It isn't everyday that a man can beam happily even as someone pulls his ear and administers a fairly audible smack to his cheek. Nevertheless, I have a witness to state that this is how I responded to the above mentioned pull and smack, a few days ago...
To be honest, neither of the actions was painful because they weren't really intended to hurt me... I saved this little detail for now, just to make the first paragraph a little more interesting! :D My apologies for the sauciness... and don't get me wrong...I'm hardly the type to remain passive if intentional violence is directed at my person!
The incident I'm referring to occurred in a music class that I attend. My teacher, whom I call "Didi" (Hindi for older sister) inspired this post. I don't think I will never forget the look on her face as she leaned forward to pull my ear... it is a very happy and meaningful memory for me.
Didi took me under her wing a few months ago, to teach me the nuances of semi-classical music. Not only are her classes teaching me various types of such music, they are also helping me discover my voice in its entirety. She's helping me learn how to sing without being self-conscious (which I have a tendency to be) and with complete confidence in myself. Her lessons are sprinkled liberally with trademark metaphors and admonishments, all tailored to drive home some vital points. She once told me that there was no point in trying to hide my mistakes by singing softly because she would catch them anyway and then get annoyed because she'd think I was trying to conceal them. She added quite pointedly that the reason I was in her class was for her to find my errors so she could help me correct them...so where was the sense in being 'discreet'? The lesson hit me like a flat stone in the centre of my forehead! Good heavens! There I was trying so hard to avoid making errors, while someone was willing to let me make them, sans judgement and in fact, waiting to help me overcome them!
We seldom have the luxury of returning to a situation where our environment is tolerant of the mistakes we make...when someone is waiting patiently, to pick us up each time we fall and show us where we went wrong the last time. I use the term 'returning' because to be in a situation like this, is akin to being a child again, when a caregiver is there to help a toddler learn to walk, read, write, discover the world...
Didi is helping me discover my voice in baby steps that mean the world to me. I'm hearing myself clearly for the first time, experiencing what my voice can do and understanding what I can do to improve it. In her presence, I feel like a little boy, eager to show his teacher what he has learnt to do, and to learn as much as he can from her. I remember the delight with which I learnt things from my kindergarten teachers, because I feel the same connection with her... both when she praises my efforts and when she corrects me.
It is only when we grow older that we begin to cherish how wonderful it is to be taken care of...to be called lovingly by a nickname...to be told it's alright if we don't get it right the first time... When Didi pulled my ear and smacked my cheek, she did it affectionately, playfully because I had delayed in relaying some good news to her. It felt wonderful to me, because I felt that she had asserted her right to partake of my happiness... because she thinks of herself as my caregiver.
I hope you have loads of people in you life, who make you feel this way... parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers etc. The next time you give them a hug, put in a extra squeeze... :)
God Bless!
Showing posts with label People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People. Show all posts
Monday, February 04, 2008
Monday, June 11, 2007
Lunch-time!
In a white-washed room, the air is thick with the smell of food. A loud, ceaseless murmur thrums as groups of people huddle around wooden or plastic tables. The murmur is punctuated with metallic clinks as steel spoons and forks meet steel plates and bowls. An occasional burst of laughter, the sound of chairs scraping the ground as people push away from their tables...it's your typical lunch-room scene...
On one table an interesting bunch of people share their lunch-hour (sometimes it's more like 'lunch-hour-and-a-half'). The well-informed observer would spot the following individuals in that group: an interaction designer who 'moonlights' as a classic rock musician, a Dutch-woman who apart from being a competent Industrial designer is also besotted with Indian daal preparations, a quiet, mysterious multimedia specialist who is clearly unhappy with the food and a psychologist who has found his way into the software industry (yes, you read that correctly) and is enjoying his first job very much (not so much the lunch menu, though)...
Welcome to my favourite lunch table! You've just read a description of a group (myself included), that regularly shares meals during lunch-time in the office. Let me introduce you to each person in turn...
S
S is the kind of person it is difficult not to notice even though he doesn't really do anything deliberate to attract attention. Tall (make that very tall), lean (make that very lean!), pleasant faced and with a perpetually relaxed disposition, he's the quintessential nice guy. Not many people in the office would have had long conversations with him because he mostly keeps to himself. I noticed him for the first time when he played some smashing guitar pieces in an office party. Good music and a good musicians draw me like a magnet, so I had no choice, but to keep pestering him, until I started getting responses that were way beyond laconic! :)
When you're talking to S you have to be ready for anything from pointed euphemisms to blatantly frank remarks to mild facial expressions that speak volumes just because of their timing. A Wodehouse fan (like myself) cannot but appreciate these nuances, especially when delivered in S's trademark style - an unmistakable directness in even the most indirect remarks. Thanks to his detailed anecdotes, I am now magnificently educated on a variety of topics, ranging from the terminology of music bands to the bathing habits of hostelites in some premier technical institutes!
C
On one table an interesting bunch of people share their lunch-hour (sometimes it's more like 'lunch-hour-and-a-half'). The well-informed observer would spot the following individuals in that group: an interaction designer who 'moonlights' as a classic rock musician, a Dutch-woman who apart from being a competent Industrial designer is also besotted with Indian daal preparations, a quiet, mysterious multimedia specialist who is clearly unhappy with the food and a psychologist who has found his way into the software industry (yes, you read that correctly) and is enjoying his first job very much (not so much the lunch menu, though)...
Welcome to my favourite lunch table! You've just read a description of a group (myself included), that regularly shares meals during lunch-time in the office. Let me introduce you to each person in turn...
S
S is the kind of person it is difficult not to notice even though he doesn't really do anything deliberate to attract attention. Tall (make that very tall), lean (make that very lean!), pleasant faced and with a perpetually relaxed disposition, he's the quintessential nice guy. Not many people in the office would have had long conversations with him because he mostly keeps to himself. I noticed him for the first time when he played some smashing guitar pieces in an office party. Good music and a good musicians draw me like a magnet, so I had no choice, but to keep pestering him, until I started getting responses that were way beyond laconic! :)
When you're talking to S you have to be ready for anything from pointed euphemisms to blatantly frank remarks to mild facial expressions that speak volumes just because of their timing. A Wodehouse fan (like myself) cannot but appreciate these nuances, especially when delivered in S's trademark style - an unmistakable directness in even the most indirect remarks. Thanks to his detailed anecdotes, I am now magnificently educated on a variety of topics, ranging from the terminology of music bands to the bathing habits of hostelites in some premier technical institutes!
C
When I saw her for the first time, I thought C would have inspired Tolkien's image of the Elves, had they been contemporaries. Tall, calm and dignified, C has a gentle smile matched by an equally gentle nature. It couldn't have been easy for someone from the Netherlands to adapt to Mumbai's ways and conditions, but I always appreciate the way in which she conducts herself and remains composed in the face of situations that would have other expats doing a double-take! :) She apparently has a great interest in knowing about other cultures, but she obviously has an unlimited supply of patience too! There have been times when C has left me deeply impressed with her insights on life, people, religion and a host of other topics...her remarks are always laden with an intelligence that suggests that she observes a lot more than she lets on...
If you meet her at lunch-time you will be able to identify her quite easily by means of the large plastic four-lock air-tight container filled with daal that sits in front of her at the table. Somehow, the Indian pulses have captured her interest and she has probably prepared every kind of Indian lentil available. Well...the results have not always been as expected, but one must certainly appreciate the effort...or the imagination required to mix rosemary, celery or olive oil in moong daal! :) We tease her endlessly about the Netherlands, but she always takes everything good-naturedly with a characteristic smile and laugh.
A
You know, I've often noticed that someone is called a 'man-of-few-words' to cover up for the fact that in truth, he doesn't know very many words! My friend, A, is an outstanding exception to that rule. You would have read about him in the previous post, 'Vroom!'...he is the same person who gave me the bike ride that I was so delighted with. :)
I think the first time I spoke to him was when he came across to my cubicle to enquire about some work related thing. That conversation lasted for all of 90 seconds because I didn't have a clue about what he wanted! The next time I noticed him was in an office party where he burst into a spontaneous imitation of radio advertisements, between two musical performances. I was simply amazed, not only by his utterly professional performance, but also because I'd never once heard him speak so much!
