I was waiting for the elevator when I met a friend who recently got married.
‘Now that you’ve completed your MBA, what next?’ she asked.
‘The usual. Waiting for the job to begin and let’s see where that takes me,’ I replied.
‘And what about marriage? I’m sure Uncle and Aunty have started looking for a nice Gujarati girl for you,’ she asked.
‘You think I’m the kind of guy made for an arranged marriage?’ I laughed off the matter.
However, with the number of friends and relatives around me getting married, I’m a troubled soul. I am not in the least indicating that I would like to get caught up in conjugal bliss, but what I have always been uncomfortable with is the whole idea of being a central character of the great drama that we Indians love to be a part of – ‘The Great Indian Arranged Marriage’.
The flowchart unfurls somewhat as follows:
Step 1: Son has either already been engaged in professional services for a couple of years or has just earned his degree from a reputed college and is about to take his first few baby steps in the world of corporate affairs
Step 2: Parents are consumed day and night with one question “Mere bete ka number kab aayega?’(“When will it be my son’s turn?”)
Step 3: Mom’s blood pressure falls, Dad’s heart-rate increases
Step 4 (a): All well and good if Son demurely (and shyly, for good effect; add giggle if necessary to be portrayed as ‘sweet fellow’) agrees to parents’ call for getting him hitched, proceed to step 6; else refer to Step 4 (b)
Step 4 (b): Dialogues of emotional blackmail straight out of Ekta Kapoor’s serials are unleashed on the hapless soul (complete with tears in eyes and worry lines on forehead). Sample: “We are getting old and want to see you married before we, we… (sniff, sniff). Who knows how much longer we will live…” ~voice trails off~
Repeat step till Son caves in to emotional pressure
Step 5: Son caves in
Step 6: Roar of triumph in the parent’s camp. Dad tells people he meets at morning jogs to refer him any ‘good girl with a nice family background’; Mom conveys the same message to relatives in a trembling and excited voice over the telephone
Step 7: Photographs of girls are sent to the boy’s house for ‘cursory inspection’
Step 8: Either Boy is bamboozled with the girl’s picture or Mom n Dad have reason to believe that they have found a Sita to their Ram. Repeat Steps 6 & 7 till this stage is reached.
Step 9: Formal meeting is set-up and boy and girl meet for approximately 20 minutes.
Repeat Step 9 till such a 20 minute meeting results in the Boy going over to his parents and saying ‘I like her.’ Confirm if Girl agrees to Boy or not.
If Yes…
HURRAH !! You have passed the first stage. Move on to ‘The TAMASHA’ (The Great Indian Arranged Marriage – Part 2)
Even as I write this, I’m seething with rage.
Firstly, the idea that the first step for agreeing or disagreeing to further deliberation results from a photograph taken of a girl disgusts me. I personally know people who would rather call this procedure ‘civilised prostitution’ than anything else.
Secondly, this whole 20-minute meeting business is pathetic. I will not comment on other people’s abilities to ‘read’ people in a span of 20 minutes, or even 3 sessions of 20 minutes each. However, as far as I’m concerned, I will NEVER be able to agree to this idea.
20 MINUTES??!!!
Is a 20 minute meeting ALL that it takes to know a person with whom you plan to spend the rest of your life with??? In case that wasn’t very clear, let me repeat: THE REST OF YOUR LIFE???!!!
Those 20 minutes might be enough to find out which school and college the person attended, but is it enough to know the amount of EDUCATION that the person has received?
Those 20 minutes might be enough for a person to know the other person’s favourite song, but are those 20 minutes enough for knowing the REAL reason why the person loves that particular song?
That meeting might be enough to know whether the person can speak to you in the same tongue or not, but is it enough to know that the person shares the same wavelength?
The 20 minutes might be enough to know whether the person follows the same religion, celebrates the same festivals and is knowledgeable of the same religious texts as you, but is it ever going to be enough to know whether the person shares the same ideology as yours?
Is that 20 minute meeting ever going to be enough for you to know the other person’s definition of LOVE, a definition on which hangs the happiness of your life for the next 4 decades or so?
The answer, I hope you’ve realised, is a resounding ‘NO’.
I agree that the other side of the argument refutes this logic by stating numerous examples of relationships which have broken up in spite of long-term romances prior to marriage. They say ‘It is never going to be enough to find out whether the other person is a perfect match for you or not’.
Point noted. But at least I had the privilege of knowing a wonderful person and had the decency to respect the other person’s life and personality by making an attempt to finding out whether this was the ‘correct’ person instead of putting up a sham ‘meeting of the minds’.
And that, dear reader, was the reason why I asked the lady at the elevator whether she considered me a suitable candidate for the Great Indian Arranged Marriage.
A humid summer afternoon had given way to a gentle breezy evening in South Calcutta. I decided it was time for a pleasant evening walk. I roamed around the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of this city that have always so enchanted me. I stopped at a street-side stall where tea and samosas were being sold.
And that was when I spotted her.
She was barely 7 years old, wearing a white frock with pink roses delicately embroidered all over. Her chubby cheeks pointed to a love for food. Tightly clutching on to her dad’s hand, she was inspecting the options that lay sprawled out in front of her. What should she indulge herself in? Of course, the evening must start with that puchka-waala bhaiya (the vendor selling paani puris).
