Babu Mama: Thanks for the Memories.

 

“You must stop reading trash and start reading the classics,” said Babu Mama (uncle) to a 12 year old. The 12 year old was me and trash was a new word to me at that point in my life.  The response had been prompted by my desire to buy some books featuring the Hardy Boys written by Franklin W Dixon.

It was typical of Babu Mama that he bought me a couple of Hardy Boys books. He had come all the way from Bangalore to Mumbai where we stayed to see off myself, my mother and brother as we embarked on our journey to Accra, the capital of Ghana in West Africa where my father had been transferred.  It was also typical of him that he took over most off the load where packing was concerned from my mother.

Also in my younger days when I asked him for Rs 50 he would part with Rs 100. Babu Mama was the soul of generosity. These and other thoughts came flooding to my mind when I heard from my mother that he had breathed his last after being troubled by various ailments over the last few years.

There were other thoughts too that crowded my mind. My journey from Chennai to Bangalore as a 13 year old to do what else but spend time with mama and my cousins during the Christmas vacation. It was my first sole journey made more memorable by the fact that some of the leading Indian cricketers of that time (1978) Chandrashekhar, Prasanna and Kirmani traveling in the same train. Catching a glimpse of those deities of Indian cricket at that time was an experience in itself.

By a strange coincidence, I was to repeat the Bangalore –Chennai trip and back a few days after his death. This time of course there were no cricketers. Today’s cricketers of course fly except when there is no choice.

Another fond memory of Babu Mama was when during another trip to Bangalore during another vacation as a 14\15 year old I visited a popular eatery and paid a handsome tip. My uncle could not get over the amount that I had given away and he ribbed me about it for a long time.

It is this kind of jolly and generous nature that endeared him to all of us cousins and made him such an integral part of all our childhood memories.

Earlier this year came the definitive memory when my father passed away in Mumbai. Despite his ill health he came with his son Badri and Kamala Mami to condole my mother. He flew in and out of Mumbai the same day adding to his hardship. That is something which we as a family can never forget.  It was therefore a huge relief to me that I could see Babu Mama one last time before he breathed his last.

And yes over the years I did read the classics largely the abridged versions. And I will give the same advice to my eight year old son Sanjiv when the time comes.

Thanks for the memories Mama. RIP.

 

 

The Art of Making Simple Things Complicated

A few days ago I was struck by the deafening sound of silence.  Not quite. The cell had stopped ringing but the heart had started beating faster. It was the start of the work day and there were innumerable calls to be put through the day. Right from clients to colleagues would be trying to contact me all through. How was I to cope?

And then the heart gladdened. For the cell rang again but the heart sank further when the cell stopped ringing almost immediately. Nor could I put through calls. The landline on my desk which was primarily used by me as an intercom now literally became my lifeline.

I was also surprised. I had been with this service provider for eight years and not even once had I been in a spot of bother. The phone had functioned albeit a little intermittently even when Mumbai was ravaged by rain & floods on July 26, 2005. Then I began thinking a little rationally.

Since I was not without influence with this service provider I decided not to go through the usual customer care route but pulled out the stops. Soon enough I got a call from customer care. What exactly was the matter the voice at the other end asked solicitously?  “Well,” the voice said, “why don’t you shut down your mobile phone and restart it. These things happen sometimes and are but temporary problems,” the polite voice continued. “Okay,” I said with the air of a man who had attained enlightenment.  I rebooted the cell and sure enough it was crackling again. The heartbeat went back to normal almost instantaneously and suddenly the mind began thinking clearly. “Why hadn’t I done this in the first place? Isn’t it what I did every time the PC gave me trouble? The IT helpdesk came into the picture only when this did not work. Come on it was a bit like your grandma’s remedy. “

Then I realized that this little incident had taught me one simple truth of life. Often we don’t think of or do the obvious. Not because we don’t want to. It is just that we end up making life complicated for ourselves. I mean we sometimes excel at the art of making simple things complicated. At times, like in this case it is brought about by panic. And sometimes by reasons we cannot fathom.

I then made a promise to myself. Next time I was confronted with such a problem, I would put on my thinking cap. And keep panic at bay. Then the obvious solution would occur. Then life will be all about keeping things simple. And not about the art of making simple things complicated.

