the moon and say the immortal words—A step for a man, but a leap for mankind” Puzo’s Godfather too was leap when it came to the genre of crime fiction. All future writings in this genre would be benchmarked against the Godfather.
Now I admire the book in particular and Puzo’s writing in general for a totally different reason. I think his books contain some of the greatest truths of life. As we rush about the business of living it is so easy to lose sight of the fact that “Life is so beautiful” .That Vito Corleone who built his empire by shedding blood could think of something like this is for lack of a better word amazing.
Take the other sentence—“Be Aware. You are what you are and the world is what it is.” Tell me isn’t it again one of life’s simplest things. Dale Carnegie said it even simpler—Find Yourself and Be Yourself in his classic—How To Stop Worrying and Start Living. How often are we assailed by self doubt when things are not going our way? How often do we think that something is wrong with us when the simple truth is that circumstances are not in our favor if not positively against us. Does that mean that we keep changing to stay in step with each circumstance? Do we lose ourselves in the quest for success ? In today’s ultra competitive atmosphere, we are constantly told as to how important it is to change. Now that is fine and individuals must be open to a certain level of change. Does that mean we abandon our core skills and core beliefs for success? Is success that is attained by such means success at all? Clearly, a line has to be drawn somewhere.
Or take Michael Corleone’s reaction in Godfather when he was told his father’s shooting was not personal but purely business. He described it as “Every bloody bit of it is personal” And it is. Come on when we lose out in the professional sweepstakes say a promotion are we able to see it purely in professional light. Isn’t there always feeling, emotion involved and even a tendency to blame the boss rightly or wrongly.
Let us face it –every bit of it is personal. But be aware-you are what you are and the world is what it is .Then like Vito Corleone you will find that life is so beautiful.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Core Competence and the Home
What is my core competence ? At my work place the answer is very clear : Communications.
I am however a great believer in transporting corporate concepts home. Like I always tell my wife “My strategic vision is to provide a stable revenue stream for the family which then leverages it for present and future benefits.” My wife is very happy to go alongwith my strategic vision and agrees that implementation of this vision is through the exercise of my professional core competence –communications.
She has an entirely different point of view when it comes to my definition of core competence when I am at home. I regard my core competence when I am at home as relaxing which when distilled further means eating, sleeping, playing with baby, and not doing anything else.
She terms me an employable resource when I am at home. There are things that husbands must do when they are at home—go to the chakki and get the atta and not do too—watch TV , sleep and generally relax. She complains that despite her repeatedly saying so I do not work at home and continue to eat, sleep and drink at home. I have often pointed out to her what Gary Hamel and C K Prahalad had said in their seminal work on core competence : A core competence is built through a process of continuous improvement and enhancement. Meaning more of doing nothing at home.
My wife throws back another concept from Hamel & Prahalad:core competencies must not be allowed to develop in to core rigidities. Anyway she tells me with great conviction that what I am displaying at home is pure incompetence, core or otherwise. The argument at the moment rests there. Like a good husband I have decided not to win an argument but focus on core competencies.
I am however a great believer in transporting corporate concepts home. Like I always tell my wife “My strategic vision is to provide a stable revenue stream for the family which then leverages it for present and future benefits.” My wife is very happy to go alongwith my strategic vision and agrees that implementation of this vision is through the exercise of my professional core competence –communications.
She has an entirely different point of view when it comes to my definition of core competence when I am at home. I regard my core competence when I am at home as relaxing which when distilled further means eating, sleeping, playing with baby, and not doing anything else.
She terms me an employable resource when I am at home. There are things that husbands must do when they are at home—go to the chakki and get the atta and not do too—watch TV , sleep and generally relax. She complains that despite her repeatedly saying so I do not work at home and continue to eat, sleep and drink at home. I have often pointed out to her what Gary Hamel and C K Prahalad had said in their seminal work on core competence : A core competence is built through a process of continuous improvement and enhancement. Meaning more of doing nothing at home.
My wife throws back another concept from Hamel & Prahalad:core competencies must not be allowed to develop in to core rigidities. Anyway she tells me with great conviction that what I am displaying at home is pure incompetence, core or otherwise. The argument at the moment rests there. Like a good husband I have decided not to win an argument but focus on core competencies.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Rajiv and Rahul Gandhi
It was soon after the assassination of prime minister Mrs Indira Gandhi in 1984. As I was watching television at home in the company of my family, the screen flashed images of a young Rahul and Priyanka Gandhi. Rahul was barely about 13 years then and Priyanka even younger. My uncle who was in the room remarked “These are our future prime ministers”. This was the dominant thinking among large sections of Indians of that era. After all Rajiv had succeeded Indira and prior to that Indira had taken over from Nehru (after a small interregnum when Lal Bahadur Shastri was PM). It was only logical that Rahul would succeed Rajiv.
As we all know things that things didn’t quite turnout that day. I was reminded of this incident when after the election victory prime minister Manmohan Singh said publicly at a press conference in New Delhi that he wanted Rahul to join the cabinet. Later at a press conference when Rahul was asked as to whether he wanted to join the cabinet he said that his job was to get the youth of India into politics irrespective of whether he was in the Cabinet or not and he appealed to the youth to join politics.
This took me back to his father Rajiv Gandhi. Rajiv had the same appeal to youth. He was India’s youngest prime minister at 40 and the young could identify with him. In an era in which most leaders focused on the caste and the communal calculus, Rajiv talked of computers, telecom and got Sam Pitroda back from the US to usher in a telecom revolution. His Budget of 1985 is today seen as a signpost in India’s economic reform process which got underway in 1991.
Rahul like his father has an appeal that goes beyond the caste and communal calculus. His economic agenda is different form that of his father’s for the simple reason that India is today a largely free economy that banks on the market and not controls. His agenda is that of inclusive growth which in simple English means that the poor get to participate in India’s growth and development.
Rahul has also had an advantage or even luxury that his father did not have. Rajiv was pitch forked into politics and the PM’s chair by the sudden deaths of his brother Sanjay and mother Indira respectively. Rahul has had much more time and opportunity to hone his political skills. He has witnessed a period where his party has been out of power, honed his skills under his mother, and led the party’s resurgence in Uttar Pradesh in the just concluded election. The logical step would be the cabinet and then possibly the prime ministership.
Rajiv ignited a dream in the youth of a prosperous, economically strong India which unfortunately did not materialize during his lifetime. Rahul has grown up in liberalized India and now has set himself the task of taking it further. Time will tell as to whether he realizes his dream or not.
As we all know things that things didn’t quite turnout that day. I was reminded of this incident when after the election victory prime minister Manmohan Singh said publicly at a press conference in New Delhi that he wanted Rahul to join the cabinet. Later at a press conference when Rahul was asked as to whether he wanted to join the cabinet he said that his job was to get the youth of India into politics irrespective of whether he was in the Cabinet or not and he appealed to the youth to join politics.