As I took the first sip from my cup of tea, I was captivated with her innocence as I observed the little angel leading her dad to the puchka vendor. She greedily eyed the fellow as he readied the preparation of potatoes, salt and chilli powder along with imlipaani (tamarind water) which would be used to fill the puchkas. Taking hold of the leaf-cup from the vendor (after a struggle with her dad who unsuccessfully tried to explain to her that he would be able to handle the cup more stably), her eyes lit up with every puchka that was placed in her cup. Madam Greedy Guts would then gingerly pick up the puchka, her hands trembling with anticipation. She would proceed to take a bite and more often than not, the puchka was too big for her little mouth and the water would stream down her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind at all as she gleefully looked up at her dad, who acknowledged the feeling with a smile.
Three puchkas later, it was time to move on to ice creams. As I ordered another cup of tea, she had decided she wanted a chocolate ice cream. Her father paid for the ice cream, and madam wrapped her little fingers around the treasure-cup holding the very substance that made up heaven. As she passed by, she looked up and with a cherubic smile told the tea stall vendor, “Kaaku, singhara kaal ke khaabo” (Uncle, I’ll have the samosas tomorrow). The ageing tea-stall vendor beamed back at her.
As I walked back home, I was wondering what purpose kids serve. Of course, procreation and all that nonsense about taking civilization ahead to survive another generation. But what that little girl taught me was the simplicity of man’s needs. Not 15 rupees (little less than 30 cents) had been spent on her outing, and yet she had had the time of her life.
Man’s needs are simpler than what the grown-up buffoon makes it out to be. It is the attitude that matters.
It’s a quarter to four on a Saturday afternoon and here I am in my house in Calcutta with nothing to do. Err, technically speaking, of course I can keep myself occupied with a dozen things if I wanted to, but then, I’m me and I opt for the lazier way out and say that ‘I have nothing to do’.
Travelling in the train from Mumbai to Calcutta was unbearable…for the first few hours anyway. You see, according to me, one of the greatest pleasures in life is being aboard an AC coach in service of the Indian railways and to be armed at the same instant with a good book. The former without the latter is a deadly combination, as you’re then left with no other option but to:
a) listen to aunties discussing the ‘kundli’, the guest-list and the wedding card of Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai
b) get irritated to hell by the snoring of an obese Bengali dude who just about manages to fit into the side berth and believes that sleeping away to glory (snoring in tow, of course) for 25 out of the 30 hour train journey is a brilliant strategy
c) stare out of the window praying for a station to arrive where a decent book-stall would be visible
(c) mentioned above was how I spent the first night in the train as (a) and (b) above were quite unquestioningly thrust upon me. I did everything I could to fight the fit of depression. I called up the Whale and Dolphin and tried to explain how the poor me had scouted the entire length of the Kurla Junction in a desperate bid to find a book stall owner, but to no avail.
Relief only came next morning at Nagpur station where I literally jumped out of the train and ran to the nearest book-stall. Talk about a weary traveller from the desert finding an oasis! I lapped up the books just as the aforementioned traveller would have attacked water. I decided to give in to temptation and bought two books; ‘Five Point Someone’ by Chetan Bhagat and ‘The Afghan’ by Frederick Forsyth.
The Heavens, it seemed, had decided to give me a fair return journey home after all, as Sam, Dada and Anubhav Misra came over to meet me up at Raipur station. Felt really nice meeting up with them. The five-minute stop at Raipur seemed to end too soon and I almost felt guilty for having asked them to come down to the station and meet up with me. But then, what the heck, they were ‘vella’ in any case and hey, given the situation, I would’ve myself hopped on toa bike to go and meet my friends at the station.
On returning to Calcutta, I spent the first day in Dad’s office. Met up with Ravi in the evening, and as is our norm, we headed over to a dhaba for a cup of chai for him and gilassi of milk for me.
Last night, I had dinner at an uncle’s place. Uncle is one of Dad’s closest friends and I have forever known him as ‘kaka’ (Uncle).
During dinner, conversation led to the time when he and Dad had established their friendship, and I was surprised to know that this is a friendship which has lasted *touch wood* for just over four decades now. Phew!
And as would be expected, he is among the handful of people who’ve known me since the time I could fit into his palms. :P
Last night was a rite of passage, as far as he was concerned. Happily sharing a drink with Dad, he looked at me and commented how he had been there at my ‘Mundan’ ceremony (the holy Hindu ritual when an infant’s hair is first shaved off at the age of 3 or 4) and here he was again after I’d completed my MBA. I suspected more pride in his voice than pleasure when he congratulated me on having gotten my degree. From what I gathered, it wasn’t the education which was as important as the degree which announced my entry into the world of corporate affairs.
Also, quite importantly, I lay bare before them what had been happening in my personal life for the last few years. I was surprised with the maturity and the calmness with which they accepted whatever I'd been through.
Just as we were leaving, Kaki produced an envelope with a few currency notes inside which were a sign of good luck. On the envelope were the following words:
Dear Shekhar,
May God bless you with lots & lots of happiness, success and good health. Don’t ever stop loving, don’t ever stop believing and don’t ever stop dreaming your dreams.
I was having lunch at a wonderful couple's house in Ahmedabad the other day and the after-lunch discussion was most amiable.
We kept veering from one topic to another and during one such turn of discussion, I told them about a singular thing that happened to me. You see, apart from this blog, I do maintain a personal diary. And in that diary of mine, I had made a passing remark about how wonderful a particular eventuality would be if it indeed came true. As luck would have it (is it so?), things which lay outside my control almost magically happened such that I had to make my best efforts and hence, display some of my own strengths. I wondered out aloud if in writing that journal, I had somewhere unknowingly shaped my own destiny.