A striking no-nonsense attitude, an endless supply of witticisms and a signature chuckle which is somehow both knowing and innocent are some of the facets of this character, whom most observers would probably find rather inscrutable. He recently introduced me to the joys of ordering food from a local restaurant, in order to recuperate from any lunches that wreak havoc on the palate. The result of this charming practice is that apart from meeting at lunch-time, we now regularly share an early evening snack. Some time in the future, when the little restaurant is a three-star hotel, it's owners will grow misty-eyed as they remember how our continued patronage led them to their elevated status.
Me
Well, I'm hardly about to write a detailed description of myself! If you read this blog once in a while, you will get a fair idea about it's author. I'll tell you what...if someone ever writes a third-person account of me (that I like), I will put it up in this section, with due references!Until then...Bon Appetit!
:)
Sunday, December 10, 2006
M, G, R: A Trinity to Remember
It's been quite a while since I wrote something about a person. So, I thought, why not make this post special and write not just about no less than three amazing people. These are people who made a difference in my life...spending time with them has shaped my mind in many ways. Today, by writing about them, I get to express what each of them taught me...
To be able to teach well is an incomparable gift. Exceptional teachers facilitate the expansion of their students consciousnesses. They makes their pupils integrate all kinds of knowledge into a wholesome constellation of thoughts about the world. By example, they demonstrate ethics and principles that last their students for entire lifetimes. I'm blessed to have had many such teachers in my life and today, I want to tell you about three individuals who shine most brightly in that group. In a way, this is also a sequel to the last post on Xavier's because all three of them have been professors who taught me during my undergraduate studies...interestingly, they are all Xavierites themselves! :)
***
M
A single-minded dedication to one's work and striving for consistently high standards is what I learnt from M. I studied all three of the papers she taught and what never ceased to amaze me was the sheer enthusiasm and passion with which she taught papers which are often clubbed in the more technical and dry sections of psychology. I can't speak for everyone else but that passion rubbed off on me...not just for those papers, but in general for any work that I undertake. Above all the theories, formulae and testing nuances that she imparted, what she taught me was to do my best to grasp all kinds of knowledge and form relations between them. If there was ever a stickler for quality as well as quantity, it was M. Without really over-emphasising it, she managed to make us try and write lengthy answers to her questions, with as many different points as possible. There were only one or two people who could develop the physical skill of writing those enormous answers in a given span of time, but what almost everyone learnt was the content of those answers, regardless of whether or they were written completely on the answer sheet. When I look back on those days now, when college is over and those examinations seem so inconsequential in the scheme of things, I realise that getting that answer down pat was not the most important thing...the goal was the absorb all the knowledge that it required. That knowledge and its resultant perspective are what will last me a lifetime...not a few marks in some old exam!
M was someone who immersed herself in her studies with the intensity of an eagle swooping on its prey. She had several enormous tomes of psychology at her fingertips, her extempore citations gliding between those voluminous works with ease that belied the long hours she spent covering them. As students we got the benefit of having a living database who dictated a bunch of wonderfully compiled notes and spared us the trouble of poring over those books (which were in limited supply). Nevertheless, M never ceased exhorting the value of exhaustive reference work and pushed us to explore as much as we could, whether in books or on the Internet. Today, if people tell me that I have a tendency to want to go deeper and deeper into a given domain, I attribute a large part of it to her.
***
G
G challenged every stereotype, irrationality and dogma in my mind. I will never be able to thank her enough for the perspective she gave me over my second year in Xavier's, in which she taught a paper on gender studies. For the first time in my life, I found myself questioning everything that goes into establishing masculinity and femininity in an individual. Most importantly, I transcended the barrier of man and woman to reach the level of a Person. With a ruthless intensity she dissolved the schemas of gender stereotypes in her students, on a dazzling array of topics such as colours, emotions, displays of affection, menstrual cycles, career opportunities and education, sports, responsibilities etc. She knew just which topics to pick on, which givens to challenge and which fallacies to wring and hang up for drying. Religion, communalism, parenting standards and socialization were attacked with a surgical precision which suddenly showed me how much harm we do our children by forcing them into gendered compartments when indeed androgyny is the standard that we need to aspire to. Masculinity and femininity are required in all people, regardless of there sexual characteristics. She showed us why this was so and how to strive to instill androgyny in ourselves as well as the future generations we will rear.
Counselling was another discipline which G taught with an infectious passion. For the first time, I found myself floundering as I tried to make an empathic response to her statement, while she simulated a client. I realised in that moment, the difference between theory and application and began my attempts to bridge that gap at once! She showed us by example and in several heated discussions on all kinds of issues, how to go beyond textbook definitions and actually respond to human actions, which is the first step in becoming a good counsellor. G was all about being able to actually do what the books said. She wanted to see us develop the skills to create an empathic and genuine atmosphere in a relationship, to be able to zero in on the root of another's distress and then devise a way to help him/her confront and resolve it. Despite the fact that this was beyond the scope of her paper, she took the time to show us glimpses of how it is done and those of us who are considered good counsellors today, owe her quite a bit of the credit.
There's another small thing about G that deserves mentions...her impeccable sense of style and personal grooming. I've yet to come across someone who is so tastefully attired. Whether her outfit was Indian or Western, there is never a thread out of place. Her jewellery and clothes are picked to be understated but extremely elegant. I know that there was more than one girl in my class to took tips from her clothing habits and the way she carried herself...perfectly poised and radiating professionalism!
***
R
"And remember, Santa doesn't necessarily wear a red suit!" These were R's parting words for me, when we last had a small chat over the phone, just yesterday. To be quite frank, they capture her essence perfectly.
Cheerful, (genuinely) optimistic beyond belief, someone who always manages to get time for everything she cares about (and believe me, that is no small bunch of things!), perfectly organised and marvellously in tune with her inner child. That's only a small part of the complex human phenomenon that is R.
In class, she would begin by sketching a detailed outline of the chapter on the blackboard. Once that was in place, it was really simple for a student figure out the exact sequence in which information was to be understood. That, and the fact that she has the most superb blackboard handwriting that I have ever seen...honestly, I put it only second to blackboard calligraphy (which I have yet to see).
At the end of several lectures, she read out something inspirational...a poem, something from a Chicken Soup book, a funny but meaningful anecdote etc. It was always chosen to emerge seamlessly from the academic topic we had been discussing, but by the time it was over we had absorbed some learning for life. There was so much of her spirit infused in those stories...they just stayed with you!
"Bright", is another word that describes her. She was never one for the sober look...a trademark ponytail, colourful t-shirts and jeans, trendy kurtis and a loud and unreserved laugh made her stand out wherever she went. Remarks about her appearance being more like a student than a teacher were as good as water on a ducks back because she is a person who thrives on her individuality and free-spiritedness. Whilst more than one astonished head may turn when she walks by, her bearing overflows with unflinching ease and self-confidence. She's all about being comfortable in your own skin, and that is something that I think everyone should strive for!
One of the nicest experiences I've had as a student was brought about by her, near the Christmas holidays. On such days she would wear a Santa hat on her head the whole day, just revelling in the happiness that it gave her. She also made it a point to infuse the Christmas spirit into her classes on that day, in whichever way possible. On one of these days, she had arranged for all her students to pick chits out of a box. Each chit had the name of another student from the class. Each person's task was to get a gift for the person who's name was on the chit, without ever letting that person know who had got his/her name. The gifts were all supposed to be very inexpensive but as meaningful as could be managed within that stipulated amount. In the next class, we all put the gifts we had bought in a single place from where she handed out the presents to each person in her class. I will never forget how good it felt to overhear the recipient of my gift telling someone else how touched she was by the little present that I had bought for her. It made me feel wonderful and I knew that R was entirely responsible for it.