This took me back to his father Rajiv Gandhi. Rajiv had the same appeal to youth. He was India’s youngest prime minister at 40 and the young could identify with him. In an era in which most leaders focused on the caste and the communal calculus, Rajiv talked of computers, telecom and got Sam Pitroda back from the US to usher in a telecom revolution. His Budget of 1985 is today seen as a signpost in India’s economic reform process which got underway in 1991.
Rahul like his father has an appeal that goes beyond the caste and communal calculus. His economic agenda is different form that of his father’s for the simple reason that India is today a largely free economy that banks on the market and not controls. His agenda is that of inclusive growth which in simple English means that the poor get to participate in India’s growth and development.
Rahul has also had an advantage or even luxury that his father did not have. Rajiv was pitch forked into politics and the PM’s chair by the sudden deaths of his brother Sanjay and mother Indira respectively. Rahul has had much more time and opportunity to hone his political skills. He has witnessed a period where his party has been out of power, honed his skills under his mother, and led the party’s resurgence in Uttar Pradesh in the just concluded election. The logical step would be the cabinet and then possibly the prime ministership.
Rajiv ignited a dream in the youth of a prosperous, economically strong India which unfortunately did not materialize during his lifetime. Rahul has grown up in liberalized India and now has set himself the task of taking it further. Time will tell as to whether he realizes his dream or not.
Monday, April 27, 2009
The true significance of 26/11
Yes, I can hear the groans as people read the title and the weary voices which say, “not another one please.”
As I write this article (April 26) it is exactly five months to theday that Mumbai’s major institutions like the The Taj and CST stationfell a prey to terror attacks. Distance from the event lends toperspective.
I am very clear that 26/11 was the day that a nation’s perception ofitself changed. Till then, yes there was talk of a recession. The mood however was largely optimistic and there was still faith in the India story. Newspaper editorials largely talked of how India was finally ready to take its rightful place on the world stage riding on the backof its growing economic clout.
Five months on we know that this is not entirely true. Yes, India does get invited to the G-20 to discuss the global economic problems. On the other hand, there have also been job losses and salary cuts.
And yes, Indians are rushing to take terror cover from insurancecompanies and the IPL has been moved out of India to South Africa. TheIPL shift one may argue is a fallout of it coinciding with the elections and the attack on the Sri Lankan cricketers in Pakistan.South Asia one may argue is the most dangerous place in the world now and India is just unlucky to be there. Think of it 10 years or maybe even five years back would we have re-scheduled cricket matches just because they coincided with elections? Let me make it clear that I do not want to joint the blame game by pointing fingers at governments past and present but am merely stating facts.
This has brought home to us a simple truth. Economic growth is no substitute for security. This is the simple truth that has guided nations for centuries now.
Yes, we have reason to celebrate that the Indian economy is still growing at 5 per cent levels even when most of the developed world is in the midst of an economic crisis with Japan being officially in recession. This growth whether even if it continues will however not compensate for loss of lives. Economic growth has not been an insurance against terror attacks but the reverse in fact has beenquite true in India’s case. Whichever government comes to power in the ongoing elections will do well to remember that. To modify thecampaign slogan in a previous US election-it is the security stupid.That to me is the true significance of 26/11.
As I write this article (April 26) it is exactly five months to theday that Mumbai’s major institutions like the The Taj and CST stationfell a prey to terror attacks. Distance from the event lends toperspective.
I am very clear that 26/11 was the day that a nation’s perception ofitself changed. Till then, yes there was talk of a recession. The mood however was largely optimistic and there was still faith in the India story. Newspaper editorials largely talked of how India was finally ready to take its rightful place on the world stage riding on the backof its growing economic clout.
Five months on we know that this is not entirely true. Yes, India does get invited to the G-20 to discuss the global economic problems. On the other hand, there have also been job losses and salary cuts.
And yes, Indians are rushing to take terror cover from insurancecompanies and the IPL has been moved out of India to South Africa. TheIPL shift one may argue is a fallout of it coinciding with the elections and the attack on the Sri Lankan cricketers in Pakistan.South Asia one may argue is the most dangerous place in the world now and India is just unlucky to be there. Think of it 10 years or maybe even five years back would we have re-scheduled cricket matches just because they coincided with elections? Let me make it clear that I do not want to joint the blame game by pointing fingers at governments past and present but am merely stating facts.
This has brought home to us a simple truth. Economic growth is no substitute for security. This is the simple truth that has guided nations for centuries now.
Yes, we have reason to celebrate that the Indian economy is still growing at 5 per cent levels even when most of the developed world is in the midst of an economic crisis with Japan being officially in recession. This growth whether even if it continues will however not compensate for loss of lives. Economic growth has not been an insurance against terror attacks but the reverse in fact has beenquite true in India’s case. Whichever government comes to power in the ongoing elections will do well to remember that. To modify thecampaign slogan in a previous US election-it is the security stupid.That to me is the true significance of 26/11.
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Beauty, Love and Umachander
“So that is what you are upto,” I asked Uma. Uma in this case was not the name of a beautiful lady but an ably built lad of around 15.His full name was Umachander. I had just peered into the mirror which he was holding in his hand, pretending to comb his hair and caught the reflection of the school heartthrob.
I was at that time studying at a school in Chennai and staying in the hostel there as my parents were abroad. Uma was one among my 10 odd room mates. The hostel, school and the residence of the school heartthrob were all a stone’s throw away from each other.
“Hey,” said Uma with unmistakable menace in his voice, “don’t you dare tell this to anyone else.” Not that I intended to owing to what PG Wodehouse described as The Code of the Woosters. Add to this the fact that Uma was about twice my size and I really had no desire to make public Uma’s reflections on the mirror.
This school heartthrob who must go unnamed to what I would call The Code of the Ravindrans’ had caught the fancy of another hostel mate too. He had gone to the chemistry laboratory and on quickly espying an opportunity had appended his initial to her name. Such was the stuff of school romance at the Hindu Senior Secondary School in Chennai. Many like Barkis in David Copperfield were willing but certainly lacked the courage of Barkis to proclaim their willingness.
This is however a hark back to another era and time about 30 years back. It was a world where love was conveyed through the eyes and silence was a much understood language. Unlike today where silence is mistaken for weakness.
There is yet another twist to this tale. This college heartthrob had her fair share of critics too. Her academic accomplishments which primarily consisted of being the class topper consistently were put down to factors other than her ability and application. This was because one of her relatives was on the school board. She however answered her critics in the best possible way—by topping the school in the tenth standard board exams. Not even her worst critics could accuse here of manipulation.
She had mastered a crucial lesson very early in life—the best answer to criticism is performance. She thus showed that she was more than a beauty with brains—one with strength of character too.
I was at that time studying at a school in Chennai and staying in the hostel there as my parents were abroad. Uma was one among my 10 odd room mates. The hostel, school and the residence of the school heartthrob were all a stone’s throw away from each other.
