Beautiful Thing...

First sound of a newborn,

Sound of waves on a moonlit night,

Sight of water after hours in a desert,

Crackling sound of Sachin's bat on ball when in full swing,

Roar of fans when the home team scores a goal,

First drops of rain,

Sweet smell of sand during rainfall,

Tears to celebrate the end of war,

Chants to bring in the bride home,

First kiss in a courtship,

A ride by the countryside,

Food prepared by mom,

A pregnant woman,

- Beautiful things!

Strength of a new day...

The most brilliant aspect of life, one thing that is constant in all our lives - irrespective of a stressful day, a stupid fight at a traffic signal, the sight of a young child with a begging bowl, the one run loss in a closely fought cricket match, a boss who only knows to boss around, the disappointment of bull turning to bear, the agony of a life lost due to negligence of a doctor, many many more such worrisome and painful moments, - the array of hope that erupts with every newborn day! It is so amazing that the bout of positivity around a new day, at times in spite of knowing the impropable task at hand, contributes to our daily existence - with the hope that a change is round the corner for good. In a nation where the memory is fickle and which in turn defines the adulations and brickbats, its amazing how certain losses can unite or split a nation. There are moments when you hoped that media did not exist, or did not have the prominence it currently commands; however on few occassions I profusely appreciate the media's role. It goes the extra mile to ensure the fickle memory does not set in but instead people take the effort of lining up with candles and few tears down their cheeks. With every passing day, one only hopes that the worst of experiences never returns surfacing its ugly head again, but what life would one have led but for those worse moments. For it is moments like those that help the inner self surface up one step higher than the ugly head, and add on to the rich experiences that shape the personality of an individual. It helps one get a measure of all events and make one stronger to march ahead to take on the rough road ahead without a sense of fear or doubt. No wonder then that the Rising Sun always showers in the brightness to knock off the gloom of a dark night, and make one get up to face the world with renewed hope and optimism. One constant in our lives will always be the Strength of a New Day!

Random Thoughts...

I have been wanting to compose this post for a while now, however have been wondering about the topic of the post. In the want of writing on the most relevant topic and not finding one, I was resigned to the search of that elusive topic. However I was taken by surprise while going through some of the blogs I visit regularly, people have gone ahead and posted what would very well qualify as a 'tweet'. It got me wondering, do I end up delaying an act with the desire to present it in the best possible manner and slowly let the fizz out of the entire act. I have told myself in absolutely the strongest possible language, resulting in shrugging off the laziness and the reason of 'lack of time' to finally come up with this post.

I have finally managed to post during 'office hours', I will return to my work, but I promise that the frequency of posts will only improve - whether you like it or not!

Glaring Alley - Simplified

I did not want to respond. After all when someone utters ‘Sharma’, I feel irritated and left with no explanation as to why someone would call me that. It is not that I have an aversion to my surname, however because I am a proud owner of a beautiful first name that is all about light and being different. Harish and some of his friends were luckily the only ones who would call me by my surname. It fails to impress me even when some of his friends would call me by my surname, and to make it appear that they are not disrespecting my name would add the syllable ‘ji’. I did not want to respond not due to the fact that someone uttered my surname, but more due to the mental state I was in. Only then I had somehow convinced myself, in particular my legs to turn around and take its first step away from the alley. I did not want to undo that effort by turning around. However I immediately recollected that I had ventured into the alley, in spite of all the glares and the dirty one at that, only after agreeing with Harish over the phone that I would meet him on that alley in front of the Billu store. I turned around.