Yes, Santa does not necessarily appear in a red suit. Santa comes in myriad forms, but makes a consistent appearance in R, whenever Christmas comes and oddly even otherwise! :)
****************
So that was my tribute to three exceptional people who've influenced my life in goodness knows how many ways. I hope in some way this post reminds you of great teachers in your life...and in case it does not, then I hope that you get to know people like them very soon!
God Bless and Ho Ho Ho!
To be able to teach well is an incomparable gift. Exceptional teachers facilitate the expansion of their students consciousnesses. They makes their pupils integrate all kinds of knowledge into a wholesome constellation of thoughts about the world. By example, they demonstrate ethics and principles that last their students for entire lifetimes. I'm blessed to have had many such teachers in my life and today, I want to tell you about three individuals who shine most brightly in that group. In a way, this is also a sequel to the last post on Xavier's because all three of them have been professors who taught me during my undergraduate studies...interestingly, they are all Xavierites themselves! :)
***
M
A single-minded dedication to one's work and striving for consistently high standards is what I learnt from M. I studied all three of the papers she taught and what never ceased to amaze me was the sheer enthusiasm and passion with which she taught papers which are often clubbed in the more technical and dry sections of psychology. I can't speak for everyone else but that passion rubbed off on me...not just for those papers, but in general for any work that I undertake. Above all the theories, formulae and testing nuances that she imparted, what she taught me was to do my best to grasp all kinds of knowledge and form relations between them. If there was ever a stickler for quality as well as quantity, it was M. Without really over-emphasising it, she managed to make us try and write lengthy answers to her questions, with as many different points as possible. There were only one or two people who could develop the physical skill of writing those enormous answers in a given span of time, but what almost everyone learnt was the content of those answers, regardless of whether or they were written completely on the answer sheet. When I look back on those days now, when college is over and those examinations seem so inconsequential in the scheme of things, I realise that getting that answer down pat was not the most important thing...the goal was the absorb all the knowledge that it required. That knowledge and its resultant perspective are what will last me a lifetime...not a few marks in some old exam!
M was someone who immersed herself in her studies with the intensity of an eagle swooping on its prey. She had several enormous tomes of psychology at her fingertips, her extempore citations gliding between those voluminous works with ease that belied the long hours she spent covering them. As students we got the benefit of having a living database who dictated a bunch of wonderfully compiled notes and spared us the trouble of poring over those books (which were in limited supply). Nevertheless, M never ceased exhorting the value of exhaustive reference work and pushed us to explore as much as we could, whether in books or on the Internet. Today, if people tell me that I have a tendency to want to go deeper and deeper into a given domain, I attribute a large part of it to her.
***
G
G challenged every stereotype, irrationality and dogma in my mind. I will never be able to thank her enough for the perspective she gave me over my second year in Xavier's, in which she taught a paper on gender studies. For the first time in my life, I found myself questioning everything that goes into establishing masculinity and femininity in an individual. Most importantly, I transcended the barrier of man and woman to reach the level of a Person. With a ruthless intensity she dissolved the schemas of gender stereotypes in her students, on a dazzling array of topics such as colours, emotions, displays of affection, menstrual cycles, career opportunities and education, sports, responsibilities etc. She knew just which topics to pick on, which givens to challenge and which fallacies to wring and hang up for drying. Religion, communalism, parenting standards and socialization were attacked with a surgical precision which suddenly showed me how much harm we do our children by forcing them into gendered compartments when indeed androgyny is the standard that we need to aspire to. Masculinity and femininity are required in all people, regardless of there sexual characteristics. She showed us why this was so and how to strive to instill androgyny in ourselves as well as the future generations we will rear.
Counselling was another discipline which G taught with an infectious passion. For the first time, I found myself floundering as I tried to make an empathic response to her statement, while she simulated a client. I realised in that moment, the difference between theory and application and began my attempts to bridge that gap at once! She showed us by example and in several heated discussions on all kinds of issues, how to go beyond textbook definitions and actually respond to human actions, which is the first step in becoming a good counsellor. G was all about being able to actually do what the books said. She wanted to see us develop the skills to create an empathic and genuine atmosphere in a relationship, to be able to zero in on the root of another's distress and then devise a way to help him/her confront and resolve it. Despite the fact that this was beyond the scope of her paper, she took the time to show us glimpses of how it is done and those of us who are considered good counsellors today, owe her quite a bit of the credit.
There's another small thing about G that deserves mentions...her impeccable sense of style and personal grooming. I've yet to come across someone who is so tastefully attired. Whether her outfit was Indian or Western, there is never a thread out of place. Her jewellery and clothes are picked to be understated but extremely elegant. I know that there was more than one girl in my class to took tips from her clothing habits and the way she carried herself...perfectly poised and radiating professionalism!
***
R
"And remember, Santa doesn't necessarily wear a red suit!" These were R's parting words for me, when we last had a small chat over the phone, just yesterday. To be quite frank, they capture her essence perfectly.
Cheerful, (genuinely) optimistic beyond belief, someone who always manages to get time for everything she cares about (and believe me, that is no small bunch of things!), perfectly organised and marvellously in tune with her inner child. That's only a small part of the complex human phenomenon that is R.
In class, she would begin by sketching a detailed outline of the chapter on the blackboard. Once that was in place, it was really simple for a student figure out the exact sequence in which information was to be understood. That, and the fact that she has the most superb blackboard handwriting that I have ever seen...honestly, I put it only second to blackboard calligraphy (which I have yet to see).
At the end of several lectures, she read out something inspirational...a poem, something from a Chicken Soup book, a funny but meaningful anecdote etc. It was always chosen to emerge seamlessly from the academic topic we had been discussing, but by the time it was over we had absorbed some learning for life. There was so much of her spirit infused in those stories...they just stayed with you!
"Bright", is another word that describes her. She was never one for the sober look...a trademark ponytail, colourful t-shirts and jeans, trendy kurtis and a loud and unreserved laugh made her stand out wherever she went. Remarks about her appearance being more like a student than a teacher were as good as water on a ducks back because she is a person who thrives on her individuality and free-spiritedness. Whilst more than one astonished head may turn when she walks by, her bearing overflows with unflinching ease and self-confidence. She's all about being comfortable in your own skin, and that is something that I think everyone should strive for!
One of the nicest experiences I've had as a student was brought about by her, near the Christmas holidays. On such days she would wear a Santa hat on her head the whole day, just revelling in the happiness that it gave her. She also made it a point to infuse the Christmas spirit into her classes on that day, in whichever way possible. On one of these days, she had arranged for all her students to pick chits out of a box. Each chit had the name of another student from the class. Each person's task was to get a gift for the person who's name was on the chit, without ever letting that person know who had got his/her name. The gifts were all supposed to be very inexpensive but as meaningful as could be managed within that stipulated amount. In the next class, we all put the gifts we had bought in a single place from where she handed out the presents to each person in her class. I will never forget how good it felt to overhear the recipient of my gift telling someone else how touched she was by the little present that I had bought for her. It made me feel wonderful and I knew that R was entirely responsible for it.
Yes, Santa does not necessarily appear in a red suit. Santa comes in myriad forms, but makes a consistent appearance in R, whenever Christmas comes and oddly even otherwise! :)
****************
So that was my tribute to three exceptional people who've influenced my life in goodness knows how many ways. I hope in some way this post reminds you of great teachers in your life...and in case it does not, then I hope that you get to know people like them very soon!
God Bless and Ho Ho Ho!
Friday, June 02, 2006
The Courage to Fail
My mother is an extraordinary person. I've lived with her for over two decades now, and she has never failed to surprise me with the sheer strength of her character and the singlemindedness with which she has challenged convention and stereotypes, in order to encourage free-thinking in her children.
I could give you loads of examples, but the descriptions would get tedious because most of them would inevitably lead to elaborate explanations of various family situations and you would understand them better only if you knew all the people involved. Nevertheless, there are a few incidents that are easier to communicate and one of them stands out quite powerfully at this point of time.
