Life, a String of Journeys

Each time we begin a new phase, its the onset of a new journey, that has begun because the previous one ended. However, the journey that ended cannot be analogous to an exam. In life, you embark on a new journey, when you have completed your travel successfully, learnt all that you were meant to, and are ready to brace the next set of challenges. You cannot fail and move to the next step. Because, if you fail, life will not open the next door. It will keep teaching you till you learn it. A determined teacher, at that one. It is fascinating to realize that even before we know the end of the sub journey, we begin planning our next steps. Just like we plan our next vacation best, when we are on a vacation. And then comes life, making a fool of us by showing us the journey it has planned for us. If we look back, we all have planned our ends, but beginnings were never in our scope. We know we will finish our school, but "what next" factor continues to elude us. Each time a baby is conceived, its journey ends after 9 months. But, what is its gender, weight, color; we do not know. We do not know what the next moment holds for us. But, I hereby take the liberty to contradict myself and state that if we do not know the start of next journey, we obviously do not know the end of the present one. Life throws surprises and shocks alike, making life a bumpy ride. If you decide to do it your way, and challenge life, you are in for some rude shocks. But, if you let life plan, and keep your guards down, you will have some pleasant surprises in your kitty. Every time you feel things are not going "your" way, the culprit is you. Stop wanting life to be your slave. You are just a mere spec in the scheme of life, and you couldn't make a bigger blunder than assuming that you can live life your way. When you swam in your mother's womb, life was trying to tell you that, keep swimming, move with the flow, don't resist. If life throws oranges, its probably because they are best for you at this moment. If you keep getting lemons, you need to get your Vitamins of life in place. And, you will get oranges. So, learn from each failure, and till you succeed, you will not get the keys for the next door. Last but not the least, if you try and try till you succeed, you will keep trying forever. Don't try, just don't stop. Keep Going on!!

You are Written About

Every fiction was once a real life story. So with changing times, changes lifestyle, which cascades to change in reading habits. How many times, we have picked up a book, read a few pages, and decided to ditch it because it was the story of an era we do not relate to. In 1800s, life was devoid of technology, human mind was the most wired entity that existed. Countries were run by few men, wars meant newer countries and fiction was about tales of a warrior. When a convict decided to pen down, it involved human relationships, patriotism, politics and loads of picturesque pages making the book alive for the reader. The book readers wanted to know what was in store for them if they went to the prison. These readers were students in history, budding leaders and selected intellects. Reading was still a luxury. You had food and clothing to worry for. Then there were writers like Salinger. They wrote about young minds, the conflicts a teenager faced. The Great Depression was there, people read about money making and how the various parts of the world ran their economies. Benjamin Graham is for all to see. Things changed. The readers were in awe of technology. Sci-fi writers were satisfying the young readers with star trek novels. Warren Buffet, Jim Rogers were there for money makers and Robin Sharma if you already made money. Not many would appreciate if Sharma wrote his book in 1930s. The churning rate at bookshops is increasing with the rate at which our lifestyle is changing. Call centers mushroomed and we had writers telling us about them. With high rate of attrition in relationships, Bhagat made some quick bucks. Stress was all over, and here we had books on health, occult, meditation swarming the place. However, a disturbing trend that stares in our face is the declining number of readers. Books are competing with androids and apples, forcing writers to pour bedroom and smoking scenes in the college backyard. But, ironically they are an honest reflection of the lifestyle my young cousins lead. Two affairs, one divorce, one abusive relationship, a murder in the office washroom. Not exactly fiction. We have faced some of it, seen most of it and heard all of it in real life. Another thought that intrigues me, is that the audience for Bhagat’s readers end up reading books when we have nothing better to do. So if he were to write some serious stuff like a commentary on Darwin with changing mindsets, it would not really be read by the masses or the classes. It would be on a researcher’s table, on the syllabus of a few courses and win an award in a category that we wouldn’t know of. The books are read in coffee shops, with girls in little fabric distracting the reader’s attention or in boring lectures. It takes a lot in the book to keep the reader’s attention riveted in spite of all the distractions. It takes loads of porn, junk, expletives and poor grammar to make a reader of that guy, for whom reading ended at text books. Facebook definitely does not qualify for reading activity. Our lives are the data mines for the aspiring author. The surroundings are a melting point of ideas and our conversations are scripted in books with little editing. So while all we think of is satisfying our needs in bed, in luxury, in career, it is all being written about. We belong to the era of sex, weed, relationships, couches, fixing, aids, Osho, LV and the works. We are the characters in each book we read. Else, you wouldn't bother reading that book. Keep Reading, Its all about You!!