At this, the lady of the house also pointed out something similar. She said that in Linda Goodman's book (I forget which) she mentions about the people under a specific star-sign who never 'save for a rainy day'. And it so happens, that because of their belief, that particular rainy day never does arrive. We just laughed at this intriguing co-incidence, but what remained a question was whether man was indeed capable of carving out his/her own destiny.
I end this post by recalling a poster I'd seen in a faculty's room: "Be careful of the thoughts you think; they shape your future."
The setting was indeed idyllic. Sun God raced in his chariot towards the end of the day and my parents, bhaiya and I were seated in a Maruti Omni which was taking us back to our native village. Bhaiya and I had occupied the side positions on the rear seat and emboldened by the sparsely populated Gujarat countryside, both of us had opted to keep the sliding doors open.
I cannot say about the others, but I quite enjoyed taking in the sweltering heat, the dust that was being kicked up by the tyres and the quietness of the surroundings. It didn’t take long for John Denver to start singing ‘Country roads, take me home…’ in the mind’s stereo-system.
I am pretty sure, though, that the setting sun was having a magical effect on others as well since all of us had suddenly gone silent and were perhaps meditating on some day gone by.
It was then that the stream of thoughts was translated into words and bhaiya and I started speaking about youth and their ways. The discussion came to a point where we needed to clearly define what ‘youth’ was.
It is here where bhaiya’s wisdom shone through.
“All those who always keep thinking or speaking about the future are children or immature beings. And those who crib about the past or keep living in the glories of the day gone by have weathered minds – no matter what their physical age, they’ve already decided to live in the past and are hence, old.”
“And what about the youth?” I asked.
“Simple. Those who live in the present and think about changing their present circumstances rather than choosing to keep building castles in the air or boasting about their past are youth. They, indeed, are the ones who shape the environment around them and to them goes the title of being ‘youthful’.”
This post is authored as I sit in a flat in Mumbai with dollops of time to spare and a laptop which refuses to install ‘Counter Strike: Condition Zero’ no matter how many times I bang my head on the table and plead for mercy to the IBM Gods.
As a result, the post is slightly longer than my usual posts, but I have made sincere efforts at keeping it interesting. Do read. :)
------ Let me recall the events of my last few hours at Nirma.
Anyone who thinks packing bags is an easy business hasn’t obviously met me. I have been told that I have the most exasperated look on my face when such an eventuality occurs. In fact, I keep getting this uneasy feeling that people are reminded of dear old Uncle Podger who hung a picture upon the wall (for further references, please read “Three Men In A Boat” by Jerome K. Jerome).
I am almost certain that I must cut a sorry figure while packing, what with running from one end of the room to another, picking up an article, thrusting it wildly into a bag, scurrying to another part of the room, only to realize that perhaps it would be better if the article already tossed into the bag should indeed be packed in the carton which is to be couriered.
If any further proof is required of the fact that things can go horribly out of control when I’m packing, let me cite the example of last year when I had to pack my bags before leaving for my summer internship. I had projected that I would leave the hostel by 3 in the afternoon. As expected, the packing Gods didn’t approve of my projected figures and my friends heaved a mighty sigh of relief when I finally left the hostel at 11 at night.
Going by my track record (late by 8 hours on the previous occasion), the crime this time around was definitely excusable. I was late by a meagre 2 hours; I had planned to have my bags packed and left the hostel by 9pm, but could not leave till 11.
Of course, Dolphin was partly to blame. The moment she saw me wearing my red-and-white t-shirt, she grimaced in a manner which would’ve made Jeeves proud when he didn't approve of an article of clothing worn by Bertie Wooster. And in order to ensure that I would never again have the happy privilege of wearing the particular t-shirt, Dolphin simply asked for a pen and promptly proceeded to write a good-bye message on the shirt itself. This was encouragement enough for everyone around to jump in and write their ‘love-you’ and ‘goodbye Rupa’ messages. It was a good twenty minutes more before I could step into the waiting auto-rickshaw. However, it was worth the wait. I love that shirt now and am going to treasure it forever. :))
But it didn’t take more than 2 hours in Bhaiya’s house that night for me to realize that I was now on a different plane altogether. Mom and Dad hit the sack around midnight (they were awake only since I had been late in arriving home) and when Bhaiya wished me good-night around 1 in the morning, the house plunged into darkness and silence. To think that Sahu Sahab and I had made a daily routine of going down for a cuppa of tea at 2 in the morning!! Wow!! This DEFINITELY felt weird.
I felt as if 2 years ago, I had been plucked off from this (so called) normal planet and had been placed on a different one where not only were you responsible for everything you did, but you were also certain that no matter what happened, you would have a rollicking time. Sitting in the darkened hall, I could almost see the two years zip by right in front of my eyes.
The next day was Convocation day and boy was it fun. The best part about the day had to be us roaming around in the boys hostel wearing our convocation robes. All of us were in a crazy mood that day as we’d realized that this was our last opportunity to hang out like a bunch of happy-go-lucky characters. We had a gala time walking the ‘ramp’ and doing the ‘Reservoir Dogs’ walk in our convocation robes. [Crab even did a special Muzaffarnagar dance, details of which cannot be provided on blogs such as these which are meant to provide wholesome reading material for the entire family].
It was while these crazy deeds were being executed that I realised that I just HAD to spend the last night at the hostel and not at Bhaiya’s place in the city.