“Hey,” said Uma with unmistakable menace in his voice, “don’t you dare tell this to anyone else.” Not that I intended to owing to what PG Wodehouse described as The Code of the Woosters. Add to this the fact that Uma was about twice my size and I really had no desire to make public Uma’s reflections on the mirror.
This school heartthrob who must go unnamed to what I would call The Code of the Ravindrans’ had caught the fancy of another hostel mate too. He had gone to the chemistry laboratory and on quickly espying an opportunity had appended his initial to her name. Such was the stuff of school romance at the Hindu Senior Secondary School in Chennai. Many like Barkis in David Copperfield were willing but certainly lacked the courage of Barkis to proclaim their willingness.
This is however a hark back to another era and time about 30 years back. It was a world where love was conveyed through the eyes and silence was a much understood language. Unlike today where silence is mistaken for weakness.
There is yet another twist to this tale. This college heartthrob had her fair share of critics too. Her academic accomplishments which primarily consisted of being the class topper consistently were put down to factors other than her ability and application. This was because one of her relatives was on the school board. She however answered her critics in the best possible way—by topping the school in the tenth standard board exams. Not even her worst critics could accuse here of manipulation.
She had mastered a crucial lesson very early in life—the best answer to criticism is performance. She thus showed that she was more than a beauty with brains—one with strength of character too.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Amar, Akbar Anthony
During this weekend I was viewing the haunting melodies of Mohammed Rafi on my DVD when the song ---“Parda hai parda----from Amar, Akbar Anthony came on screen. The movie is of course one of the classics of Indian Cinema and was a signpost in the rise of Amitabh Bachchan as a superstar.
I personally have three dominant memories of the movie.
The first was when the movie was released in 1977 and I went to see it with some family friends with whom I was spending a part of my vacation. We really enjoyed the movie and I loved the scene where a drunk Amitabh Bachchan stuck a plaster to the mirror.
The second came a few months later when again the song Parda hai Parda was shown on the popular film song programme—Chaaya Geet. That was the day it rained heavily and my building was flooded. Further, the building wall broke down and the water from the adjoining gutter flowed into the compound. I began my exploratory mission but before they could taken on anything like the adventures experienced by Tom Sawyer, I was pulled inside home by my mother and slapped for straying from the safety zone.
The third memory is that of when the movie was shown by Zee around 1993. That was when the satellite channel revolution was peaking and people were getting to see movies they hadn’t seen for a while or had even forgotten. At that time everyone was discussing the forthcoming telecast of the movie more than a week before. My friend Vaidy remarked –“Look at the impact of the movie. It has not been forgotten even today”.
Amar, Akbar Anthony of course has been telecast many times since then and will be telecast many times more. These three memories to me are the abiding ones about the movie. My mental images of Amar, Akbar and of course Anthony.
I personally have three dominant memories of the movie.
The first was when the movie was released in 1977 and I went to see it with some family friends with whom I was spending a part of my vacation. We really enjoyed the movie and I loved the scene where a drunk Amitabh Bachchan stuck a plaster to the mirror.
The second came a few months later when again the song Parda hai Parda was shown on the popular film song programme—Chaaya Geet. That was the day it rained heavily and my building was flooded. Further, the building wall broke down and the water from the adjoining gutter flowed into the compound. I began my exploratory mission but before they could taken on anything like the adventures experienced by Tom Sawyer, I was pulled inside home by my mother and slapped for straying from the safety zone.
The third memory is that of when the movie was shown by Zee around 1993. That was when the satellite channel revolution was peaking and people were getting to see movies they hadn’t seen for a while or had even forgotten. At that time everyone was discussing the forthcoming telecast of the movie more than a week before. My friend Vaidy remarked –“Look at the impact of the movie. It has not been forgotten even today”.
Amar, Akbar Anthony of course has been telecast many times since then and will be telecast many times more. These three memories to me are the abiding ones about the movie. My mental images of Amar, Akbar and of course Anthony.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Ruskin Bond & Sudha Murthy: Studies in Simplicity
One of my greater pleasures in life has been reading two Indian authors--- Sudha Murthy and Ruskin Bond. One is the wife of a man who helped script India's success story in the Software industry –Infosys Chief Mentor Mr N R Narayana Murthy. Sudha Murthy has done her duty in life as a wife, mother and is now using literature as an avenue for self expression as well as a means for funding her larger calling in life --Charity. The other Ruskin Bond is a professional writer who chose the path of literature over that of a cushy job and remained single so that he could devote himself to his call in life-writing. Ruskin Bond is a man who still in some ways lives or at any rate writes in a time warp. While he has retreated to the hills in Mussoorie, the settings of most of his stories are Dehradun, more specifically the Dehradun of his boyhood.
Sudha Murthy's stories are spread across the country and while she often likes to delve into the past and recount even old stories, this lady's stories are as contemporary as they get. The two writers’ despite the difference in their background and the settings of their stories have one thing in common--simplicity. Reading both of them is to see writing reduced to its simplest form. Not for them the bombast of words but the simplicty of an idea. Indeed this is the common strain that binds the two authors together. Whether Sudha Murthy is writing about how she taught her grandmother to read or the ungratefulness of a man who refuses to acknowledge those who helped him in his past--her stories manage to reduce the human situation to a level of simplicity which few authors before her have managed. Her stories in English (which is all that I can read due to my own linguistic limitations) may not please the lover of literature but the reader can relate to what she is writing. All of us have seen children taking up the phone and blocking it through incessant use even as their parents watched helplessly. Haven’t we all at sometime not encountered a chattering relative and a poor people who are honest to the core?
Ruskin Bond on the other hand can elevate the art of simple writing to a literary form. While he chose not to study in England and opt out of the usual routine of studying in a Victorian setting his writings are unmistakably literary. The settings of his stories are maybe Dehradun but the contribution to literature is unmistakable. In many way Bond alongwith R K Narayan can be considered as a pioneer in Indian writing in English. Long before it became fashionable or profitable.
Next time you have time on your hands and you are wondering as to what to do not reach out for the television set but pick up a collection of stories by Ruskin Bond or Sudha Murthy. If not anything else, you would have had a glimpse of that long forgotten art--simplicity.
Sudha Murthy's stories are spread across the country and while she often likes to delve into the past and recount even old stories, this lady's stories are as contemporary as they get. The two writers’ despite the difference in their background and the settings of their stories have one thing in common--simplicity. Reading both of them is to see writing reduced to its simplest form. Not for them the bombast of words but the simplicty of an idea. Indeed this is the common strain that binds the two authors together. Whether Sudha Murthy is writing about how she taught her grandmother to read or the ungratefulness of a man who refuses to acknowledge those who helped him in his past--her stories manage to reduce the human situation to a level of simplicity which few authors before her have managed. Her stories in English (which is all that I can read due to my own linguistic limitations) may not please the lover of literature but the reader can relate to what she is writing. All of us have seen children taking up the phone and blocking it through incessant use even as their parents watched helplessly. Haven’t we all at sometime not encountered a chattering relative and a poor people who are honest to the core?