Last evening, I cam across a very interesting quotation by Erich Fromm, the celebrated psychologist and philosopher, which struck me as being very similar to one of my mother's ideals. It simply read, "There can be no real freedom without the freedom to fail." The moment I read it, the first thought that struck me was that the quote might as well have been my mother's! :)
To illustrate my point, let me give you an example. Several years ago, when I was a nervous young student, in the last year of boarding school and getting ready to start his board examinations, I got a letter from my mother [She had the wonderful habit of writing long and detailed letters to me every week (sometimes envied by other hostelites who received considerably shorter communications from home) in which she kept me abreast of the happenings in our family and also continued to impart her experiences, values and insights]. The letter contained some inspirational and encouraging words that I was glad to read in the light of my upcoming examinations and clipped to its crisp white paper, what a small, folded newspaper cutting. When I unfolded it, I found a short poem, which was about failure and the way in which it could be viewed as a lesson rather than a defeat and, invoking the age-old cliche, as the stepping stone to success (That poem is provided at the end of this post).
When I read it for the first time, I was a little taken aback...my mind did not immediately grasp the abstract idea behind her sending me that poem (till today, I often joke that she sent me that poem because she had no faith in my ability to pass the exam!). Then I found a small note she had written as a post script in which she had explained her reasons for doing so. In her inimitable style she told me that although she had full faith in my abilities, she never wanted me to feel the pressure that some parents bring to bear upon their children in terms of accomplishment. She told me that no matter what happened, I would always be her child and she would always love me. My board exam performance was too minute a thing to have any chance of changing the way she or my father felt about me, so I was not to treat my examinations as a test of their love and respect for me, but only as a single and transitory experience. She just encouraged me to enjoy my studies and my papers, that's all.
The poem was her way, not only of teaching me how to think positively if I did not meet self-set standards, but also a fine example of how she communicates the purity of her thoughts on any subject. She simply takes the most extreme situation she can think of and clarifies her stance on the matter...there have actually been instances when she has told me to actually go and fail in an examination, just for a lark! Laughing at my scandalised expression (because obviously I would do no such thing!) she would tell me that I actually had the freedom to do such a thing if I wanted to test how she was disposed towards the matter. I have never actually thought of doing such a thing, but I cannot tell you how liberating it was to hear her say those things.
You see, we struggle so desperately to meet the standards and expectations of others as well as of ourselves...it can sometimes become so constricting...and our happiness is then contingent on all kinds of accomplishments, marks, results. Should even uncontrollable factors intrude and come in the way of goal attainment, we can be shaken considerably. So, in a steady and sometimes insidious way, we slowly lose our emotional freedom to these 'controllers' and become enslaved by them...we believe that the love, respect and goodwill of others (and more importantly our significant others, varies in direct proportion to our accomplishments...the painful fact is that this is actually true for many people). However, when someone like my mother comes along, quite out of the blue and makes a remark or gesture like the above mentioned, it causes a tremendous surge of inner activity in which those controllers are destroyed, because one realises that one's greatest fears are invalidated. It's as simple as that!
Truly, there is no such freedom as knowing that you can fail and still be whole...and that failure, like success, is a transitory state of mind...you are much more than the sum total of your successes and failures...you are loved...and you are free...
God Bless!
Failure doesn't mean - "You accomplished nothing,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You have been a fool,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You don't have it,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You are inferior,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You've wasted your life,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You should give up,"
Failure doesn't mean - "You'll never make it,"
Failure doesn't mean - "God has abandoned you,"
I could give you loads of examples, but the descriptions would get tedious because most of them would inevitably lead to elaborate explanations of various family situations and you would understand them better only if you knew all the people involved. Nevertheless, there are a few incidents that are easier to communicate and one of them stands out quite powerfully at this point of time.
Last evening, I cam across a very interesting quotation by Erich Fromm, the celebrated psychologist and philosopher, which struck me as being very similar to one of my mother's ideals. It simply read, "There can be no real freedom without the freedom to fail." The moment I read it, the first thought that struck me was that the quote might as well have been my mother's! :)
To illustrate my point, let me give you an example. Several years ago, when I was a nervous young student, in the last year of boarding school and getting ready to start his board examinations, I got a letter from my mother [She had the wonderful habit of writing long and detailed letters to me every week (sometimes envied by other hostelites who received considerably shorter communications from home) in which she kept me abreast of the happenings in our family and also continued to impart her experiences, values and insights]. The letter contained some inspirational and encouraging words that I was glad to read in the light of my upcoming examinations and clipped to its crisp white paper, what a small, folded newspaper cutting. When I unfolded it, I found a short poem, which was about failure and the way in which it could be viewed as a lesson rather than a defeat and, invoking the age-old cliche, as the stepping stone to success (That poem is provided at the end of this post).
When I read it for the first time, I was a little taken aback...my mind did not immediately grasp the abstract idea behind her sending me that poem (till today, I often joke that she sent me that poem because she had no faith in my ability to pass the exam!). Then I found a small note she had written as a post script in which she had explained her reasons for doing so. In her inimitable style she told me that although she had full faith in my abilities, she never wanted me to feel the pressure that some parents bring to bear upon their children in terms of accomplishment. She told me that no matter what happened, I would always be her child and she would always love me. My board exam performance was too minute a thing to have any chance of changing the way she or my father felt about me, so I was not to treat my examinations as a test of their love and respect for me, but only as a single and transitory experience. She just encouraged me to enjoy my studies and my papers, that's all.
The poem was her way, not only of teaching me how to think positively if I did not meet self-set standards, but also a fine example of how she communicates the purity of her thoughts on any subject. She simply takes the most extreme situation she can think of and clarifies her stance on the matter...there have actually been instances when she has told me to actually go and fail in an examination, just for a lark! Laughing at my scandalised expression (because obviously I would do no such thing!) she would tell me that I actually had the freedom to do such a thing if I wanted to test how she was disposed towards the matter. I have never actually thought of doing such a thing, but I cannot tell you how liberating it was to hear her say those things.
You see, we struggle so desperately to meet the standards and expectations of others as well as of ourselves...it can sometimes become so constricting...and our happiness is then contingent on all kinds of accomplishments, marks, results. Should even uncontrollable factors intrude and come in the way of goal attainment, we can be shaken considerably. So, in a steady and sometimes insidious way, we slowly lose our emotional freedom to these 'controllers' and become enslaved by them...we believe that the love, respect and goodwill of others (and more importantly our significant others, varies in direct proportion to our accomplishments...the painful fact is that this is actually true for many people). However, when someone like my mother comes along, quite out of the blue and makes a remark or gesture like the above mentioned, it causes a tremendous surge of inner activity in which those controllers are destroyed, because one realises that one's greatest fears are invalidated. It's as simple as that!
Truly, there is no such freedom as knowing that you can fail and still be whole...and that failure, like success, is a transitory state of mind...you are much more than the sum total of your successes and failures...you are loved...and you are free...
God Bless!
If At First You Don't Succeed....
~~ Author Unknown~~
Failure doesn't mean - "You are a failure,"
It means - You have not succeeded.
Failure doesn't mean - "You accomplished nothing,"
It means - You have learned something.
Failure doesn't mean - "You have been a fool,"
It means - You had a lot of faith.
Failure doesn't mean - "You don't have it,"
It means - You were willing to try.
Failure doesn't mean - "You are inferior,"
It means - You are not perfect.
Failure doesn't mean - "You've wasted your life,"
It means - You have a reason to start afresh.
Failure doesn't mean - "You should give up,"
It means - "You must try harder.
Failure doesn't mean - "You'll never make it,"
It means - It will take a little longer.
Failure doesn't mean - "God has abandoned you,"
It means - God has a better way for you
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Brightness
What do you get when you put the following aspects of a person's life together? :
An inter-community love marriage, adjusting to quaint norms of a new family with courage and in the face of considerable criticism, forsaking personal goals to shift to a new country in order to be with one's spouse (who was working there), setting up a home from nearly scratch, battling the odds of miscarriages and fighting desperately for the life of a preemie baby and gradually bringing up two beautiful sons, becoming aware of a terminal illness at a devastatingly early age, fighting and recovering from it, returning to India with family only to be the victim of emotional abuse by the spouse, being abandoned by the spouse and left to look after the children on most days while he 'takes them on weekends', starting life anew as and making a career for herself in the difficult line of public relations and event management, juggling this with nurturing and bringing up the boys single-handedly and most importantly holding her head high and smiling resolutely through all of the above...