Wise decision. I got to take a tour of the most coveted real-estate property on the Nirma campus, i.e. the Girls’ hostel. ~wink~
It so happened that some of the girls convinced the girls’ hostel warden to allow them to visit the boys’ hostel. Now, since we had all convocated that very evening, we were technically not students anymore. And that, ahem, gave us the license to roam around. So, even before the girls battalion could move into our hostel, we attacked theirs. I had the privilege of visiting just two rooms, that of the Dolphin and the Piranha. Motee had already vacated her room, and poor Dolphin was left all alone to do her packing [She left with a record 8 bags the next day]. And true to her character, the room was a mess. To be honest, Whale and I looked at the room with a certain sense of pride in knowing that the Dolphin had come somewhere close to keeping her room as untidy as we had in the last one year together.
Next was Piranha’s room, which was, as expected, clean and a shocking contrast to Dolphin’s. Utterly neat (ouch!) and almost a hotel-room like feel is what all three of us (Sahu Sahab, Whale and I) felt.
Later that night, after the girls had visited our hostel, we decided we didn’t give two hoots about the boys’ hostel warden’s calls of returning to the hostel before midnight. Most of the gang was outside on the benches and on the lawn. The poor hostel warden had to keep getting up at regular intervals in any case, since many of the hostel-ites had trains and flights scheduled at odd hours.
The next afternoon, I too left the hostel along with the Whale. And with that auto-rickshaw ride on the Sarkhej Gandhinagar Highway, my life as a student of the Institute of Management, NirmaUniversity officially came to a close.
One evening, after a marketing prof. introduced us to the world of blogs. Fascinated, that night I started this blog from the confines of this hostel.
So, as I pack up my laptop and gaze at the tonnes of baggage that has been packed before I vacate this hostel forever..
THANK YOU NIRMA BOYS HOSTEL.... I found the warmth of a place called 'home' here. Thanks for all the wonderful memories that shall always bring forth a smile, a chuckle and even the occasional tear.
In my two years of MBA education, I thought I'd seen it all. And just when one thought that everything there was to be seen and done had been achieved, there was just that one little thing that needed to complete the picture. I realised that most of my friends at this b-school had been part of one small road accident or the other (most of them, thankfully, not very serious). ~wink~ Today, was my turn.
So, a friend of mine and me were on this Kinetic Zoom when we skidded on this patch of sand and landed, face first, on the ground. Thankfully, none of the cars nearby rolled right over us and we were up in a jiffy. In fact, we were pretty lucky to have gotten away with just minor bruises. I managed a slight cut on my right knee to show for the evening's efforts. Even better was my friend, who immediately stood up and after casting a look at all the dust on his clothes, looked up dismayed at me and announced, "Yaar, kapde dhone pad jayenge!" ("Dude, I'll have to wash the clothes.") The next instant, the two of us were in complete splits and the onlookers were (I think) left wondering if these two nutcases had suffered serious injuries to the skull. :D
Anyway, ~deep intake of breath~ the MBA draws to a close and I've emerged victorious from a battle (of the mind?) which, I must admit, got almost too close for comfort. ~phew~ Friends who've been close to me have witnessed the nervousness and anxiety that I used to feel from time to time. In the end, I knew there was no one else but I who was responsible for putting myself into a difficult position. Like I said to a benevolent professor who offered to lend me a ear, it was again no one else but I who could draw myself out of the mess.
And work myself out of my troubles I did!! There was blood, toil and sweat (Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Churchill, but there were just no tears). Tell you what... it was all worth the fight in the end. The very man who predicted my doomsday congratulated me this evening on a brilliant performance. The same man who had told me that I was fast hurtling towards failure gladly shook hands with me and told me [not in as many words, I admit; but then, I'm a dreamer, and a dreamer who has just won has the liberty to dream these words ;) ] that I had the mettle of a winner.
Some have told me, in jest of course, that I should've laughed at him or reminded him mockingly of his prediction that I was headed for failure.
The truth is that I did remind him. And frankly, I couldn't be more thankful to the gentleman. If it hadn't been for that one statement which put the fear of the worst-case scenario in me, I don't think I would've pushed this hard. True, I couldn't sleep peacefully for days in a row and had the most harrowing nightmares of living the failure that had been promised to me. However, if it hadn't been for that feeling of cold sweat on my forehead, I don't think I would have excelled in the manner in which I did.
And so: 'Thank you Sir for your unkind words. That was simply the BEST thing that you could've done for me.'
Like all victories, though, there is more than just one person to whom the victory can be attributed. This victory, too, wouldn't have been possible without my parents, Aunt Patricia, and all my friends who stood by me and supported me. They did all that they could, either by doing their little bit in finishing excellent group project work or by giving their words of encouragement and hope. I can't end this post without thanking 'Bulla', 'Herbert', 'Horatio', 'Biscuit', 'Whale', Sam, 'Basanti', 'Piranha', 'Gola', 'Dolphin', 'Mr. President', Sahu Sahab, Motee, Sudhanshu, 'Pappu' and of course, 'Baap'. Thank you folks.
Perhaps for the last time on this blog, I must also mention 'her'. I must thank 'her' for the encouragement she provided and the promise she made me make.
(Although our paths have parted for some time now, you were among the first few persons I thought of when I knew I'd won. May God be with you. And yes, I shall keep my promise. ~smiles~)
Yesterday was a day which I could not come to terms with easily. It was after quite a few days when I had absolutely nothing to do. No classes, no preparations for exams... nothing at all !!!