A Tribute to the Famed Gujarati Hospitality

There were just a few minutes left for the train to move out of Ahmedabad station at around 9.15 pm when the realization struck me that I had to get some food for the overnight journey to Mumbai. At the same time one of persons in the adjoining seat said that there would be no dinner service in the train that night. This was confirmed by one of the vendors who had come into the train. My mind was filled with terror and I cursed myself. I had arrived at the station well ahead of schedule and could have easily ordered and packed the food. But under the mistaken impression that food would be served on the train I had not bothered to stock up on food. As Sherlock Holmes would have said, “Elementary my dear Watson”, or in this case Ravindran. I was now in the horns of a dilemma. I could have got off the train and tried to get my dinner. This also meant that I could miss the train if I did not make it back in time. It was again Elementary. Ravindran chose to play safe, remain in the train and prepare myself for a long night of hunger The train had just started moving and the rumblings were not far from the stomach. “Do you mind having some food, a kindly voice enquired it belonged to an old lady Subsequent enquiries revealed that she was traveling to another part of Gujarat with her daughter in law and two grandchildren Mind! Does one mind Manna from heaven? Soon I was tucking into some typical Gujarati food comprising of Dhokla and Tepla. When I was offered a second helping, I shamelessly accepted it. The rumblings in my stomach were stillborn. A full stomach enables a man to reflect. And reflect I did. On how during journeys strangers were drawn to lending a helping hand to each other. Just two days back on the trip to Ahmedabad from Mumbai a lady had bought me tea when she realized that I didn’t have necessary change. She had later refused to accept money when later I had managed to secure the change. A manifestation of the famed Gujarati hospitality. It was in evidence in even greater measure two days later. After a few pleasantries we all retired for the night. Next day when I woke up close to Mumbai, my Samaritans had already disembarked and nowhere to be seen. I realized that in my joy in securing food I had actually forgotten to aske their names. I wish to thank them as well as the lady who bought me tea earlier for the famed Gujarati hospitality. Thank you friend and let us hope we meet again in the journey of life. This time it will be my turn to return the hospitality.

Goodbye to the old and welcome to the new

August 18, 2013 was one of the most poignant days in my life. For all practical purposes my weekend Executive MBA classes had ended that day. Yes officially there was still one more lecture left and I still had to clear an examination and complete a project. Since my presentation had been completed on that day I had the option of not attending the last lecture on August 25. As I walked away from Welingkar College that afternoon on towards Matunga station, my classmate Ajeetabh yelled out “Is this the last time that we are seeing you?” I don’t recollect what I said. My mind was filled with doubt. Was I doing the right thing by not opting for a specialisation programme in Finance which would have taken another three months? My weekend classes had kept me sane during a trying period in my life. I was jobless (a condition of my own choosing) during the first year of my MBA. These classes had been something to look forward to during that period and had given me the much needed mental stimulus and morale boost. Also interacting with a young class and being part of the college jokes had been fun. Plus the priceless friendship of Rohinton Lala who was a genuine source of comfort during that tough period. In a sense I was walking away from all this. At the same time, the classes had come at a price after I entered formal employment. I had to sacrifice my family life entirely. Although I worked five days a week, I had often been on calls on Saturdays. Added to this was the stress of transitioning to a new career role. Also during this period my father had fallen terminally ill and passed away in April this year. In a sense I had been looking forward to the end of the course. Yet when the moment came I was filled with indefinable sadness. I decided to come the next week for purely sentimental reasons. I didn’t want to miss out one last day with the class. Plus I wanted to attend the last lecture as I had missed the first lecture due to an injury. The last day was of course the time for saying the sentimental goodbyes. I still hadn’t been able to make up my mind on whether the decision to not opt for specialisation was the right one. As I rang the doorbell, my son came forward to open the door. Even before I could come in the question was out of his mouth “What will you do next Sunday”? I said,” I will now be at home on all Sundays”. He clasped me in a tight hug. At that the cobwebs were cleared from my mind. The decision to take a break from academics was certainly the right one. It was tough not to feel sentimental about what was changing. There was also the promise of a new beginning. More time for the family, who ultimately is the single biggest reason for our existence. Goodbye to the old and welcome to the new. A cliché perhaps. But like many clichés, it captured the essence of the moment.

At last, an answer to the chicken and egg riddle !

“Venky’s solves the riddle. Venky’s chicken came before Venky’s eggs,” I said with a laugh. “We will use that”, said my friend Girish and thus was born a classroom ad campaign. But first things first. I and Girish were students of Copywriting (the art of writing advertisements) along with seven others in the Advertising Agencies Association of India (AAAI). The nine of us were divided into two groups and given the momentous task of coming up with an ad-campaign to sell branded eggs. Girish, me, Pravina, Sarabjeet and Vernon constituted one team while Rajashree, Vivek, Sunil and Melroy constituted the other team. All of us of course dreamt of emulating the feats of legendary copywriters like David Ogilvy and the the other bright stars in the advertising firmament. The immediate business was of course to create the ad-campaign. Girish loved what I had purely meant to be a joke and since he was the accepted leader of our group we went about creating the campaign. To the uninitiated Venky’s was the abbreviation for Venkateshwara Hatcheries. Venky’s had first launched branded chicken and now we decided in our infinite wisdom that they were going to be the pioneers in branded eggs as well. If I remember correctly, we zeroed in on a hoarding campaign. The Venky solves the riddle was to be a teaser unveiled on hoardings. I honestly don’t remember after all these years as to what went into the rest of our campaign. Both teams of course had to make a presentation on D-Day before securing a certificate. The judge was a senior representative of one of the well known Indian advertising agencies. He agreed that we had an “interesting” teaser but plumped for the campaign created by the other team. They focused on a campaign which wanted to know whether consumers were buying eggs blindfold. We were of course disappointed but took the decision in good grace. I also personally brightened up for a different reason. True , we had lost out in the eyes of the judge. But we had made the most coherent attempt to answer the Chicken and Egg Riddle. Yes, Venky’s eggs came after Venky's chicken.