Rich Dad, Poor Son

"Hi", I responded to a guy who moved next door last week. He always appeared to be out of bed, irrespective of what time of day it was. "Hi, you coming so late?", as he saw me drained of every joule of energy that could possibly leave my body. "Yes, I work hard. You heading somewhere?", the smell of shower gel was strong and expensive. "Why would you work so much? I would never work so much", he said mockingly. "Because I like my work and I want to make it to the top", still hopelessly hunting for door keys in my bag I lived out of. "You want to be on top, with a job? Kidding me. Start your own business. Look at me". "So what do you do?", almost sure that his dad was dripping rich and he was here to make him poor by a few lakhs. "Nothing as of now. Just returned from the Thames University after studying business administration". "Which university?" "Thames, its in...." He had flunked his tenth grade exams, his father couldn't buy him a seat at Delhi University and mother couldn't afford her son to be seen at a college that would not earn her jealous looks at the club. So his parents packed him to an unknown university, no one had ever heard of. No, he didn't tell me this. I knew it. But how familiar the set up is. The father belongs to a humble background. He sweats out to look 50 when he was all of 35. His children never give a fcuk to their career. They think setting shop is in their DNA. They fail all exams,go to unknown colleges overseas, fail there and return. Still confident to make it bigger than their dads. However, when reality bites them they are in their mid-thirties. They are still struggling to come out of their dad's shadow while their wives have certified them as a loser. They have a few failed business ventures to their credit. They take solace in alcohol and just hope they can do half as well as their father. These men do not have loans to pay, they still get pocket money, now for family and friends both, and never really grow out of the wings of their parents. Another area where such foolish old kids never grow, is their false image about themselves. They never cease to believe that they were born to rule the world, farting on the surname. That is all they were born to use. The wealth depletes, their kids do NOT want to be like their dads, so they work hard. And the humble background, hard work, desire to make it big, it all repeats again. "You wanna join us at the Vegas Club? Its on me", the rich kid interrupted my thoughts. "Thanks, but I have an assignment to finish, critical for my next appraisal", I said with the air of confidence. I knew, I will never have as much bank balance as what his dad pays for his petrol and booze, but I will have much more wisdom and contentment. Its the high of making it all by 'yourself' than just making it. Stop dreaming of making it bigger than your dad under his wings. Leave that hand, walk alone, get bruised, get laughed at. Go, make half as him and learn the tricks of trade. The name of trade is humility and gratitude. "Be grateful for what you get, be contend with what you have, and you shall not want more" Joy Gurudev :-) :-)

My Office Elevator

My office is all of 9 floors, but the maximum time I spend, after my desk and pantry, is in the lift lobby. There are 6 functional elevators, neatly arranged in 2 rows, 3 on each side. The elevators are extremely efficient in blocking any network invasion. However, I still have colleagues desperately trying to scream, “Hello hello, Awaaz aai?” to their prospective love interests or “In the lift. Bye”, to their wives or mothers alike. As if they were caught off-guard and they never knew elevators have jammers. Is it to ensure no extra weight? Just another lifting thought. The expressions in the elevator, at each point in the day, are a very accurate indicator of how the person’s day has been in office. Morning, 10:00 am: Nobody wants to look at the floor number on the display. They wouldn’t mind hanging around, and shuttle to and fro a couple of times more. Some look as drowsy as they were when they woke up, (Mumbai offers its inhabitants some good time to nap on the roads, quite literally) or look freshly drowsy after getting off their swanky air conditioned cars. But no one wants to get out of the elevator. We all stare at the floor with perfect unison. Lunch, 1:00 pm: The lift is noisy with several sets of parallel conversations. The air is filled with the smell of chutney, sour curd or bhindi masala. They are all staring at the floor display, and frown each time the elevator opens to welcome some more lift-mates. Each stoppage means a few seconds of the coveted break wasted. Why couldn’t we just have smart elevators? I mean who risks upsetting hungry humans. Not even, your…you know whom. Tea, 4:00 pm: That is when the personal life takes the back seat and you are soaked in the office air. The corridor gossip travels to elevators, fully unaware that the stranger next to you is “watsapping” every word, with expressions of course to his car pool friend, who also happens to be your manager. People discuss their ETA home, how tired they are with same routine work or workplace. Wonder if they are tired of their constant monotonous breathing also. Snacks, 6:30 pm: The elevator is literally painted green with jealousy, as a few privileged ones press the exit floor button, while the jealous ones head to the cafeteria again. The gossip has matured, and now all they want to know is what time their manager is leaving. They obviously don’t know when they are heading home. The stranger is still “watsapping”. Dinner, 8:30 pm: Green is not evergreen. It has become red with anger. “WTF, you are leaving? Did you finish that note? Ahh, lucky you. I am here for a few more hours”, the angry bird says as she sees her friend heading home while she decides to take a dinner break. Her hair is awry and kohl smudged up. Her awaited dinner date turned into a 20 minute dinner break. Both of them are staring at the sky, one getting ready to nap in the bus again, another one looking hard for stars. She might just be leaving at sunrise. Dreaded, 2:00 am: Looks like we have come full circle. The angry bird is sleepy. She looks as drowsy as she did when she came, not looking at the floor display. She is staring at the floor, wondering if she should just crash at the carpeted elevator. Happy Elevating!!

Is slavery in the Indian DNA?