He stood there, with a smile that always put me at ease, calmed me down and one that assures me that I am safe around him. I was relieved to see him, to see a familiar face, one that did not glare at me, that smiled and one that didn’t scare me. I wanted to run towards him, and be in close proximity to his presence and assurance. I looked around, wanted to quickly scan my immediate surrounding and assure myself that the moment I started to run I wouldn’t be stopped abruptly by any stupid glare or person. The man who hadn’t passed the customary glare that was so common on that alley, looked me in the eye and without any effort stopped my scan. For the first time I paid attention to his dark blue shirt, his apron and the white cap he wore over his head. I got fixated on his face, with lot of questions playing out in my mind. Who is this guy? Why didn’t he glare at me? Is he trying to conceal something here? Why did he abuse the man with the knife? Was it the first time blood was spilled on that alley and not in that ek alag se jagah? While these questions were surfacing one after another, I could see him study my t-shirt with lot of care; slowly I could see his expression change and quickly exchange few words with a person standing before him. The person standing in front of him, seemed to be in his mid twenties, came across as an educated man who possessed a sophisticated persona, gave me and my t-shirt a quick glance and then nodded his head, followed it with some explanation to the man who didn’t glare. Before I realized the man had taken off his white cap and was only a couple of paces away from me and had begun talking to me. ‘....samajhthe hi nahin. Sorry madam, kabhi aisa nahin hua hain. Bandha naya hain. Waise bhi, hum license leke kaam kar rahe hain. Maarne ke liye jo tarika hum istemaal karte hain woh bilkul latest aur approved hain. Bina dard hi kaam chala leta hain. Koi torture nahin hota hain. Aaj aapne jo dekha, usko please report mat keejiye. Maafi maangta hoon.’

Before I could utter a word, the man walked away after these words, at double the pace with which he had approached me. I stood there wondering, why he chose to explain all that to me. Am I not the one who without any explanation was getting glared at on that alley? I then closely examined my t-shirt, observed the logo. Now it made sense! A 4 letter word seemed to have shaken up the man, maybe his conscience is still cold, to provide an explanation for the brutal stroke of the knife on the luckless neck. By this time, Harish was beside me and as always knew it best when I was disturbed. He took my hand and led me towards an ice cream parlour on that alley. Over the next ten minutes I related everything that had gone past me in the past hour or so. Well it was in reality only five minutes, however it felt like an hour to me. Harish tried his best to calm me down, and then said, ‘Why wouldn’t you get a glare, if you are not aware of the key hotspot in the locality. Billu’s store is a landmark that everyone knows and reveres about in these parts. So when you enquired about such a place, you surely would have attracted glares. As always you look great in a white t-shirt and blue denims. You are bound to attract glares, alley or not.’ This last part of Harish’s explanation made me blush and feel embarrassed at the same time. Anyways without uttering a word, I let him continue. ‘This logo on your t-shirt can make anyone sh*t in their pants, when it comes to violence against animals. Or should I say, even when there is a perceived violence against animals.’

I didn’t have much to say. Harish does that to me. I was hoping that he would also give me an explanation as to why that movie scene would play in my mind. He sensed that I was expecting him to say more, and said ‘Oye! It’s Friday! Chalo movie chalte hain! This time let’s go to a movie with a nice romantic scene that you can imagine to be a part of! I will be there to give you company’. Men will always remain men.

Glaring Alley

My query was met with an unexplainable glare, for a moment it sent a chill down my spine; eventually the response followed by a smile eased my nerves and I proceeded forward. The road led to a very narrow alley on its right, whose flag bearer was a small shop, ‘pan shop in general parlance, though it sold lot more than pan’, that had a proud owner, his pride was unquestionable given the way he twitched upwards his moustache reminding me one of the short stories from school days about one Maratha who lost everything he possessed only to ensure that a non-Maratha’s moustache never resembled that of a true blue Maratha, who meticulously worked on the beetel leaves without looking at them. His eyes were pre-occupied in sending those glares, not as chilling as the previous one I received, but one which surely measured me up in and out. It definitely made me conscious and put me into two minds as to whether I wanted to proceed into that alley, which suddenly reminded me one of those villainous scenes from a movie I had seen only the other day. The alley in that scene on screen was the chosen location for a senseless and cold blooded murder that was a culmination of a long chase that had preceded that scene. I recollected my senses and quickly calmed myself and even told to myself as to how stupid it was to recollect that murder scene only due to the similarity of the physical appearance of the alley. After all as an analogy, I was not chased down by any underworld don with ghoda in hand.