You get my aunt, Gopa.
If you ever get the chance to meet her, you'll know why I've titled this entry so. Her's is the proverbial smile that can light up a room (also, she has a great liking for bright colours, which go well with her pretty face and complexion). Nothing in your interactions will make you aware of the fact that she has emerged victorious from some of the most debilitating trials of life and has reclaimed her power one painful step at a time. She's the kind of person who will make you laugh as freely and as often as she does, she will be more interested in you than most others...and genuinely so.
I still remember the peculiar feeling of numbness that shrouded our family when we first got to know of her cancer...the feelings of helplessness, frustration and fear were overpowering. She was thousands of miles away in some part of the USA, literally without a social support system, with a family to look after and job that she was committed to. The infinite benefits of modern communication simply paled when compared to our instantaneous need to be with her. At that time, nobody had the financial means to rush to the USA on such short notice. For a long time she was left alone to fend off her illness, the side-effects of the treatment, emotional and interpersonal difficulties with her spouse and much more, all by herself. The children were not unaffected by all this either, their tender years being marked inescapably by all these difficulties.
It was with much unpleasantness, mercifully tempered by the strength God lent us, that we got her back to India. One would have thought that with so much family at relatively close range, her problems would soon come to an end. This however, turned out to be a wish that would not be granted. The brief respite was soon interrupted by emotional abuse and infidelity from her spouse followed by his abandoning her, as previously mentioned.
Countless others might have fallen to pieces in her position, but not my aunt Gopa. The pain of a hundred wounds has receded to the level of a dull ache that emerges occasionally and darkens a few hours, but overall, she is the living image of someone who has seized her day. Through all her traumas she has worked to find and establish a network of like-minded people who have acknowledged her strengths and abilities. What is more, her dynamism and will to live have been instrumental in her being offered the role of a partner in a PR firm recently started by her colleagues and her (the firm is literally and all-women team and each of the team members is a strong-willed and intelligent achiever). In her own words, "women need to know that no matter what happens in life you can pick up and make your dreams come true"...and I take the liberty of generalising this to all humanity.
Within a matter of a few months, my aunt has reached a point where she is indispensable to her organisation and now works tirelessly for it. The clients appreciate her professionalism, the subordinates love her pleasant style and her peers value her contributions. And you have only to see her around her children, or to hear her speaking about them to know how much they dote on each other.
So, when I titled this entry "brightness", I decided to salute the indomitable power of the human spirit that my 'Gogu' (my personal nickname for her) personifies...the courage to rise above adversity, to make every effort towards self-healing, to cast aside the fetters of emotional dependence and to simply BE in the moment, love without restraint and laugh like its something she just discovered.
An inter-community love marriage, adjusting to quaint norms of a new family with courage and in the face of considerable criticism, forsaking personal goals to shift to a new country in order to be with one's spouse (who was working there), setting up a home from nearly scratch, battling the odds of miscarriages and fighting desperately for the life of a preemie baby and gradually bringing up two beautiful sons, becoming aware of a terminal illness at a devastatingly early age, fighting and recovering from it, returning to India with family only to be the victim of emotional abuse by the spouse, being abandoned by the spouse and left to look after the children on most days while he 'takes them on weekends', starting life anew as and making a career for herself in the difficult line of public relations and event management, juggling this with nurturing and bringing up the boys single-handedly and most importantly holding her head high and smiling resolutely through all of the above...
You get my aunt, Gopa.
If you ever get the chance to meet her, you'll know why I've titled this entry so. Her's is the proverbial smile that can light up a room (also, she has a great liking for bright colours, which go well with her pretty face and complexion). Nothing in your interactions will make you aware of the fact that she has emerged victorious from some of the most debilitating trials of life and has reclaimed her power one painful step at a time. She's the kind of person who will make you laugh as freely and as often as she does, she will be more interested in you than most others...and genuinely so.
I still remember the peculiar feeling of numbness that shrouded our family when we first got to know of her cancer...the feelings of helplessness, frustration and fear were overpowering. She was thousands of miles away in some part of the USA, literally without a social support system, with a family to look after and job that she was committed to. The infinite benefits of modern communication simply paled when compared to our instantaneous need to be with her. At that time, nobody had the financial means to rush to the USA on such short notice. For a long time she was left alone to fend off her illness, the side-effects of the treatment, emotional and interpersonal difficulties with her spouse and much more, all by herself. The children were not unaffected by all this either, their tender years being marked inescapably by all these difficulties.
It was with much unpleasantness, mercifully tempered by the strength God lent us, that we got her back to India. One would have thought that with so much family at relatively close range, her problems would soon come to an end. This however, turned out to be a wish that would not be granted. The brief respite was soon interrupted by emotional abuse and infidelity from her spouse followed by his abandoning her, as previously mentioned.
Countless others might have fallen to pieces in her position, but not my aunt Gopa. The pain of a hundred wounds has receded to the level of a dull ache that emerges occasionally and darkens a few hours, but overall, she is the living image of someone who has seized her day. Through all her traumas she has worked to find and establish a network of like-minded people who have acknowledged her strengths and abilities. What is more, her dynamism and will to live have been instrumental in her being offered the role of a partner in a PR firm recently started by her colleagues and her (the firm is literally and all-women team and each of the team members is a strong-willed and intelligent achiever). In her own words, "women need to know that no matter what happens in life you can pick up and make your dreams come true"...and I take the liberty of generalising this to all humanity.
Within a matter of a few months, my aunt has reached a point where she is indispensable to her organisation and now works tirelessly for it. The clients appreciate her professionalism, the subordinates love her pleasant style and her peers value her contributions. And you have only to see her around her children, or to hear her speaking about them to know how much they dote on each other.
So, when I titled this entry "brightness", I decided to salute the indomitable power of the human spirit that my 'Gogu' (my personal nickname for her) personifies...the courage to rise above adversity, to make every effort towards self-healing, to cast aside the fetters of emotional dependence and to simply BE in the moment, love without restraint and laugh like its something she just discovered.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
The Lost Sitar
The fact that I never got to see a live performance of the late sitar maesro,Ustad Vilayat Khan (accompanied by Pandit Kishan Maharaj), will probably be an enduring regret for me, accentuated by the fact that I have a VCD recording of "When Time Stood Still", which was probably his last performance in the UK (a SONY and BMG product). The recording itself is so captivating, I am always left with a sense of wonder about what it might have been like to actually sit through one of his live recitals.
In this recording, the old, but hale Ustadji addresses the audience every now and then as he guides their minds and souls through the majestic portals of the late night melody, Raag Darbari Kanada. In his inimitable style he shows them the incredible scope of the Raag and also his indisputably unique finger techniques. Somewhere in these moments, he speaks affectionately to the audience, telling them that he only has a little time left on this earth and asking them to listen attentively to his Sitar because its like will not be heard again. The simple dignity with which he speaks these words never fails to bring tears to my eyes.
The maestro did not speak out of pride...he stated a simple fact, widely endorsed by fellow musicians and connoisseurs of music during his life and also after his demise. His baaj (style of playing the sitar) was a skill developed out of an unbelievably acute, natural sense for music, which was honed by the musical lineage into which he was born. His father and Guru, the late Ustad Enayat Khan, a musical powerhouse in his own right, had drawn the attention of thousands of listeners to the giftedness of his child when in their first ever recording together, he introduced himself as Vilayat's father, so great was the mastery exhibited in the artistry of the young Vilayat Khan.
Ustadji has left behind some talented children and disciples,who do much to uphold his tradition and teachings. However the songs that his Sitar wove each time he held it in his hands, more lovingly than a mother cradles her infant, will not grace this world again...not for a long time to come.