Ruskin Bond on the other hand can elevate the art of simple writing to a literary form. While he chose not to study in England and opt out of the usual routine of studying in a Victorian setting his writings are unmistakably literary. The settings of his stories are maybe Dehradun but the contribution to literature is unmistakable. In many way Bond alongwith R K Narayan can be considered as a pioneer in Indian writing in English. Long before it became fashionable or profitable.
Next time you have time on your hands and you are wondering as to what to do not reach out for the television set but pick up a collection of stories by Ruskin Bond or Sudha Murthy. If not anything else, you would have had a glimpse of that long forgotten art--simplicity.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Karl Marx and Madhuri Dixit
It was April 1992 and I was four months into my career as a film journalist. After covering pretty mundane stuff in Mumbai, I finally got a chance to head towards the cooler climes of Ooty. It was my first trip as a film journalist and I was finally getting to where the action happened--the location shoot of the film Prem Deewane starring Jackie Shroff, Pooja Bhatt, Vivek Mushran and of course Madhuri Dixit. who had five years back danced into millions of hearts with “Ek do Teen---..
At 27, I had a certain natural exuberance and certainly thought that the world was my stage. It was at the location of the shooting when I perceived Madhuri, I was as some eminent writer has said--suitably overawed. It was then that the significance of the moment dawned on me. I was in the presence of Madhuri Dixit.
Madhuri spoke to the bunch of journalists who had come from Mumbai in between giving shots. My natural exuberance returned after a while, when I began my line of questioning.
Indian cinema I said in my wisdom hadn’t really come upto world standards. For instance when a person read a book he came away feeling far more intellectually charged than when watching a movie. Madhuri asked me to explain this further. For instance, I said that when a person read Karl Marx, one came away with thoughts of revolution while one got nothing of that sort on watching our movies. “That is because, when a person goes to the movies he is looking at taking his mind off his troubles and enjoy. He is not receptive to messages like those given by Karl Marx,” Madhuri said. I was suitably impressed by her explanation.
Soon after some more questioning I felt that perhaps I had been too aggressive. I confessed to her that I was one of her fans and had seen her movie Saajan several times. I also suggested that she had possibly enough of me for the time being. She just laughed and said, “We will call you Karl Marx,” even as I said goodbye.
A sense of humour and a sense of timing. The same sense of timing that made her walk away from the arc lights and settle for matrimonial bliss at the right moment. That is Madhuri Dixit Nene for you.
At 27, I had a certain natural exuberance and certainly thought that the world was my stage. It was at the location of the shooting when I perceived Madhuri, I was as some eminent writer has said--suitably overawed. It was then that the significance of the moment dawned on me. I was in the presence of Madhuri Dixit.
Madhuri spoke to the bunch of journalists who had come from Mumbai in between giving shots. My natural exuberance returned after a while, when I began my line of questioning.
Indian cinema I said in my wisdom hadn’t really come upto world standards. For instance when a person read a book he came away feeling far more intellectually charged than when watching a movie. Madhuri asked me to explain this further. For instance, I said that when a person read Karl Marx, one came away with thoughts of revolution while one got nothing of that sort on watching our movies. “That is because, when a person goes to the movies he is looking at taking his mind off his troubles and enjoy. He is not receptive to messages like those given by Karl Marx,” Madhuri said. I was suitably impressed by her explanation.
Soon after some more questioning I felt that perhaps I had been too aggressive. I confessed to her that I was one of her fans and had seen her movie Saajan several times. I also suggested that she had possibly enough of me for the time being. She just laughed and said, “We will call you Karl Marx,” even as I said goodbye.
A sense of humour and a sense of timing. The same sense of timing that made her walk away from the arc lights and settle for matrimonial bliss at the right moment. That is Madhuri Dixit Nene for you.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Aamir Khan: Good things in life can be real too
The year was 1988 and as my tired eyes and brains sought some relief while preparing for my final year B.sc examinations, I suddenly heard a mellifluous strain wafting in. Glancing up, I saw that it was coming from the Television set. A young actor and actress were singing “Ghazab ka ye din socho zara”. I was struck by the boyish good looks of the actor who was at that time a new face. The actor was Aamir Khan, the actress Juhi Chawla and the movie of course Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (QSQT). This movie to me heralded more than a fresh face in Indian cinema. As subsequent events were to prove, it also marked the beginning of the vulgar song era that started with Himmatwala.
Little did I know then I would meet Aamir Khan four years later. I had become a film journalist, and had gone to cover the shooting of Yash Chopra’s Parampara starring Aamir somewhere near Pune. The year was 1992 and his movie Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar had been released to much acclaim.
Aamir was very happy discussing the character he portrayed in the movie—Sanjay Lal- the enfant terrible who matures and takes on the responsibility of participating in a bicycle race after his brother (Marmik) had to withdraw following a fight brought on by who else but Sanjay Lal’s actions. There was also a refreshing honesty about Aamir. When I asked him why his movies between QSQT and Dil flopped he said, “They deserved to flop”. Also on display was a passion to excel. Even after Yash Chopra okayed a shot I saw Aamir asking for a retake many times. The great director obliged.
Soon I left film journalism and moved on to other things in life but the meeting with Aamir left an indelible mark on me. Last Friday, while watching a TV programme on the actor turning 44, I remembered my brief meeting with him. Next day the media was splashed with interviews of Aamir Khan who had now moved on to becoming a film maker apart from continuing as an actor.
In one of the interviews he said that whenever he had made a decision based on what his heart told him, he had succeeded. On the other hand, whenever he made decisions based on pure logic they often did not work out. As an example he pointed out to Parampara. One has to concede that this is one of his least memorable movies.
The significant thing is that in a glamour world dominated by hype Aamir Khan still rings true. The actor seems to be marching to an inner beat. If there is one word that can define Aamir Khan it is perhaps originality. Good things in life can be real too.
Little did I know then I would meet Aamir Khan four years later. I had become a film journalist, and had gone to cover the shooting of Yash Chopra’s Parampara starring Aamir somewhere near Pune. The year was 1992 and his movie Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar had been released to much acclaim.
Aamir was very happy discussing the character he portrayed in the movie—Sanjay Lal- the enfant terrible who matures and takes on the responsibility of participating in a bicycle race after his brother (Marmik) had to withdraw following a fight brought on by who else but Sanjay Lal’s actions. There was also a refreshing honesty about Aamir. When I asked him why his movies between QSQT and Dil flopped he said, “They deserved to flop”. Also on display was a passion to excel. Even after Yash Chopra okayed a shot I saw Aamir asking for a retake many times. The great director obliged.