I took measured steps forward; however the scene from the movie kept replaying itself over and over again, and that motionless face of the deceased was getting replaced with my face. I needed a break. I wanted to run away from that alley, but somehow my legs would not listen to my brain and for some weird reason would not turn around. It was unexplainable and scary; sweat started trickling down leaving me with cold feet. It felt like eternity, until a horn shook me up and brought me back to my senses.

I was standing in the middle of the alley, obstructing the movement of an Enfield. The man on the beastly bike, the Indian equivalent of a Harley in terms of the niche set of owners in an otherwise mass market product category, wore dark brown Ray Ban coolers, a spotless white shirt and a matching dhoti, proudly showcased the numerous chains around his neck made out of that evergreen gold metal, slowly moved forward, stopped by me and for a momentary second removed his shades and gave me a glare – best described as dirty and outright cold. I almost wanted to push him off the bike, and pick up a stone and hurl at him, least of all slap him hard. By the time I contemplated and arrived at what I wanted to do, he had sped off the scene. Probably he was in a hurry, or he read my mind – I will never know, even now I wonder what would have happened had he chosen to hang around even for some 10 seconds more in that alley in front of me.

I wanted to quickly forget that last glare; I shook off all thoughts and moved forward. I didn’t want to lift my head up, only worried at how many more glares I would have had to witness that day. However blood splashing in front of me on the road stopped me in my tracks. I can even now remember very vividly the exact manner and pattern with which the droplets of blood fell on the road before turning into a pool of blood. I am sure my heart stopped beating for those 2 seconds. Though no one might believe me, I am so convinced that I did survive a heartless condition for those 2 long seconds.

The slit throat oozed blood out at a rapid pace and before I could come back to my senses, there lay a lifeless body in front of me. I witnessed the same expression on the lifeless body that I had seen on screen. I did not want to be on that alley anymore. I wanted someone to somehow airlift me away; I shivered at the thought of taking one more step in the alley. Somehow I mustered up courage to look up, and I saw this man with the knife completely tensed with the whole outcome. He looked me in the eye more in an apologetic manner, did he understand the turmoil I was going through – I didn’t care. He had committed a sin, in front of my eyes. However I soon heard someone hurl abuses at the man and say, ‘Beh******, ek kaam theek se karna nahin aata hain kya. Yeh sab karne ke liye ek alag se jagah diya hain, aur tu yehaan khullam khulla sadak pe maar diya usko. Ab kya dekh raha hain. Fatafat utha usko aur ander jaake saaf karo. Niklo yahan se.’ The person hurling abuses looked at me and didn’t care much, that was the first person who hadn’t glared at me that day, however it failed to impress me any bit. I had had enough of that alley. I didn’t want to continue any further. I turned back, for the first time on that alley, and took my first step when I heard someone shout ‘Sharma’.

Lucky getaway...

It has been an awesome last 36 hours so far. Sitting at the Madurai airport, man I love airports at Tier 2 cities - it kind of reminds me about one of my CCS works at IIMB, in which I very bravely concluded that Tier 2 city airports hold the key for the Indian aviation sector. I see a plush new international terminus getting constructed 200 metres away from the current domestic terminus. Knowing very well that one blink doesnt necessary indicate a person's interest in another, I still feel vindicated. :) The last 36 hours was punctuated with a beautiful marriage ceremony in one of the remotest possible places I have ever travelled to. The relative reference is with respect to the civilization around the place. However the lack of civilization around is made up by the small group of people who do live in this town, content with whatever they have got. (According to most of us, they havent got much in terms of getaway options, no entertainment, no metro lifestyle, no movie halls, you get the drift right). You get to experience the true sense of hospitality that is so damn pure in places like Kaaraikudi and Kandramanickam. It kind of reminds me my sales stints in Kolhapur and Agra, those days.