Yesterday was also one of the more misty-eyed days here at Nirma. Friends-in-arms, co-conspirators in pranks and people with whom one can spend an entire afternoon without worrying about the going-ons around you...all of them left for home one by one. I was surprised by how lonely I felt at the end of the day when I realised that so many of my friends had gone back home and that the hostel resembled an empty fortress more than anything else.
Mini 'Dolphin', Whale and the Piranha, all left by the afternoon bus. So did Sudhanshu. Later in the evening, I accompanied Sexy Sam to drop Basanti off at the Kalupur railway station. Right through all this, there was a voice in my head which kept on saying "Hey, before you know it, it'll be the first of next month, and they'll all be back." It wasn't before Baap (err...that would be my friend Neeraj; his nick-name at the insti. is Sabka Baap, or 'Baap' for short) knocked at my door at 2 in the morning to say goodbye (he had a flight at 6) that I realised how empty the hostel had become.
The Whale, before leaving, had his revenge from me though. :D
For the uninitiated, Tushar (aka The Whale) was my room-mate for the last one year. And on numerous occasions have I left him waiting outside the room while I was somewhere on this 140-acre campus with the only keys to the room. Well, yesterday, after we loaded his stuff onto the college bus that was supposed to take them to the railway station, Whale realised that he had forgotten a blanket at the room. I gave him the keys and he rushed upstairs. By the time he came back, I was busy saying my good-byes to the rest of the gang. And the nutcase that he is, he too forgot about the keys.
It was only after the bus actually started off that I remembered that the room-keys were still with him. That bloody idiot!!! I ran after the bus shouting his name, but the bus had already gathered speed. I gave up the chase and called up Mini to ask Tushar to throw the keys out of the window. Before that could happen, though, I had to run behind the bus for a good 100 metres. That !@#%!$@!#$@. Wait till he comes back.
I started reading "By the river Piedra I sat down and wept" by Paulo Coelho at around midnight yesterday. Finished reading the book at 3. Would have finished by 2 or 2:20, but slowed down owing to the break in the middle to have a final chat with Baap before he left. Kinda ok book, nothing great.
Ok then... Me off to Goa today evening with a bunch of 5 other equally idiosyncratic and crazy folks. Will be back on the 24th.
Till then... ciao, take care and make your Momma proud!! :D
Though neither of my parents ever told me this specifically, my upbringing has given rise to a conscience within me. That very same conscious screams and tells me that what I have done today was a grave sin, yet I had no option but to do it.
I tore up a book into little pieces with my own hands.
I know what I've done is wrong and pray to God that I never have to do it again.
[PS: Just to clarify, I don't feel guilty at my having torn the book, just extremely sad that I had to do it. And yeah, mixed with the feeling of sadness was an insane feeling of pleasure, that though it was such a difficult thing for me to do, I managed to overcome emotions and actually tear that particular book. The book that was torn was symbolic of events of the past which, though cannot be erased, must be shoved into the dark recesses of the mind.]
Saturday marked a speed-breaker in the exam schedule for the second year students. After the consecutive exams on Friday and Saturday, we had the much needed break on Sunday, which meant that Saturday evening was free for the juniors to organise the farewell celebrations.
And so, even though I was tired and dead sleepy (having slept for just 2 hours before the Business Laws paper), I druggedly walked into the auditorium. Well, titles for all the senior students had been thought up, keeping in mind their personality, their traits and their habits during the last 2 years.
Here's what came up when my name was to be announced:
"dyNIMite Shekhar Ruparelia BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS He has got menacing looks Directed movies, has a good voice Book Club's undisputed choice"
[The NIM in dyNIMite stands for Nirma Institute of Management]
Actually, the guy reading out the title told the audience that he would read out the title one line at a time, and that they should guess who the fellow was. No sooner had he read out "Books, Books, Books.", my friends started calling out my name. :))
This session was followed by a lavish dinner on the college grounds, and then came the dance party. Now, those of you who know me personally would vouch for the fact that I'm the kind of fellow who wouldn't be dragged by twelve wild horses to any area within a hundred square kilometres of a dance floor. But, Saturday was different.
It was time to hit the dance floor and do what I'd never done before: Chill out in the midst of a crowd of 123 budding managers, cheer loudly at the songs that were being played, sing along, and throw my hands and legs about wildly.
[For those of you who had to submit yourself to the wild sights of me dancing like a man possessed, my apologies. It was 10% caused by the fact that I had had very little sleep and 90% because I was in the company of such unbelievable friends. YEAH BABY !!]
All right, I'm through with two of my exams and two remain. And like they say, well begun is half done and I'm now confident that I'll carry through with the effort in the remaining two exams.
One of the benefits of having a metropolitan upbringing is that you're exposed to the best of all cultures, religions and beliefs. I've specially been attracted to the various religious beliefs and religious texts such as the Bhagwad Gita, the Holy Bible, the Holy Quran and the Guru Granth Sahib.
Day before yesterday, I called up an Aunt in Calcutta. When I told her that though I was confident of doing well, yet couldn't overcome the feelings of dread and nervousness [Jeez!! I sound like a high-school student :D], she instantly recommended that I read Psalm 91.
Here's what's been inspiring me and amazing me with its simplicity and beauty over the last 48 hours:
Psalm 91
1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
2 I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."
3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.
4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.
9 If you make the Most High your dwelling— even the LORD, who is my refuge-
10 then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.
14 "Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation."
Alternate Title: "If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run" I've been irregular here with a reason. End-term examinations start from tomorrow, 9th March. Last MBA exams, and to be honest, these exams are gonna be a toughie.