Soon I left film journalism and moved on to other things in life but the meeting with Aamir left an indelible mark on me. Last Friday, while watching a TV programme on the actor turning 44, I remembered my brief meeting with him. Next day the media was splashed with interviews of Aamir Khan who had now moved on to becoming a film maker apart from continuing as an actor.
In one of the interviews he said that whenever he had made a decision based on what his heart told him, he had succeeded. On the other hand, whenever he made decisions based on pure logic they often did not work out. As an example he pointed out to Parampara. One has to concede that this is one of his least memorable movies.
The significant thing is that in a glamour world dominated by hype Aamir Khan still rings true. The actor seems to be marching to an inner beat. If there is one word that can define Aamir Khan it is perhaps originality. Good things in life can be real too.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Courage and International Women’s Day
What is courage ? Is it David taking on Goliath ? Is it Lord Rama fighting the demons while still a mere teen ? Coming to our times and closer home , is it the bravery displayed by the employees of The Taj during the attacks on 26/11 ? Or the bus driver who drove the Sri Lankan cricket team to safety when they were attacked about a week back at Lahore ?
While all these rank as singular acts of courage spread over time, my definition of courage is very simple. It is really what you tell your wife when she is away from you.For years, I have been asking my friends especially journalists to tell their wives something very simple. All they have to do when their wives are away on a visit especially to their maternal home is to pick up the phone and say, “ Darling, I am really enjoying life and not missing you at all.” A simple enough piece of work one would think. Especially to journalists who are convinced they should be ruling the world ie in the rare case when they think that they aren’t already ruling the world. Not one of them has taken me up on this challenge. These ardent writers of stories and aggressive mails to company CEOs have been strangely found wanting in eloquence when it comes to this simple task.
They have simply taken the easy way out: they have laughed and treated this purely as a joke. Truly this is a world where men aren’t men . Mind you all it requires to be courageous is to utter a few words. No facing Goliath, demons or terrorists.
Well I can say with conviction that I have fared better than them. That could be because I am an ex-journalist. I have told my wife precisely these words but have made it sound like a joke. There are limits beyond which even an ex-journalist’s courage cannot be stretched.
This is the best tribute that I can pay to to my wife and millions like her across the globe as I write this on International Women’s Day.
While all these rank as singular acts of courage spread over time, my definition of courage is very simple. It is really what you tell your wife when she is away from you.For years, I have been asking my friends especially journalists to tell their wives something very simple. All they have to do when their wives are away on a visit especially to their maternal home is to pick up the phone and say, “ Darling, I am really enjoying life and not missing you at all.” A simple enough piece of work one would think. Especially to journalists who are convinced they should be ruling the world ie in the rare case when they think that they aren’t already ruling the world. Not one of them has taken me up on this challenge. These ardent writers of stories and aggressive mails to company CEOs have been strangely found wanting in eloquence when it comes to this simple task.
They have simply taken the easy way out: they have laughed and treated this purely as a joke. Truly this is a world where men aren’t men . Mind you all it requires to be courageous is to utter a few words. No facing Goliath, demons or terrorists.
Well I can say with conviction that I have fared better than them. That could be because I am an ex-journalist. I have told my wife precisely these words but have made it sound like a joke. There are limits beyond which even an ex-journalist’s courage cannot be stretched.
This is the best tribute that I can pay to to my wife and millions like her across the globe as I write this on International Women’s Day.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Thank you Dale Carnegie: Envy is indeed ignorance
I have never been a follower of gurus or subscribed to any isms in my life. I have always maintained that the only ism I subscribe is optimism. However during my teenage days, the one person whose teachings I tried to put into practice was Dale Carnegie. His books –How to Win Friends and Influence People & How to Stop Worrying and Start Living had well a profound influence on me. Especially, I was so much influenced by How to Win Friends and Influence People that my college friend Shankar described me as a “follower of Dale Carnegie”.
Basically as I understood it, Carnegie advocated that we genuinely try to see things from other person’s point of view and made it absolutely clear that he was not advocating a bag of tricks. He was a strong advocate of praise as opposed to flattery. If truth be told, some of his methods largely worked. I did make a few good acquaintances by following the simple principle of praising people regarding their genuinely good qualities. Also, I was considerably emboldened by reading How to Stop Worrying and Start Living. I not only stopped worrying but became over confident. This was reflected in my 12th standard examination results.
Gradually, as other experiences in life shaped me, I realized that Dale Carnegie’s views were not always practical. While they had their merits, it could not serve as a compass for my life. For instance, ‘How to Win Friends & Influence People’ seems to suggest that it is possible to friendly at all times. Life has taught all of us that, human nature is as much about conflict as friendship. Later when I read that Dale Carnegie had committed suicide, I lost all faith in his work. How could a man who wrote ‘How to Stop Worrying and Start Living’ commit suicide?
As time passed, I realized that just as Dale Carnegie was not right about everything, he was not wrong about everything either. I must confess that, I am forever indebted to a small part of what I read in ‘How to Stop Worrying----’. He quoted an excerpt from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous essay on ‘Self Reliance’ which went as follows: There comes a time in every man’s education when he realizes that envy is ignorance and imitation is suicide.
I do not claim to be a saint who has not been touched by the green eyed monster. I have however been largely free of envy in my life. This comes form the simple realization that envy is indeed ignorance. I shall forever be grateful to Dale Carnegie for this valuable lesson.
Basically as I understood it, Carnegie advocated that we genuinely try to see things from other person’s point of view and made it absolutely clear that he was not advocating a bag of tricks. He was a strong advocate of praise as opposed to flattery. If truth be told, some of his methods largely worked. I did make a few good acquaintances by following the simple principle of praising people regarding their genuinely good qualities. Also, I was considerably emboldened by reading How to Stop Worrying and Start Living. I not only stopped worrying but became over confident. This was reflected in my 12th standard examination results.
Gradually, as other experiences in life shaped me, I realized that Dale Carnegie’s views were not always practical. While they had their merits, it could not serve as a compass for my life. For instance, ‘How to Win Friends & Influence People’ seems to suggest that it is possible to friendly at all times. Life has taught all of us that, human nature is as much about conflict as friendship. Later when I read that Dale Carnegie had committed suicide, I lost all faith in his work. How could a man who wrote ‘How to Stop Worrying and Start Living’ commit suicide?
As time passed, I realized that just as Dale Carnegie was not right about everything, he was not wrong about everything either. I must confess that, I am forever indebted to a small part of what I read in ‘How to Stop Worrying----’. He quoted an excerpt from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous essay on ‘Self Reliance’ which went as follows: There comes a time in every man’s education when he realizes that envy is ignorance and imitation is suicide.
I do not claim to be a saint who has not been touched by the green eyed monster. I have however been largely free of envy in my life. This comes form the simple realization that envy is indeed ignorance. I shall forever be grateful to Dale Carnegie for this valuable lesson.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Fiery McEnroe is now a mellow 50
Last week on February 16, in an event that went unnoticed by the Indian media, one of the most talented tennis players ever-John Patrick McEnroe turned 50. It was a bit difficult to believe that the enfant terrible had turned 50.