The weekend began with a lovely flight travel from Mumbai to Chennai, lovely given the company I had during those 2.5 hours - that would remain with me until I choose to share sometime later on. It was followed by a wonderful road trip -450 kms long, cursing the roads, and Muthu for choosing to have the wedding in Kandramanickam instead of Chennai, however at the end of the day I am glad I was part of the road trip. Road travel, especially by the country side allows me to unwind in my own way, without any thoughts about city life whatsoever. It allows me to sing, I know how bad I am at it, and I dont need any of you to remind me of the same - still its such a good feeling revisiting some of those classics, especially when you encounter them totally uninformed. The music, the scenery and the whole concept of moving places gives me one good high - I just hope that such getaways are always going to be part of my life for ages to come.

Not knowing what to expect, and always preparing oneself mentally for the worst, it was such a pleasant surprise to find a room spacious, air-conditioned and boasting of a TV that allowed us to watch some portions of the India - SriLanka match live, I did surf channels hoping to catch a quick glimpse of EPL action but I had stretched my optimism too far. Back to watching cricket and enjoying the fact that India was doing well, it put us in the right mood to get ready for the feast at Muthu's ancestral home. Though the ride wasnt anything special to write about, the whole evening at his place reinforced one judgement I have always had about Muthu - he is so damn humble. Without going into the specifics, I choose to keep it the same way that he has kept it so far, man I was speechless for quite a long time. The whole evening, I hope, would be a memorable one for Muthu, given that was the last evening he spent as a bachelor with all the freedom that comes with being one, I am sure you get what I mean. :) The ceremony in the morning was such a cute affair. I loved it.

I am in such a good mood after a long time, I know very well that I am lucky that this is just half the fun. The Bengali hospitality and festivity awaits, along with chance to catch up with some people who have played very crucial roles in my last 2.5 years. I am off now, people queing up to another flight have already got a peek preview of this blog, I cant take it anymore. Catch you guys soon.

No need to bother...

I don’t know about all desk jobs, wouldn’t want to make a generalized comment. From my little experience, with PwC and now as part of marketing stint in Marico, I have come to realize that google is best thing that could have occurred to one. The manner in which an astounding innovation comes to light in a matter of five minutes of time spent with the monitor gazing and movement of the mouse, is really cool and presents you with a solution that gives one the confidence to go ahead with a mid term review with the category head. Prior to those five minutes, I was stuck, cornered with no ideas/ creative insights keeping me rooted to the spot, and in fact I was in that position over the weekend though I didn’t actively attempt to arrive at a breakthrough. In the course of the day, I came across one of my emails, which put me in the same situation, though it wasn’t meant to. I didn’t know how to react, whether to react, and post some reactions how to make my point, if at all I had one. How I wish I had google help me get me out of that spot as well. Alas, it doesn’t customize solutions the way I want it. My google equivalent is memories from the days gone by, that let me relive those really wonderful moments and keep me assured that there is no need to react. It doesn’t mean I am maintaining/ forced to maintain a (dignified, yeah right) silence, it is just that I don’t feel threatened or disturbed by the email. It only reminds me how comfortable and assured each one of us is in each other’s company that we don’t worry about image/ what bitter taste is left behind – because honest expressions are never bitter.

Who art thou to fight back,
When there is no war.
Who art thou to pass a remark,
When there is no need of a defence.
Who art thou to worry about an image,
When there is an open slate out there.
Who art thou to feel instigated,
When there was no attempt of intimidation.
Who art thou to express your feelings,
When there is no one out there who doesn’t know you.

Follow up

Does the solution always lie,
In the effort that ensures regular authentic check points,
In the discipline that ensures sincerity without a hint of greed.
If so,
Then the whole deal is nothing but simplistic.
It intrigues me,
Why is there no sincere effort to make it a way of life,
Why is there a gap – intended or otherwise,
Leading to uncomfortable turn of events,
Holding to ransom a larger audience, many a time, for no fault of theirs.