There are so many artistes like Ustadji, who have spent decades in the single-minded pursuit of the spiritual satisfaction that only true music can bestow. For them, music is the highest form of worship...arising as an abstract and melodious prayer from the very core of their beings and winging its way unerringly to the Eternal...Somewhere, Ustad Vilayat Khan is playing his Sitar, his eyes closed in meditation, the characteristically faint but charming smile upon his lips...and The Universe is listening...enchanted...enraptured...
Saturday, May 06, 2006
There Are No Pockets in the Grave
To mark the passing of Naushad-saab, one of the oldest and most talented music composers that India has ever known, the RKB show on the Sahara news channel featured Tabassum, a famous TV personality and the perfect picture of a woman who has aged with the utmost finesse and dignity. In her inimitable style, this glorious lady cited numerous anecdotes on the kind of role that the departed had played in her life and on the quality of their interactions. What struck me as particularly beautiful was the spontaneity with which she recited numerous "shers" (short couplets in Urdu that are composed so as to communicate entire volumes of meaning in concise, poetic bundles) as different ideas came to her mind.
One of these little marvels, has etched itself firmly in my mind. I will not attempt to rewrite the same using English letters, because that will probably kill the aesthetic appeal of the piece, but I will be so bold as to attempt an interpretation. Tabassum's sher was dedicated to all those who spend their lifetimes hoarding wealth and guarding their hoards jealously and it simply meant:
"Earn lots of money, diamonds and pearls,
But remember, there is no pocket in the grave"
My crude and quite literal interpretation does little justice to the exquisite format of the original Urdu composition, but it does highlight the essential meaning. Wealth and material possessions that are amassed for their own sake and to slake the ever increasing thirst of the hoarder will be useless when death comes calling. At the point of death, all the riches of the world are meaningless and will not accompany the body to its final resting place (If you're the foolishly argumentative kind - the way I can sometimes be myself - you might wonder why the ancient Egyptians, in all their wisdom buried their dead with most of their material possessions...but we'll leave that for another discussion!). Wealth that is not shared or put to productive use while the owner of that wealth is alive, is useless and in fact harmful in that it captures the mind of the owner...soon making him/her the "owned"...I won't go much further into this concept, because I wrote about it in "The Folly of a Diamond", a few months ago. I hope you relate to it!
One of these little marvels, has etched itself firmly in my mind. I will not attempt to rewrite the same using English letters, because that will probably kill the aesthetic appeal of the piece, but I will be so bold as to attempt an interpretation. Tabassum's sher was dedicated to all those who spend their lifetimes hoarding wealth and guarding their hoards jealously and it simply meant:
"Earn lots of money, diamonds and pearls,
But remember, there is no pocket in the grave"
My crude and quite literal interpretation does little justice to the exquisite format of the original Urdu composition, but it does highlight the essential meaning. Wealth and material possessions that are amassed for their own sake and to slake the ever increasing thirst of the hoarder will be useless when death comes calling. At the point of death, all the riches of the world are meaningless and will not accompany the body to its final resting place (If you're the foolishly argumentative kind - the way I can sometimes be myself - you might wonder why the ancient Egyptians, in all their wisdom buried their dead with most of their material possessions...but we'll leave that for another discussion!). Wealth that is not shared or put to productive use while the owner of that wealth is alive, is useless and in fact harmful in that it captures the mind of the owner...soon making him/her the "owned"...I won't go much further into this concept, because I wrote about it in "The Folly of a Diamond", a few months ago. I hope you relate to it!
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Live...That's What She Does Best
Let me tell you about my friend Aastha (Hindi for "Faith"). I feel like writing about her because having her around reminds me consistently of the fact that there are volumes to be experienced from life's simplest experiences.
You know, there are people who don't really have to do anything other then be themselves to become the life of the party...the unabashed laughter that rings out loud just when people are busy trying to look "appropriate"? Well, that's Aastha for you!
She's the person who will work hard to make sure that a project is completed efficiently, but will refuse to let the demands of the situation dampen her free spirit. She is the planner who will not only think about, but go ahead and arrange a whole bunch of party games that transform a run-of-the-mill "get-together" into a hilarious, memorable evening. She is the traveller who can infect even a rather home-bound chap with a desire to breathe the air and walk the land of beautiful new places, even if they are miles away from hearth and home...and she is the photographer who is always, always handy with her digicam, taking snaps of everything that is beautiful...right from the smiles of her friends to the glory of clouds and sunburst.
I learn something from all my friends...so I ask myself now, what have I learnt from Aastha? It's difficult to speak of in an abstract sense, so let me just answer myself with some very concrete examples: I've learnt that there is a whole world of board-games that I was too lazy to bother about earlier, but which I've rediscovered a liking for, once I saw my friend's child-like love for the same, and watched this innocent enthusiasm infect others who had lost this aspect of their childhoods. I've learnt that heartfelt laughter is one of the best sounds that one can listen for especially if you are laughing at yourself. I've learnt that its OK to put your foot in your mouth every once in a while, if you have the courage to admit you made a mistake. [...this could take a while, and it would probably start sounding a little redundant ... maybe even embarrass Aastha, so I'll stop with the "I've learnt"s.]
Let me end by saying that there are few other people in their 20s who will dance in the rain as unreservedly, or value the transient beauty of a rainbow as highly as my friend, Aastha. If this little write-up makes you take note of someone like this in your life, or if it even makes you think about the value that such things have for yourself...well, mission accomplished!
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Narrative Therapy...I think
As a student of Counselling Psychology, I need to learn about therapies, both well-established and upcoming. Yesterday in an attempt to learn about something new, I attended a 3-hour workshop on narrative therapy. The 'international speaker' was not the most impressive orator that I have met, I'm assuming this was because he was addressing a bunch of Indian psychologists and students for the very first time. Unfamiliarity with a culture can be most disconcerting...
Nevertheless, I was charmed by a few aspects of the therapy (although I have reservations about the range of problems that it can be used to address). The first thing that strikes me as special about this approach is that is attempts to externalise the problem that the person is facing...its not about removing and ignoring the problem; its about giving it a name and making giving it a place that is removed from the core of who the person is (because the person's inner strength and innate good is at the crux of his/her personality and best not overshadowed by the negativity that is generated by having issues/problems to deal with). For example, a person going through narrative therapy would not be described being an alcoholic; instead the quaint language of NT would describe him as having a problem in resisting alcohol or knowing when to stop consuming it. There is a difference...the first statement makes the behaviour a shroud that covers the totality of the person, whereas the latter makes the problem something that is outside the core of individual.
The next impressive thing about NT is that is makes the therapist look for and value the tiniest glimmers of positive actions/thoughts/feelings that the client may speak of in the process of narrating his/her story. It could be something as mundane as helping your mother clean up after dinner or taking your pet out for a walk. Using these little sparks, the therapist goes on the identify and paint a spectrum of more enduring personality traits that the person has but had forgotten or ignored in the face of his/her dominant problem. The result of creating a picture of all that is good in the person is in itself a therapeutic experience and will help the person to overcome the pain of facing the main issue which brought him/her to therapy.
These two elements of NT are fascinating to me, because the cover to of the core principles that I believe make a world of difference to our lives...firstly, there is a core of goodness in everyone, something that lives beyond traumas, atrocities, pettiness and conflicts. It gets hidden by such things, but endures nevertheless, and it is never too late to help a person to reclaim this inner light. Secondly, it is the little things in life...small, seemingly inconsequential things that people do, that make the world go round. Just a simple, artless smile from you could change the way someone feels for the rest of the day (I speak from experience)...try it sometime!
Peace and joy to everyone!
Nevertheless, I was charmed by a few aspects of the therapy (although I have reservations about the range of problems that it can be used to address). The first thing that strikes me as special about this approach is that is attempts to externalise the problem that the person is facing...its not about removing and ignoring the problem; its about giving it a name and making giving it a place that is removed from the core of who the person is (because the person's inner strength and innate good is at the crux of his/her personality and best not overshadowed by the negativity that is generated by having issues/problems to deal with). For example, a person going through narrative therapy would not be described being an alcoholic; instead the quaint language of NT would describe him as having a problem in resisting alcohol or knowing when to stop consuming it. There is a difference...the first statement makes the behaviour a shroud that covers the totality of the person, whereas the latter makes the problem something that is outside the core of individual.