During his heyday McEnroe, was famed for his clashes with authority and once described the Wimbledon umpire\referee as “the pits of the world”. The man who used the racquet to play a rare soliloquy confounded everyone by chucking the same racquet in rage on the court. If he was poetry in motion, his language on court at times could have had nothing in common with verse.
Yet it was this rare combination of genius and a combustible temper that appealed to the teenager in me. While my friends hated McEnroe for this trait I idolized him precisely for this. Many is the argument that I have had with people about McEnroe with me often being his sole supporter. The other trait I liked about McEnroe was his ability to announce his intention to do something and then precisely execute it. After he lost the epic 1980 Wimbledon final to Bjorn Borg he said “ No man can keep winning forever. Not even Borg can do that. When that happens I intend to be there at the other side of the net.” Sure enough in the 1981 Wimbledon final he beat Borg 4-6, 7-6, 7-6 & 6-4. Another example is his comment after the 1984 US open semi final when he was told that Ivan Lendl was to be his opponent. “Tomorrow, I am going to come out as fast as I can. I am going to get it over as quickly as I can and I know that I am the favourite.” Sure enough next day he despatched Lendl 6-3, 6-4, & 6-1.
McEnroe’s career was topsy turvy. He won seven grand slam titles between 1979 & 1984 and then none till his retirement in 1993. On his retirement an Indian newspaper summed up his legacy saying that he was a “flawed genius”. It is hard to disagree with that view. The Bach with the racquet could metamorphose into a Mr Hyde on court. McEnroe may have been my teenage idol but despite all his talent and achievements he would be the wrong kind of idol for anyone as far as behaviour went.
The 50 year old McEnroe has today metamorphosed into an exceptional and incisive tennis commentator post retirement. He has also handled his affairs much better than his most famous rival Borg who has been saddled with financial and personal problems. His place in the history of the game as one of its greatest artistes is assured. More importantly, the left handed genius from New York has really grown up. 50 years is just a signpost in that metamorphosis.
During his heyday McEnroe, was famed for his clashes with authority and once described the Wimbledon umpire\referee as “the pits of the world”. The man who used the racquet to play a rare soliloquy confounded everyone by chucking the same racquet in rage on the court. If he was poetry in motion, his language on court at times could have had nothing in common with verse.
Yet it was this rare combination of genius and a combustible temper that appealed to the teenager in me. While my friends hated McEnroe for this trait I idolized him precisely for this. Many is the argument that I have had with people about McEnroe with me often being his sole supporter. The other trait I liked about McEnroe was his ability to announce his intention to do something and then precisely execute it. After he lost the epic 1980 Wimbledon final to Bjorn Borg he said “ No man can keep winning forever. Not even Borg can do that. When that happens I intend to be there at the other side of the net.” Sure enough in the 1981 Wimbledon final he beat Borg 4-6, 7-6, 7-6 & 6-4. Another example is his comment after the 1984 US open semi final when he was told that Ivan Lendl was to be his opponent. “Tomorrow, I am going to come out as fast as I can. I am going to get it over as quickly as I can and I know that I am the favourite.” Sure enough next day he despatched Lendl 6-3, 6-4, & 6-1.
McEnroe’s career was topsy turvy. He won seven grand slam titles between 1979 & 1984 and then none till his retirement in 1993. On his retirement an Indian newspaper summed up his legacy saying that he was a “flawed genius”. It is hard to disagree with that view. The Bach with the racquet could metamorphose into a Mr Hyde on court. McEnroe may have been my teenage idol but despite all his talent and achievements he would be the wrong kind of idol for anyone as far as behaviour went.
The 50 year old McEnroe has today metamorphosed into an exceptional and incisive tennis commentator post retirement. He has also handled his affairs much better than his most famous rival Borg who has been saddled with financial and personal problems. His place in the history of the game as one of its greatest artistes is assured. More importantly, the left handed genius from New York has really grown up. 50 years is just a signpost in that metamorphosis.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The road from Chennai
As I tried opening my bag at my cousin sister Chitra’s house in Chennai during my recent trip, I saw a distinct smile. I refused to acknowledge the smile for what it was and quietly went about putting my clothes in. About an hour later, when it was time for me to leave for the airport, I saw that the smile had widened into a grin. A huge grin at that. I could no more deceive myself but acknowledge it for what it was- my bag was sporting a huge tear. It was time now for panic stations as we had very little time to leave for the airport. My brother-in-law Sivakumar helpfully fished out a suitcase while my nephew Golu helped me pack at the speed of lightning. Soon we were on the car being driven by my brother-in-law to Trishulam, Chennai’s international airport.
On the way I saw posters of a prominent Tamil Nadu politician being splashed all over. “This guy looks really ugly,” I remarked. “Still he manages to have many affairs and many handsome men get left behind,” Chitra remarked. “You mean handsome men like me,” I asked as the car resonated with laughter.
Soon it was the midnight flight and I was back in Mumbai in the wee hours. My trip to Chennai however held happy memories. Apart from being able to visit my old school, I was also able to connect with my cousin brother Babu after a quite sometime.
I spent three happy years in a Chennai hostel when my parents were largely abroad. It was the time when adolescence and its related pursuits set in. It also held memories of my reading South India’s premier daily The Hindu—at my hostel. It was really more of a fight to get to the paper as about 30 hostelites jostled for it. It was also the period when I read Charles Dickens unabridged edition of David Copperfield—over 900 pages plus. My reading the Hindu and its associated magazine-The Sportstar also helped me embark on the path of becoming a journalist which in turn qualified for the job of a communications professional. Those three years marked more than just a shift from childhood to adolescence.
On the way I saw posters of a prominent Tamil Nadu politician being splashed all over. “This guy looks really ugly,” I remarked. “Still he manages to have many affairs and many handsome men get left behind,” Chitra remarked. “You mean handsome men like me,” I asked as the car resonated with laughter.
Soon it was the midnight flight and I was back in Mumbai in the wee hours. My trip to Chennai however held happy memories. Apart from being able to visit my old school, I was also able to connect with my cousin brother Babu after a quite sometime.
I spent three happy years in a Chennai hostel when my parents were largely abroad. It was the time when adolescence and its related pursuits set in. It also held memories of my reading South India’s premier daily The Hindu—at my hostel. It was really more of a fight to get to the paper as about 30 hostelites jostled for it. It was also the period when I read Charles Dickens unabridged edition of David Copperfield—over 900 pages plus. My reading the Hindu and its associated magazine-The Sportstar also helped me embark on the path of becoming a journalist which in turn qualified for the job of a communications professional. Those three years marked more than just a shift from childhood to adolescence.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
School, Nostalgia and Big street
“Hey, let us get out and take a look at our school,” I told my cousin Babu. He agreed reluctantly but quickly introduced himself as an ex-student to the person closing the school gate who then opened the door and graciously let us in.