And since it is an evening of being honest, let me (be human and) admit that I've been troubled for a few days now. (Motee spotted it the other day and asked 'what you thinking about??'.) Well, what else do you expect from a guy like me who's gotten into this (bad?) habit of thinking too much all the time, huh? ~grins~
I kinda got worried today morning when I realised that I'd seen myself smoking a cigarette in my dreams last night. I could vividly remember the smell of burning tobacco, the sensation as I allowed the smoke to enter my system and envelope my lungs and the puff of smoke that I exhaled, I remembered all of it with an eerie ease. This is the second time in the last month that I've seen such a dream, and frankly, it scares me. Appropriately so, for I've never smoked a cigarette in my life. Having seen how Dad suffered 'coz of his lifelong habit, I'd vowed early on that I would never ever smoke.
Anyway, let me not turn this into a post where everything looks dark and gray, for that is certainly not what is the truth here !! Accepted that there's very little to think about these days apart from studies, syllabus, exam schedule...I don't have the leisure time to think about other stuff (and how thankful I am for that!!).
Yet, life is fun when you know you can listen to brilliant songs with beautifully worded lyrics. What the heck !! Imagine this... a guy washing his clothes in a deserted bathroom at 2 in the afternoon and loudly singing "Khudi ko kar buland itna" (the Junoon version), and suddenly, his loud chanting is joined by a couple of other folks who've walked in. Get the picture?? Well, that's what a guys' hostel is all about !! :D
Although I'd promised to keep myself away from books (non-acads books, that is) till the end of examinations, I just couldn't help flipping through the first few pages of "Man's search for meaning" by Viktor E. Frankl. It's a psychiatrist's account of time spent in Nazi death camps. To quote from the back-cover, "at the core of his theory is the belief that man's primary motivational force is his search for meaning."
I smiled...
...and recalled the following lines from a previous post:
"I kept staring at the picture of Kali Ma (the photograph is a capture of the deity at Kalighat Temple, Calcutta) and wondering what the purpose of life was. Somehow, I felt that I was just wandering around life aimlessly, not knowing what exactly I wanted. To quote myself from a chat that I had with a close friend a few days back, "most of us are like rudderless boats rocking to the waves in the ocean of life...". What exactly was my mission in life?"
I sighed, looked at my wrist-watch (a gift from Dad before I left Cal for my MBA), and reminded myself that I needed to prepare for the exam...the last MBA exam. "One more round," the voice in my head egged me on.
And then I knew that I had to log in, and blog about one of my all-time favorite poems:
"If" - Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master, If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
From businessballs.com : Rudyard Kipling's (1865-1936) inspirational poem 'If' first appeared in his collection 'Rewards and Fairies' in 1909. The poem 'If' is inspirational, motivational, and a set of rules for 'grown-up' living. Kipling's 'If' contains mottos and maxims for life, and the poem is also a blueprint for personal integrity, behaviour and self-development. 'If' is perhaps even more relevant today than when Kipling wrote it, as an ethos and a personal philosophy. Lines from Kipling's 'If' appear over the player's entrance to Wimbledon's Centre Court - a poignant reflection of the poem's timeless and inspiring quality.
Here is one incredibly inspiring speech from Steve Jobs, CEO, Apple Inc.
"I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Was hypnotized by Al Pacino's acting and dancing prowess in this scene from Scent of a Woman..
Also brilliant was the beautiful tango music, "Por una cabeza". [Trust me, the music is so sweet to hear that it made a fella like me want to learn the tango. This, coming from a fellow who's never stepped inside a discotheque or dancing hall of any sort.]
On trying to find out more about the song at Wikipedia, I was surprised to find out that the song talks about a race-horse gambler's comparison in addiction to betting on horses and being attracted to women.
I got the original Spanish lyrics and the translation here.
Por Una Cabeza [By the head of a horse] (1935) Music by: Carlos Gardel and Alfredo Le Pera Lyrics by: Carlos Gardel and Alfredo Le Pera
Losing by a head of a noble horse who slackens just down the stretch and when it comes back it seems to say: don't forget brother, You know, you shouldn't bet.
Losing by a head, instant violent love of that flirtatious and cheerful woman who, swearing with a smile a love she's lying about, burns in a blaze all my love.
Losing by a head there was all that madness; her mouth in a kiss wipes out the sadness, it soothes the bitterness.
Losing by a head if she forgets me, no matter to lose my life a thousand times; what to live for?
Many deceptions, loosing by a head... I swore a thousand times not to insist again but if a look sways me on passing by her lips of fire, I want to kiss once more.
Enough of race tracks, no more gambling, a photo-finish I'm not watching again, but if a pony looks like a sure thing on Sunday, I'll bet everything again, what can I do?
Like I said in an earlier post, films have the power to inspire us. They also have the power to make you pause and introspect. A beautiful example is from the (highly surprising) Hindi film "Bluffmaster".
The protagonist has just found out that he has a tumour in his brain and that his days on earth are numbered. On realising how upset and disappointed the hero is and how he just wants to sulk his life away, the doctor decides to give him some advice.
Walking along the Gateway of India, the doctor tells the hero something which, I feel, has a very powerful message hidden in it.
"Zindagi mein aisi choti choti baatein hoti hain, jo dino ko ek zindagi bana deti hain, aur hum inhe kabhi nahi bhool paate.
Zindagi mein tumhe aise kitne din yaad hain? Your first job, pehla suit, pehli salary..
Pandarah, bees, pachees din...tees? 30 right ?!! 30 special days...30 special days..