The next impressive thing about NT is that is makes the therapist look for and value the tiniest glimmers of positive actions/thoughts/feelings that the client may speak of in the process of narrating his/her story. It could be something as mundane as helping your mother clean up after dinner or taking your pet out for a walk. Using these little sparks, the therapist goes on the identify and paint a spectrum of more enduring personality traits that the person has but had forgotten or ignored in the face of his/her dominant problem. The result of creating a picture of all that is good in the person is in itself a therapeutic experience and will help the person to overcome the pain of facing the main issue which brought him/her to therapy.
These two elements of NT are fascinating to me, because the cover to of the core principles that I believe make a world of difference to our lives...firstly, there is a core of goodness in everyone, something that lives beyond traumas, atrocities, pettiness and conflicts. It gets hidden by such things, but endures nevertheless, and it is never too late to help a person to reclaim this inner light. Secondly, it is the little things in life...small, seemingly inconsequential things that people do, that make the world go round. Just a simple, artless smile from you could change the way someone feels for the rest of the day (I speak from experience)...try it sometime!
Peace and joy to everyone!
Thursday, November 24, 2005
A Cute "Little Fraud"
My younger sister is the perfect example of someone who can think well on her feet. I affectionately call her a little "fraud' because she listens apparently without interest to anything that I have to say about religion, philosophy, healing etc. and at times will even inform me that I'm boring the hell out of her and should just keep the information to myself...but sooner or later informs me, with a mischievous grin and giggle, that she said the same things at an opportune moment to elicit a great deal of praise and appreciation from her listeners. :)
Today was an instance of this quaint phenomenon which I find very endearing. I was in my university, struggling to remain patient as I proceeded along some ridiculous form-submission line with a speed that sedated snails would be able to overcome, when my cell-phone rang and I saw her name flashing on the screen. When I answered the call, her voice, filled with amusement told me that she had just come out of some group activity conducted by her teachers, for her and her classmates. Apparently, the task was to stand up and give the name of something that best describes what you are. When her turn came, her response was "Sugar". When she was asked to qualify this, she gave the following story that I had told her when we saw a particular picture in a Parsi restaurant, about a year ago:
When the Parsis initially came to India, fleeing from their persecution in their land of origin, their boats drew ashore on the coasts of Gujarat. The head priest led a delegation to the King of Gujarat, seeking his permission for them to live in his land. In response the King showed them a bowl of milk, filled to the brim, as a demonstration of his argument that there was no place for them on his land and that adding more people to the population would disturb matters, just as adding more milk to the bowl would cause spillage. In response, the head priest, took the bowl of milk and very carefully added a handful of sugar to it, so that no milk spilled over the edges of the bowl. What he meant to say, was that just as the sugar did not upset the bowl of milk, but in fact sweetened it, so too would the Parsis add to the quality and richness of the Gujarati culture, without disrupting it in any way. As an Indian, I feel proud to say that till today, this holds true of the Parsis, no matter which part of India they are in.
When my sister narrated this tale to explain why she had named sugar as the object that best represented her, the reaction was vibrant appreciation and acknowledgement that she does indeed vest her environment with the same qualities. My 'lil fraud' is so cute!...Hope you like the story.
Today was an instance of this quaint phenomenon which I find very endearing. I was in my university, struggling to remain patient as I proceeded along some ridiculous form-submission line with a speed that sedated snails would be able to overcome, when my cell-phone rang and I saw her name flashing on the screen. When I answered the call, her voice, filled with amusement told me that she had just come out of some group activity conducted by her teachers, for her and her classmates. Apparently, the task was to stand up and give the name of something that best describes what you are. When her turn came, her response was "Sugar". When she was asked to qualify this, she gave the following story that I had told her when we saw a particular picture in a Parsi restaurant, about a year ago:
When the Parsis initially came to India, fleeing from their persecution in their land of origin, their boats drew ashore on the coasts of Gujarat. The head priest led a delegation to the King of Gujarat, seeking his permission for them to live in his land. In response the King showed them a bowl of milk, filled to the brim, as a demonstration of his argument that there was no place for them on his land and that adding more people to the population would disturb matters, just as adding more milk to the bowl would cause spillage. In response, the head priest, took the bowl of milk and very carefully added a handful of sugar to it, so that no milk spilled over the edges of the bowl. What he meant to say, was that just as the sugar did not upset the bowl of milk, but in fact sweetened it, so too would the Parsis add to the quality and richness of the Gujarati culture, without disrupting it in any way. As an Indian, I feel proud to say that till today, this holds true of the Parsis, no matter which part of India they are in.
When my sister narrated this tale to explain why she had named sugar as the object that best represented her, the reaction was vibrant appreciation and acknowledgement that she does indeed vest her environment with the same qualities. My 'lil fraud' is so cute!...Hope you like the story.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Wonder of a Used Bus Ticket
I have a friend and fellow student by the name of Avinash. On each day that we attend classes together, he does something that I take as a reminder of the fact that there is inherent goodness in all people and it comes out in many small but sparkling ways.
You see, BEST apparently has a scheme according to which, if someone collects 5000 bus tickets and submits them at a bus depot, BEST sponsors the education of an orphan for one year. In our entire class, it was only Avinash who was aware of this scheme. A few months ago I realised that he meticulously preserves all his bus tickets and arranges them neatly in bunches of one hundred. It was the least I could do to hand over my bus tickets to him when we met each day. Soon, I found myself saving the tickets of the days that we did not meet in class and I also noticed that almost everyone else in class, including (the occasional) lecturer(s), was handing in their bus tickets to him. Avinash now has more than 3000 tickets in his collection and the number grows steadily.
Is it something easy to do? Not really...the task involves collecting often badly crumpled tickets, smoothing them out carefully so as to avoid tearing them, taking them home and keeping a proper count of how many there are, then arranging them into neat piles secured with clips, bands etc. He spends time on this which could easily be given to a dozen other things that a postgraduate student has to do...yet he chooses to do this. Why? Because this is the way that the divinity that is within him chooses to express itself. I am certain of the fact that every person on this planet has such divinity and it manifests in different ways, whether he/she is aware of it or not.
Another related example is our driver, Gopal Bhaiya. About a month ago, during a long drive we started chatting about everything from driving practices to religion. Somewhere in between I mentioned this little ritual that Avinash engages in. It received an appreciative nod and a few queries before we launched into another discussion.
Today, just before he returned the car keys (before going home), he came to meet me and put a bunch of bus tickets in my hand. I was dazed for a moment and then I looked at him and saw him smile...there was a very happy twinkle in his eye. I didn't really have words at that point, so I just returned the smile and said a heartfelt 'thank-you'.
My point is, Gopal Bhaiya did not have to do this either...like many others, the final destination reached by his bus ticket, at the end of each day, was some garbage can, if not the nearest pavement or drain. But ever since he had heard of Avinash, something had stirred the inner goodness within himself and it had spurred him to collect quite a lot of tickets.
Somewhere, there is an orphan who deserves to be educated. People like Avinash and Gopal Bhaiya will be responsible for taking this bit of light into his/her life...people that he/she might never meet, never know.
I thank the Universe for every such person out there...god bless you all.
You see, BEST apparently has a scheme according to which, if someone collects 5000 bus tickets and submits them at a bus depot, BEST sponsors the education of an orphan for one year. In our entire class, it was only Avinash who was aware of this scheme. A few months ago I realised that he meticulously preserves all his bus tickets and arranges them neatly in bunches of one hundred. It was the least I could do to hand over my bus tickets to him when we met each day. Soon, I found myself saving the tickets of the days that we did not meet in class and I also noticed that almost everyone else in class, including (the occasional) lecturer(s), was handing in their bus tickets to him. Avinash now has more than 3000 tickets in his collection and the number grows steadily.