As we entered the gate that Saturday, the air was thick with memories of a happy three years that I spent in the school and its associated hostel when my parents were abroad. I was there in the Chennai school -the Hindu Senior Secondary School from Class VIII to Class X.
A quick glance at a board revealed that my English teacher Prem Dulari had been the principal of the school for 24 years. I glanced at another board and saw the list of toppers in the 10th standard and the 12th. Standard board examinations. I remembered the debating contests that I had won, the music competition where an unforgiving audience had made me vacate the stage, the teachers and the school romances.
Soon it was time to catch- up with an office staff-- Ms Anuradha who to my considerable discomfort remembered Babu and not me. I learnt from another member of the staff that the hostel had been closed down and now housed classrooms.
I was saddened by this but then everything changes with time. When I said my goodbye and moved out-I saw one enduring remnant of the hostel- the metal statue of Saraswati-the goddess of learning atop the building which had housed the hostel. There were other changes as well with a couple of shops that I had known including the appropriately named Fancy Mahal having disappeared. Nor was the bakery in front of the hostel where I had gorged on cakes present any longer. Clearly, the times had changed.
So had my perception despite the nostalgia and the sepia toned memories. I realized that the road in which the school was situated was nothing more than a narrow line. Ironically, it was known as Big Street when a more appropriate name would have been Small Street. It was me-- the school boy who had grown into middle age and fatherhood. My son Sandi has now begun school and life has in many ways come a full circle.
Big Street has been replaced in my life with ambitions big and small. A corner of Chennai has however forever become a part of my consciousness. As the poet Wordsworth wrote in his poem ‘The Solitary Reaper’—“ The music in my heart I bore long after it was heard no more.” It was wholly appropriate that I had learnt this poem at the Hindu Senior Secondary School-Chennai.
As we entered the gate that Saturday, the air was thick with memories of a happy three years that I spent in the school and its associated hostel when my parents were abroad. I was there in the Chennai school -the Hindu Senior Secondary School from Class VIII to Class X.
A quick glance at a board revealed that my English teacher Prem Dulari had been the principal of the school for 24 years. I glanced at another board and saw the list of toppers in the 10th standard and the 12th. Standard board examinations. I remembered the debating contests that I had won, the music competition where an unforgiving audience had made me vacate the stage, the teachers and the school romances.
Soon it was time to catch- up with an office staff-- Ms Anuradha who to my considerable discomfort remembered Babu and not me. I learnt from another member of the staff that the hostel had been closed down and now housed classrooms.
I was saddened by this but then everything changes with time. When I said my goodbye and moved out-I saw one enduring remnant of the hostel- the metal statue of Saraswati-the goddess of learning atop the building which had housed the hostel. There were other changes as well with a couple of shops that I had known including the appropriately named Fancy Mahal having disappeared. Nor was the bakery in front of the hostel where I had gorged on cakes present any longer. Clearly, the times had changed.
So had my perception despite the nostalgia and the sepia toned memories. I realized that the road in which the school was situated was nothing more than a narrow line. Ironically, it was known as Big Street when a more appropriate name would have been Small Street. It was me-- the school boy who had grown into middle age and fatherhood. My son Sandi has now begun school and life has in many ways come a full circle.
Big Street has been replaced in my life with ambitions big and small. A corner of Chennai has however forever become a part of my consciousness. As the poet Wordsworth wrote in his poem ‘The Solitary Reaper’—“ The music in my heart I bore long after it was heard no more.” It was wholly appropriate that I had learnt this poem at the Hindu Senior Secondary School-Chennai.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The world of the child
What does it mean to be a grown up for a child ? Becoming a doctor, engineer or the old favorite pilot ?
If you are three years old it can be quite different. Take my son Sanjiv for instance. “When I become big, I will be able to put my hands inside the plug points, he says.This is because all of us at home do not allow him to go anywhere near the plug points. His other favourite refrain is, “When I become big I can open the medicine box”. My father who is a heart patient has to take a lot of medicines every day. All of us at home have expressly forbidden Sanjiv from touching the box containing medicines. Child that he is he does not realize that having to take so many medicines are really a curse and not a source of joy as he imagines.
His other aspiration is a little more in line with that of ordinary mortals. He wants to drive a car except that for this one he doesn’t want to wait till he grows up but do it immediately. For a start, whenever we hire a car for long distance travel he wants to sit next to the driver. That is because we don’t allow him to sit on the driver’s seat and get behind the wheel straight away. Nevertheless at the end of each journey, he insists that he sit behind the wheel and pretend to drive. Child that he is he does not see the Mumbai traffic and the attendant problems but only the joy associated with driving.
The world of the adult and the child are quite divergent. Many things that adults see as a problem is a source of joy to the child. Perceptions obviously change as children first metamorphose into adolescents and then adults. All of us would however be a lot more happier in life if only we could retain a bit of the child.
If you are three years old it can be quite different. Take my son Sanjiv for instance. “When I become big, I will be able to put my hands inside the plug points, he says.This is because all of us at home do not allow him to go anywhere near the plug points. His other favourite refrain is, “When I become big I can open the medicine box”. My father who is a heart patient has to take a lot of medicines every day. All of us at home have expressly forbidden Sanjiv from touching the box containing medicines. Child that he is he does not realize that having to take so many medicines are really a curse and not a source of joy as he imagines.
His other aspiration is a little more in line with that of ordinary mortals. He wants to drive a car except that for this one he doesn’t want to wait till he grows up but do it immediately. For a start, whenever we hire a car for long distance travel he wants to sit next to the driver. That is because we don’t allow him to sit on the driver’s seat and get behind the wheel straight away. Nevertheless at the end of each journey, he insists that he sit behind the wheel and pretend to drive. Child that he is he does not see the Mumbai traffic and the attendant problems but only the joy associated with driving.
The world of the adult and the child are quite divergent. Many things that adults see as a problem is a source of joy to the child. Perceptions obviously change as children first metamorphose into adolescents and then adults. All of us would however be a lot more happier in life if only we could retain a bit of the child.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Daddy, Mummy and Baby
Daddy and Mummy had planned on seeing a movie together after many months. They had however reckoned without three year old baby. Baby who normally loved to sleep with grandfather and grandmother decided inexplicably that they were not congenial company. He was immune to any blandishments offered to him in the form of his favourite sweets and biscuits.
He realized with his child’s intuition that Mummy and Daddy were going out. He wanted a slice of the action. He made his views quite clear and chose the child’s way of expressing himself- he simply hollered at the top of his voice. Daddy’s fervent pleas that he wanted to go to work and Mummy’s assurances that she would be quickly back from the market fell on deaf ears. Daddy grew increasingly angry and Mummy increasingly upset. Baby responded by raising the decibel level. Daddy was worried that the tickets that had been purchased at a popular Mulitplex for a fancy price would go waste. Mummy worried about leaving a crying child at home. Further, how would the child react even if he was taken to the theatre ? Baby eventually won the standoff and he was taken to the movie.