Blame it on the turn of events in the last few weeks since the clock struck 12 to indicate the dawn of a new year, or on my craving to follow-up my last post with another attempt at poetry – that’s how my post for the year is going to start, with a few lines of poetry.

Poetry was always about the men that came and went by, about the river that continued to flow without paying attention to who came and who went by, about the daffodils that painted a picture so blissful to have a craving for a childhood in the grasslands of Europe, about the kings and the wannabe kings who went into monologue mode, time and time again, to express some opinions that were anyways concerning their individual lives but still managed a captive audience at any elocution event. Nowadays, it’s more about a simplistic, meaningful (with no offence to the poems of the past, I am referring to my coherence capabilities) or rather I should have put it across as ‘understandable’, expressive form of communication that helps me in burning my old cells. Given that the drops of that ‘smooth’ drink have never gone down my throat, I will have to make do with the language to help me burn my old brain cells.

I know I cannot get away without mentioning the events I referred to once I changed to paragraphs of expression. For starters, it is that resolve that goes missing once I post my thoughts (once in a year almost) leading to the gap in time. Here I am obviously assuming that there are loads and loads of people held at ransom for no fault of theirs. I will be humbled even if one of you reading this post would feel that the paucity of posts in my blog is holding you at ransom, creating that craving for more from my stable. Look at the audacity of the penultimate line to this one, loads and loads of people – well I can visualize one of you go ‘yeah right’.

However the genesis or the force behind me setting off writing this post is from some disturbing and thoughtless grave statements that have come into public domain in the past fortnight, serving as reminders on the importance of a regular follow up. I contemplated naming the post as ‘Greed’, given that this is the first post of the New Year; let us begin with a positive mindset for the days to come.

What about regular follow-up connotes positive energy?

The fact that it has continuity about its existence, the fact that it is an act when carried out diligently can open up pot-holes and hidden craters forces one to treat a sincere regular follow-up as a solution. The term independent lost its meaning in direction and audit. ‘Catch them young’ is a phrase I believe in, I hope the shrub could have got knocked off before it was allowed to take magnanimous stature of a monster tree. I have lost count of zeroes I have managed in my life, how can there be too many ‘brilliant, sharp qualified’ minds not be intrigued by the presence of that many zeroes in the records that eventually will end up in the public domain. I felt it tough to witness, when the person serving my food had to give me an explanation for a delay/ non-compliance of my order. How does it not affect these ‘brilliant, sharp qualified’ minds who need to eventually serve the owners of the entity with information that ought to be verified, scrutinized and stamped with authority of being in the right form. How does it go unnoticed that in spite of huge amounts of zeroes, the margin on offering solutions is a lot lower than those of the entity’s counterparts in the same operating conditions. I am no expert to comment on how a regular follow up should be or should have been done in the given context. I only know it should have been done.

What disturbs me at another level is how can one play around with trust, unconditional trust that gets generated as soon one brand’s stamp is seen on the records. I read that it may be too early to blame the auditing minds, however given whatever information and more of gut feel I possess, I would not want to see that brand anymore in my country. This incident only makes me more conscious about how easy it is to lose trust and confidence in minutes when it takes decades to earn them. Moments such as these make you start doubting anything and everything you hear, see and sense. It then leads to two roads – one that is bitter all the way due to the lack of spontaneity and trust, and the second one that can only start, raise and maintain hope for a better way of life with all the twists and turns, the bumps and humps that any terrain should have to start appreciating the end of the tunnel. Though not intended, trust me on this one, I must request you to read my previous post once/ once more. I do not know if I can finish the post in a better way.

(Forgive me if I have been completely cryptic, very consciously I have not used any terms that would have immediately made you comprehend the reference only because these days that term has lost its meaning and has turned oxymoronic)