Is it something easy to do? Not really...the task involves collecting often badly crumpled tickets, smoothing them out carefully so as to avoid tearing them, taking them home and keeping a proper count of how many there are, then arranging them into neat piles secured with clips, bands etc. He spends time on this which could easily be given to a dozen other things that a postgraduate student has to do...yet he chooses to do this. Why? Because this is the way that the divinity that is within him chooses to express itself. I am certain of the fact that every person on this planet has such divinity and it manifests in different ways, whether he/she is aware of it or not.
Another related example is our driver, Gopal Bhaiya. About a month ago, during a long drive we started chatting about everything from driving practices to religion. Somewhere in between I mentioned this little ritual that Avinash engages in. It received an appreciative nod and a few queries before we launched into another discussion.
Today, just before he returned the car keys (before going home), he came to meet me and put a bunch of bus tickets in my hand. I was dazed for a moment and then I looked at him and saw him smile...there was a very happy twinkle in his eye. I didn't really have words at that point, so I just returned the smile and said a heartfelt 'thank-you'.
My point is, Gopal Bhaiya did not have to do this either...like many others, the final destination reached by his bus ticket, at the end of each day, was some garbage can, if not the nearest pavement or drain. But ever since he had heard of Avinash, something had stirred the inner goodness within himself and it had spurred him to collect quite a lot of tickets.
Somewhere, there is an orphan who deserves to be educated. People like Avinash and Gopal Bhaiya will be responsible for taking this bit of light into his/her life...people that he/she might never meet, never know.
I thank the Universe for every such person out there...god bless you all.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Bicycle
Let me start my blogging with a story...a story about a friend... my friend Shiv, who is presently an investment banker somewhere in New York.
I'm writing about something that happened about six years ago, when my family moved to Delhi. I was 17 years old at the time.
It was the first time I was in Delhi, having spent all my life till then, in the East of India, namely Calcutta and (a few years) in Assam. The North, was anything but what I could have expected. I had to deal with extreme weather (the blistering summer and the near freezing winter and not so much as a sign of rains anywhere in between), very unfamiliar North Indian culture and a school environment where I almost always felt I was a misfit (a first for me). Over the 3 odd years that I remained in there, my life was rather uneventful on the whole, but there were some welcome oases that I encountered, mostly in the form of a few good and lasting friendships. The very first of these was Shiv.
We were poles apart to say the least (physically, in our interests in music, our opinions on many matters etc.), but there was something that clicked and we were (and are) good friends. It was something that was very important to me because I felt that there was someone who wanted to speak to me and cared to listen to what I had to say...as it happened we tended to like/dislike the same people and for by and large the same reasons!
The greatest gesture that a friend has ever made for me came one day when, in an idle conversation I mentioned a little hesitantly, that I didn't know how to ride a bicycle. I waited for a roar of laughter (actually, in his case, chuckling...I've never heard him guffaw) and endless teasing...and I wouldn't have blamed him because it wouldn't have been the first time that I'd have been mocked for not being able to ride a bike at 17 years of age. What I actually got was a surprised, even quizzical look and a few questions on whether I was sure that I didn't know how to ride a bike and how this had happened. Frankly, I was a little taken aback and managed to speak a little about somehow never getting the chance or lacking the motivation when I got the chance and about being afraid of falling, etc. He heard all this rather patiently, and all along I did not find a single hint of judgement on his face and I can swear to this day, that the only person who tells this story, is me.
Once my explanation was over, he just thought very briefly and simply announced that he was going to teach me how to ride a bike. My amazement did not quite allow me to digest the vastness of this gesture at the time, but over the next 10 days, it settled in permanently. Each day, after coming home from school, I would go downstairs in the evening and find Shiv waiting patiently with his bike (we lived near each other). Another hour or so would be spent with me huffing and struggling to remain balanced and the poor chap holding the bike from behind, letting me know repeatedly that he would not allow me to fall. It must have been very difficult to hold on to that bike because I was and am much heavier than him...and he never let me go home until I had struggled along the length of a long road several times. This went on for about 10 days, after which I finally learned to ride a bike unassisted and felt for the very first time the associated thrill that most kids experience when they are much younger! Shiv insists till today that I would have mastered the skill a lot faster if I had allowed myself to take a few falls (for which purpose he even made me practice in grassy parks) but my fear or falling was my better in that respect!
However, I'm glad it took that long, because in those days I learned about the unconditional aspect of true friendship. Shiv did not have to help me at all, but he just could not live with the fact that I had not enjoyed a bicycle ride in 17 years of life. He took it upon himself to invest a lot of his time and effort in helping someone he had only known for a couple of months and never asked for a thing in return. When I got my own bike a short while afterwards and we started going on long evening rides all over the neighbourhood, he was happier than anyone.
Till today, whenever someone asks me what friendship means to me, the first picture that comes to mind is of 2 kids cycling down a long path, chatting... laughing...
I'm writing about something that happened about six years ago, when my family moved to Delhi. I was 17 years old at the time.
It was the first time I was in Delhi, having spent all my life till then, in the East of India, namely Calcutta and (a few years) in Assam. The North, was anything but what I could have expected. I had to deal with extreme weather (the blistering summer and the near freezing winter and not so much as a sign of rains anywhere in between), very unfamiliar North Indian culture and a school environment where I almost always felt I was a misfit (a first for me). Over the 3 odd years that I remained in there, my life was rather uneventful on the whole, but there were some welcome oases that I encountered, mostly in the form of a few good and lasting friendships. The very first of these was Shiv.
We were poles apart to say the least (physically, in our interests in music, our opinions on many matters etc.), but there was something that clicked and we were (and are) good friends. It was something that was very important to me because I felt that there was someone who wanted to speak to me and cared to listen to what I had to say...as it happened we tended to like/dislike the same people and for by and large the same reasons!
The greatest gesture that a friend has ever made for me came one day when, in an idle conversation I mentioned a little hesitantly, that I didn't know how to ride a bicycle. I waited for a roar of laughter (actually, in his case, chuckling...I've never heard him guffaw) and endless teasing...and I wouldn't have blamed him because it wouldn't have been the first time that I'd have been mocked for not being able to ride a bike at 17 years of age. What I actually got was a surprised, even quizzical look and a few questions on whether I was sure that I didn't know how to ride a bike and how this had happened. Frankly, I was a little taken aback and managed to speak a little about somehow never getting the chance or lacking the motivation when I got the chance and about being afraid of falling, etc. He heard all this rather patiently, and all along I did not find a single hint of judgement on his face and I can swear to this day, that the only person who tells this story, is me.
Once my explanation was over, he just thought very briefly and simply announced that he was going to teach me how to ride a bike. My amazement did not quite allow me to digest the vastness of this gesture at the time, but over the next 10 days, it settled in permanently. Each day, after coming home from school, I would go downstairs in the evening and find Shiv waiting patiently with his bike (we lived near each other). Another hour or so would be spent with me huffing and struggling to remain balanced and the poor chap holding the bike from behind, letting me know repeatedly that he would not allow me to fall. It must have been very difficult to hold on to that bike because I was and am much heavier than him...and he never let me go home until I had struggled along the length of a long road several times. This went on for about 10 days, after which I finally learned to ride a bike unassisted and felt for the very first time the associated thrill that most kids experience when they are much younger! Shiv insists till today that I would have mastered the skill a lot faster if I had allowed myself to take a few falls (for which purpose he even made me practice in grassy parks) but my fear or falling was my better in that respect!
However, I'm glad it took that long, because in those days I learned about the unconditional aspect of true friendship. Shiv did not have to help me at all, but he just could not live with the fact that I had not enjoyed a bicycle ride in 17 years of life. He took it upon himself to invest a lot of his time and effort in helping someone he had only known for a couple of months and never asked for a thing in return. When I got my own bike a short while afterwards and we started going on long evening rides all over the neighbourhood, he was happier than anyone.
Till today, whenever someone asks me what friendship means to me, the first picture that comes to mind is of 2 kids cycling down a long path, chatting... laughing...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)