The Search

In the dark of the night, on a lonely street, a man was frantically looking for something under the dull lamplight.  A passerby asked him what he was looking for.

“My gold ring, that was given to me at my wedding” replied the one searching.

The passerby decided to be helpful  and joined him in the search.  Fifteen minutes of looking at every stone, under every blade of glass to the very edge of the circle formed by the light, yielded no results. The passerby finally gave up and asked the man “Are you sure you dropped it here ?”

“No, no, I dropped it somewhere in those dark bushes but there is no light there to look for it.  So I decided to come and look under this lamplight” replied the man. 

The passerby looked at him in shocked surprise and then just walked off.  

Isnt that how we look for solutions to problems ?  Somebody’s problem, somebody seeking answers and we join in that with much fanfare only to end up frustrated.  

Also, truth is each one’s perception – very similar to the six blind men and the elephant.  To each the elephant was a tree trunk or a fan or something else depending on what he touched. 

As with the elephant,  each of us looks at a problem only, and only,  from our position.  The truth is for the ones seeking it to come to.

Last but not the least, does anyone want advice ?  They only want sympathy and support especially if the writing on the wall says that it themselves that have to make the small change.  

Again and again, I go back to my one thought – problems between a husband and wife – no matter it is one’s own son or daughter, are best left to themselves to sort out .  The moment we give them a shoulder, we become the third angle in the triangle and only create more problems.  

Some day .............

“India is a country that is forever dying but never dies” – V S Naipaul

When I  read this statement for the first time as a fresher out of high school , I was angry with Naipaul.  To me India was home, a special place that gave opportunities to dream, to grow and to achieve.  How dare he call it dying ? 

At 67, on every morning walk, I realize more and more the truth of his statement. 

Every day a new bill board springs up advertising 3 or 4 bhk, ‘luxurious’ apartments – there is a near to completion scheme that promises, a library, a gym, a day care centre, a mini theatre and above all a swimming pool on the 21^st floor. 

While these get built, what of the people who build them ?

Their homes are still four bamboos with a green cloth for roof and another for a wall.  The men and especially, the women, trudge to the nearest open ground with a shrub or tree for shelter with a tin of water.  Like birds in the shower, you see a group of them bathing every morning with water that pours out of a tube tied to a pole or tree top. 

Drinking water comes in dirty cans out of even dirtier drums.  Three bricks and few pieces of wood serve for a fire over which thick, big roties shaped by a woman’s hands cook on the griddle. 

Two hours later, when I drive to work – the scene changes.  There is a little one sleeping in the make shift hammock tied to trees, while others scamper on the sand piles ; a little girl of 8 or 10 with one child on her hip and another holding her finger plays mother to another brood . 

Why can’t the builder or construction company begin work with makeshift homes and toilets for its workers ?  After all, the land is there.  Portable toilets are also available in the country now.  While approving the land acquisition and plan certifications, can’t some regulatory body insist that these builders provide these basic amenities to the people who building such beautiful edifices ?  

Some day, some day …

When will we grow up ??????

India is a multi cultural society.  Every state, every geographical locale is a multi hued web of cultures.  We take great pride in our Unity in Diversity – yet as individuals we remain rebels forever – constantly wanting to break out of the ‘so-called’ barriers imposed by our ancestors .

 At the same time, when we go to the west, we adopt the ‘coke’ and pizza culture so readily.  We cut and colour  our hair, we take off every vestige of our Indian roots but staunchly refuse to imbibe any of the values – independence, courtesy, politeness.  We put on the accent but never learn the language or its nuances. 

One of the typical scenes is at the boarding lounge of airports.  When in an airport anywhere in the US, no matter how crowded the flight, one never sees a mad stampede at the boarding gate – when we are called zone wise, we go take our places in serial order with just a glance into the boarding pass of the person ahead.  Contrast this with the scene at the Dubai airport – the airline personnel have to literally behave like policemen and women while the surging crowd gives you a narrow passage to walk to your line !

When will we learn ???

to speak or not

Quite often I am caught in this dilemma - especially when 'advising' or trying to advise close ones. Is it worth speaking out and pointing out what is staring me in the face but the other one cannot see ? How much of the truth can the other one take ? How should I say it ?

At all such junctures, I am reminded of my mother and her silence.Perhaps I too must just learn that silence. 

MORNING WALK .............

Something that I enjoy - my 'me' time when I can sing to myself, chant my 'shlokas' and 'mantras' and of course greet an old friend and a new face with a smile.  

Some times, I even find new roads that seem to have sprung up suddenly with a temple right in the middle.  One such road was the Gala club road in Bopal.  A single lane has today grown to almost four lane traffic with a nice paved walkway on one side.  No sooner does a road get completed, the indigenous entrepreneurs spring into action - the milk vendor, the flower seller , the vegetable and fruit seller and the boy with a cart of green grass with his brood of cattle.  It is a done thing for the walkers to pass a few notes, take a handful of grass and devoutly feed an animal.  Even those driving by in cars, lower the window , put out a hand to touch the grass which the boy then gives the animals.  I always see this as a wonderful way of eating your cake and still having it.  Just imagine we must be paying the boy to feed his  own cattle !!

The greater nuisance is of course the people on scooters trying to feed the stray dogs.  Every 100 feet or so you would find a number of them and again, people feeding them everything from stale chappatis to biscuits and packets of milk.  This is more of a danger because the dogs begin to chase anyone with a bag .  Not being a dog lover, one has to pause in one's walk to growl at them and chase them way or carry a stick to hit them.  

Why can't these dog lovers take the strays home and feed them if they love them so ? 

Goodbye Zohra Sehgal

My daughter's love of pani puri has taken to different corners in the cities that we lived in.  One such is the Alakananda market in New Delhi.  There is a vendor at the corner, who, according to her, sold the most delicious pani puris.  When the craving caught her, we would land up on one of his stools, with a plate in hand.  

On one such spree, we saw this old lady in a salwar kameez, seated on one of those stools.  Very ordinary looking except for her naughty smile and twinkling eyes.  Something about her was very familiar - but we could not place her until a few days later when her face stared at us again from the screen in the theatre - that when we found out that she was Zohra Sehgal - the versatile actress.  

Every time I watch Veer Zara, I am always reminded of the old lady at the pani puriwala.  

Sad to see she is gone - but today's paper describes her family and friends saying a final goodbye to her with love and smiles and not tears - she must have wanted it only that way.  Bye bye, lady. 

STANDING IN SOMEONE'S SHOES

Empathy is about standing in someone else's shoes, feeling with his or her heart, seeing with his or her eyes.  Not only is empathy hard to oursource and automate, but it makes the world a better place. 

.. Daniel H Pink 

When people hurt you over and over again, think of them as sandpaper. 

They may scratch and hurt you but in the end .....

You end up polished and they become useless !!!!