Tees saal ki zindagi, aur tumhe sirf tees din yaad hain? Baaki ke dinon ko kya ho gaya?"
English translation:
"There are small things in life which make each one of these days equivalent to a lifetime, and we are never able to forget those days.
How many such days do you remember? Your first job, your first suit, your first salary..
Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five days...thirty? 30 right ?!! 30 special days...30 special days..
Thirty years of living, and all you recall are thirty days? What happened to the rest of the days?"
How many special days can you recall, dear reader? :)
As if the heart wasn't already nostalgic enough, my friend Bamz sends me a forwarded e-mail on Bongs (no, I don't think it is disrespectful to call Bengalis as Bongs...after all, I too am more often than not thought of as a Bong). I'm just reproducing the parts which made me cackle as I sat in my chair, threatening to make the good ol' won't-laugh-won't-smile serious faced me look like a 5 year old who has just discovered the joys of watching Tom and Jerry.
For those of you who've stayed a considerable period of time in the city, go ahead and laugh through the mail and heave a sigh at the end. For those of who've not been to the City of Joy, here's a short and humorous description of the most lovable city I know, the place I call home. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bengalis A-Z
C is for Chappell. This is the Bengali word for the Devil, for the worst form of evil. In the night mothers put their kids to sleep saying 'go to bed, or Chappell will come and take you away.'
D is for Debashish. By an ancient law every fourth Bengali Child has to be named Debashish. So you have a Debashish everywhere and trying to get creative they are also called Deb, Debu, Deba with variations like Debnath and Deboprotim thrown in.
F is for Feesh. These are creatures that swim in rivers and seas and are a favourite food of the Bengalis. Despite the fact that a fish market has such strong smells, with one sniff a Bengali knows if a fish is all right. If not he will say 'eeesh what feeesh is theesh!'
G is for Good name. Every Bengali Boy will have a good name like Debashish or Deboprotim and a pet name like Shontuda, Chonti, and Dinku. While every Bengali Girl will be Paromita or Protima as well as Shampa, Champa and Tuki.
Basically your nickname is there to kiil your good name.
H is for Harmonium. The Bengali equivalent of a rock guitar. Take four Bengalis and a Harmonium and you have the successors to The Bheatles!
L is for Lungi. People in Kolkata manage to play football and cricket wearing it. Now there is talk of a lungi expedition to Mt.Everest
M is for Minibus. These are dangerous half buses whose antics would effortlessly frighten the living daylights out of Formula 1 race drivers.
T is for Trams. Hundred years later there are still trams in Kolkata. Of course if you are in a hurry it's faster to walk.
U is for Ambrela. When a Bengali baby is born they are handed one.
V is for Violence. Bengalis are the most non-violent violent people around. When an accident happens they will shout and scream and curse and abuse, but the last time someone actually hit someone was in 1979.
W is for Water. For three months of the year the city is underwater and every year for the last 200 years the authorities are taken by surprise by this!
X is for X mas. It's very big in Kolkata, with Park Street fully lit up.
Okay, let me play the responsible citizen of blogosphere today and do my bit for society. (Now folks, all those who've been reading this blog regularly, this is the reason why you come here. I don't just write about random happenings in the daily life of an ordinary guy; at times, I also help people.)
All right, all right. Before you folks decide to kill me for acting high-n-mighty over nothing, let me get on with the post.
Have you spotted one of these around your home, your work place or your shopping mall?
(B-school bibliography writing instincts take over... photo courtesy straylight6)
And by 'one of these', I meant a glass elevator. With the number of eye-catching and glittery malls opening up around, the chances are that you've already stepped into one of these and that it isn't gonna be long before you step into one again.
Well...... WATCH OUT !!!!!
These glass elevators, sexy though they are, can be dangerous. As Banana Pen points out, there's this person in her office building who walked through the lift-doors of one of these glass elevators and didn't realise that the elevator wasn't there !!! Thankfully, he was only on the second floor, and hence, survived the fall with just a broken leg.
So, the message for the evening, ladies & gentlemen, is pretty clear: Mind your step when walking into an elevator. You might just save your life. And hey, be all the more careful when you're talking on the cell-phone and about to enter the lift, being absent minded and jumping down the elevator-shaft doesn't help. Ask Joey about how Dr. Drake Ramoray died !!!
Had an hour long talk last night on the phone with an old friend. In fact, he's one of those people who I don't speak to for, say, a month. And then, the day we talk, we try to catch up on everything that has been going on in the other person's life and hence, the discussion always extends beyond an hour.
Now, owing to the Business Law lecture yesterday morning at 11, I had to wake up after a very short sleep (yeah... I slept at 7 in the morning and woke up at 10:30). And despite this, I was feeling pretty ok and not drowsy at all, although the cuppa of tea at the mess helped greatly.
However, late last night, after the phone call, I just couldn't sleep. I don't know what it was that kept me up, but although I felt tired and drained, I just kept sitting in front of my laptop in my darkened hostel room. This was around 3 or so in the morning, so the noises of the hostel were already quietened and all that I could hear was the silent whirring of the fan. And for some reason, I kept staring at my desktop, which for about the last 2 weeks, looks like this:
I kept staring at the picture of Kali Ma (the photograph is a capture of the deity at Kalighat Temple, Calcutta) and wondering what the purpose of life was. Somehow, I felt that I was just wandering around life aimlessly, not knowing what exactly I wanted. To quote myself from a chat that I had with a close friend a few days back, "most of us are like rudderless boats rocking to the waves in the ocean of life...". (Recall Abhinav's post.) What exactly was my mission in life? The biggest trouble was that continuing with life without answering this all-important question seemed useless. Unfortunately, I don't have the time that a seer has, neither do I have the courage to give up all worldly pursuits and follow a philosophical pursuit of questions that a seer does.