The humour of the situation was not lost on Mummy and Daddy. Sheer, childish stubbornness had won the day. The best laid plans of mice and men had taken a backseat. At the theatre, Daddy tried to catch up on the movie while baby busied himself with popcorn. Mummy, alternated between watching the movie and keeping an eye on the baby as he was prone to go for walks. Finally, the picture came to an end. Mummy and Daddy agreed that one had to be extraordinarily unfortunate to watch a movie like “Bad Luck Govind”. Baby had really had the best of both worlds-he had come to the movie but had not really understood whatever little he watched. Daddy and Mummy agreed from now on baby would figure in all their movie outings for however bad the movie, baby could be relied upon to provide the fun.
Friends, this is the story of myself, my wife Vidya and son Sanjiv. It happened yesterday and it could have happened in a lot of families. No doubt it has happened before and will happen again for children like history repeat themselves.
He realized with his child’s intuition that Mummy and Daddy were going out. He wanted a slice of the action. He made his views quite clear and chose the child’s way of expressing himself- he simply hollered at the top of his voice. Daddy’s fervent pleas that he wanted to go to work and Mummy’s assurances that she would be quickly back from the market fell on deaf ears. Daddy grew increasingly angry and Mummy increasingly upset. Baby responded by raising the decibel level. Daddy was worried that the tickets that had been purchased at a popular Mulitplex for a fancy price would go waste. Mummy worried about leaving a crying child at home. Further, how would the child react even if he was taken to the theatre ? Baby eventually won the standoff and he was taken to the movie.
The humour of the situation was not lost on Mummy and Daddy. Sheer, childish stubbornness had won the day. The best laid plans of mice and men had taken a backseat. At the theatre, Daddy tried to catch up on the movie while baby busied himself with popcorn. Mummy, alternated between watching the movie and keeping an eye on the baby as he was prone to go for walks. Finally, the picture came to an end. Mummy and Daddy agreed that one had to be extraordinarily unfortunate to watch a movie like “Bad Luck Govind”. Baby had really had the best of both worlds-he had come to the movie but had not really understood whatever little he watched. Daddy and Mummy agreed from now on baby would figure in all their movie outings for however bad the movie, baby could be relied upon to provide the fun.
Friends, this is the story of myself, my wife Vidya and son Sanjiv. It happened yesterday and it could have happened in a lot of families. No doubt it has happened before and will happen again for children like history repeat themselves.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Revisiting Enid Blyton
In the last few weeks I have been reading the favourite author of my childhood-Enid Blyton- all over again. Specifically, I have been reading the series on the Five Find outers and the Dog. The titles that I have hungrily devoured include The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat; The Mystery of the Pantomime Cat; The Mystery of Tally Ho Cottage; The Mystery of the Strange Bundle and The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters.
The principal characters in the story are five children comprising Frederick Algernon Trottevile (Fatty); and two brother- sister duos—Pip & Bets and Larry & Daisy. Giving the children company in all their mysteries is Fatty’s dog Buster. Fatty is of course the brains of the group with Bets occasionally supplying some inspiration. The children are in constant competition with the local policeman- Mr Goon- who says clear orf by instinct on seeing the children. He feels that they are constantly interfering with the law and refers to Fatty as a toad of a boy. Buster also has taken a fancy for Goon’s ankles and has a go at them every time he sees them. Mercifully, no harm is done as Fatty calls him off each time but not before everyone has had their quota of fun.
In between solving mysteries the five find outers and dog munch on ice creams, scones, sandwiches, potted meat and drink lemonade. Reading these books acts as a tranquilizer as the stories are fun, pacy but not fast enough to get the adrenaline flowing.
Now as a child I enjoyed reading the children’s fights with Mr Goon. I loved it when Buster pranced around his ankles or Fatty led the policeman on a merry-go-round in one of his numerous disguises. As an adult, I cannot help thinking that perhaps Mr Goon was right after all about the “interfering with the law” bit. Further, does being amateur detectives really give Fatty the licence to lead ‘Goon on a dance’ or plant false clues. Even more strange is the attitude of Goon’s superior—Inspector Jenks who rises to become a superintendent during the series of books. He openly sides with the children in their fights with Goon. Granted Goon is not the brightest of policemen but surely his superior cannot be seen to be siding with his rivals ?
These are of course adult thoughts that intrude about books that are essentially written for children. Even as one sympathises with Goon, one cannot help enjoying the book which acts as an anodyne in a stressed world and brings back warm memories of childhood. Here is a treasure trove for children but are enough of them reading Enid Blyton in an era in which it is more fashionable for even kids to surf the Internet ? The answer to that question will determine whether the appeal of the Five Findouters and their dog lingers on to this day.
The principal characters in the story are five children comprising Frederick Algernon Trottevile (Fatty); and two brother- sister duos—Pip & Bets and Larry & Daisy. Giving the children company in all their mysteries is Fatty’s dog Buster. Fatty is of course the brains of the group with Bets occasionally supplying some inspiration. The children are in constant competition with the local policeman- Mr Goon- who says clear orf by instinct on seeing the children. He feels that they are constantly interfering with the law and refers to Fatty as a toad of a boy. Buster also has taken a fancy for Goon’s ankles and has a go at them every time he sees them. Mercifully, no harm is done as Fatty calls him off each time but not before everyone has had their quota of fun.
In between solving mysteries the five find outers and dog munch on ice creams, scones, sandwiches, potted meat and drink lemonade. Reading these books acts as a tranquilizer as the stories are fun, pacy but not fast enough to get the adrenaline flowing.
Now as a child I enjoyed reading the children’s fights with Mr Goon. I loved it when Buster pranced around his ankles or Fatty led the policeman on a merry-go-round in one of his numerous disguises. As an adult, I cannot help thinking that perhaps Mr Goon was right after all about the “interfering with the law” bit. Further, does being amateur detectives really give Fatty the licence to lead ‘Goon on a dance’ or plant false clues. Even more strange is the attitude of Goon’s superior—Inspector Jenks who rises to become a superintendent during the series of books. He openly sides with the children in their fights with Goon. Granted Goon is not the brightest of policemen but surely his superior cannot be seen to be siding with his rivals ?
These are of course adult thoughts that intrude about books that are essentially written for children. Even as one sympathises with Goon, one cannot help enjoying the book which acts as an anodyne in a stressed world and brings back warm memories of childhood. Here is a treasure trove for children but are enough of them reading Enid Blyton in an era in which it is more fashionable for even kids to surf the Internet ? The answer to that question will determine whether the appeal of the Five Findouters and their dog lingers on to this day.
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