We have heard on several occasions, not just by the Americans, the English, the German, the Dutch, even the Chinese, that the biggest problem they face working with an Indian is not the accent, or crisp manners. It is the habit to over commit, kill their peace, and deliver. If the case was that of over commitment and under delivery, India would have never been able to effortlessly adorn the title “Queen of Outsourcing”. But, what problem could a client possibly have with over commitment and delivery that exceeded expectations. It is the problem of projecting the team or the organisation as a bunch of robots, which will be available at any deadly hour, 30 days a month, 12 months a year. My German client in one of my many former organizations once told me, “When you taking a vacation with your family?” Now that would depend on how much work he gave me, and also my father’s clients gave him. Not to forget my mother’s ever demanding boutique clients, who thought a wedding trousseau takes less than 48 hours to be finished. Client commitment takes precedence to all commitments in an Indian’s life. And if the client is white, speaks a language we do not understand, the only way to make our point that “Do not judge us by our skin”, is by killing ourselves to work. Forget the skin, after a few continuous weekends at work my mirror marshals me for a stranger. In each cross cultural training I have attended (which is many, due to the frequent job hopping; another DNA in my folks), a lot of emphasis is given on our inability to say no. And yes, we refuse to say no each time over and over again. What we do not understand is that we are educated, clothed, well groomed, and mentally fit slaves. All we need is the bait, and we are rearing to go. We do not think of changing locations twice before we accept a new job. Yes, similar to Africans who were pulled off their homelands (forests and anacondas). The only difference is that, before someone chains us, we chain ourselves. Now, that is the “Slave mentality” transiting to “Slave DNA”. So when you didn’t tell your teacher as a child that you have to visit the toilet, she assumes that you don’t need to. In case you pee in your place, you have boys laughing at you and your teacher writing to your parents, who slap you. So by being sincere to wait for lesson to get over or too scared to ask for a washroom break, all you get is wet pants and a slap. If you don’t tell your clients about your needs, for the fear of losing them or annoying them, all you get is a life where your only companion is an apple. Your life can give the best Japanese robots a run for their money, and you a run for your life. If you are good, your clients wouldn’t leave you for anything, and if you are genuine, they will feel a part of your work-life. Go talk it out. Share your woes and your smiles. “Being Human” always works better than “Being just Professional”.

Is coffee India’s new Garam-Chai..

India’s youth in suburbs belongs to that decade(s), when the white revolution was at its helm, and parents had decided to give their little ones the best education, without compromising on quality of life. As a result, the “bread-chai” breakfast was soon replaced by “bread-butter and milk”. So we all grew up watching Sachin Tendulkar hitting tones just by the virtue of sipping Boost. The system of parents sipping tea, and kids frowning at the glass of milk had strongly ingrained itself in the middle class homes. Juice was still for the elite. And, then a strong wind blew, bringing with it the fragrance of caffine, which was soon going to challenge the mother of all beverages, the Indian Chai. The youth never really got the chance to get their palettes addicted to tea. The college stalls were soon embracing vending machines, which oozed tea, soup, and coffee. Coffee could easily make itself sell more, considering it shared physical attributes, like colour and texture with cocoa. Cocoa had made itself indispensable in the generation, as their parents disposable income soared. So coffee was the new milk for the young. Parents opted for a cup of hot tea, and the young ones sipped on a cup of well foamed, milky and sweet coffee. Coffee was always there in South India, but that was filter coffee. Cappuccino was that decided to bury its ancestral versions and leafy drinks. The IT sector was booming, and with more and more habits of US and Europe illegally immigrating to the country, the taste buds were exposed to varieties of coffee. Since coffee didn’t require strainers or boilers, was neat, and not so Indian, IT companies parked vending machines all over to ensure the employees had enough caffeine in their veins to last them a week. One man’s loss is another’s gain. The quality of tea was fast deteriorating, and you found that outlets that served kadak chaiout of the pout with khari, were getting electronic vending machines that served freshly ground coffee, along with the much disliked dip-dip chai. Office hours had morphed from 9 - 5 to 9 to forever. More and more youth moved to IT hubs and weekends meant catching up with friends over a cup of coffee. Never heard anyone say, “Chai par milte hain”. Sounds more like a marriage proposal than anything else. Coffee has a different undertone altogether, with Rahul Bose dreaming of taking Sophie to bed, in Pyaar ke Side Affects flick. So while coffee culture was spreading fast, Café Coffee Day hooked the trend and booked the beverage as the affordable and the only hot beverage, fit for the youth drink. Till now, in mid 90s, coffee shops were always associated with glamour and business big-wigs. CCD with its affordable pricing and ambience, made itself available for the budding Indian population, who didn’t mind spending a couple of hundreds to spend some hours in the AC, chilling with friends. I remember my grandfather sipping countless cups of chai, discussing politics with his friends. They were the generation that had started their journey from Coffee House, Kolkata and settled at Red Label. I just spent my last weekend, at 3 different CCDs, each of them for a different reason, like using free wi-fi, meeting an old friend whom I can’t get home, if I want to stay peacefully with my landlady and lastly to finish my office assignment. I was just too lazy to do it at home. Cheers! I mean “Ccinos!”