I was then reminded of The Verve's song, "Bittersweet Symphony" (needless to mention, have already downloaded the song and heard it about 10 times back-to-back). Somewhere, the lyrics expressed the turmoil within...
"Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life Try to make ends meet You're a slave to money then you die...
No change, I can change I can change, I can change But I'm here in my mold I am here in my mold But I'm a million different people from one day to the next I can't change my mold No, no, no, no, no"
[P.S. To all my dear well-wishers: Please don't worry, I'm not terribly upset or worried about anything. It's just that I'm thoughtful. The usual. ;) ]
Here's what I'd scribbled at the back of my notebook. For some reason, I had been unable to complete the note.
"Thought is but like a child; if you allow it to be free and pursue whatever it wishes to, there is no knowing where the child shall finally await your attention, not to mention the wildly exciting path that it has taken to reach there. However, throw a toy or some other subject of interest for the child, and you can be certain that the..."
The reason why films are magical is because they have the potential, at times, to inspire people. How many times have you felt charged up just because of the dialogues that were extremely well written. Of course, you also need an actor competent enough to say the lines with heart and emotion.
One such American film series was the Rocky series. The sixth and final installment of the series, 'Rocky Balboa', has one such dialogue which is just beautiful.
Rocky gives his son some fatherly advice on success, and then repeats these lines to himself in the final fight after taking a brutal punch from his opponent.
"Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done. Now, if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hit, and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you are because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain't you. You're better than that! "
Well, let's just put things in context first and then let's take it from there. I was chatting with a friend in the evening about how a few people we knew were behaving foolishly. Here's the last bit of the transcript:
me: i don't understand, how can ppl blindfold themselves... both X and Y.... ~shakes his head~
(friend): guyz r silly~shrugs~ me: no.. they aren't...some guys just CHOOSE to be silly...:((
Well, not EXACTLY a great revelation; but I just felt that more often than not, we KNOW what the correct thing to do is... It's just that the desire to do what is wrong is so tempting that we cannot tear ourselves away from it.
You know what the best part about having a friend is?
When you know you screwed up, just walk up to your friend, and with an honest heart tell them that you were a jerk, that you're thoroughly and extremely sorry and promise to learn from your mistake and never repeat it.
At times, it can be difficult to take the first step towards your friend, given the dinosaur-sized egos that humans normally have; but, just take in a deep breath and let go.
If your friend truly does understand you, they'll know that you mean every word of your apology. And that is the greatest test of your friendship; you having the courage to apologise, and them having the strength and purity to forgive.
Yesterday was a ROTTEN, ROTTEN day for more than one reason and I would like to just hit the 'Delete' button on it. (Make that 'Shift+Delete' !!) Today threatened to head in a similar direction, but then, things got better as the day wore on. A thought, however, lingered and though sad, the truth in it kept coming back to me.
The thought that haunted me was this: Most of the times, almost amusingly, the most painful decisions of your life are the ones which are correct.
I went to meet my Maasi and her daughter today. Both of them live in Rajkot and come down to Ahmedabad to meet my 'bhanja' (err...well, technically he's my 'bhanja', but he's already a cardiologist and I'm still wondering where and when I'll get my MBA degree... thank the older generation of parents who believed in a long line of children... my mom was the youngest of five sisters!).
During the two hours I spent with them, we recalled how a few year's back Maasi had unexpectedly landed up at our house in Calcutta at 8 in the morning! I remember both Mom and Dad were pleasantly surprised at her having called on us. But Maasi being Maasi, she was there on a mission. She quickly explained to Mom how she had, on an almost impromptu decision, left home with a group of her friends for a 'yatra', and had arrived in Calcutta without a place to stay in. She asked Mom if Dad could help.
Dad called up a few places he knew, and fortunately, a local dharamshala (which would meet the budget of the elderly group of people Maasi was travelling with) said that they could accommodate them, but not before the evening. 'No problem', Maasi said. And the next thing you knew, the bus-full of people were invited to our building terrace to 'prepare' food. Yes, that's right, people... they were actually carrying their 'mini kitchens' with them and prepared their own food on our terrace. I remember Mom and Dad watching with a rather amused smile as the elderly people went about with the energy of a couple of young boy-scouts on a camping routine.
You can imagine the amount of fun we all had that day when I tell you that I can recall this story after a good 5 years or so have passed. My parents still recall with fondness the happy feeling of helping the 'shraddhalus' on that day.
Now the reason why I'm putting this up here is because I feel that the most memorable outings of your life are going to be the ones that were unplanned. Sure it makes good sense to go on a holiday having everything planned and pre-decided. But at times, it's fun to just listen to the instinct, drop all work and head out. The novelty of it all, the kick that you get from the adventurous nature of the trip, the idea of the unexpected exciting sight that lies beyond the next corner is worth the little trouble that you must go through. And hey, it's fun !!!
Here are the top 10 songs that I listen to. As you can see, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell from 'Casino Royale' is at the top with the play count at 73. The next most popular track is "The Godfather - Waltz" with only 35 counts.
I don't know what it is about "You Know...", but I just have to listen to it a minimum of 5 times after I've heard it once. My favorite part?? The following -
"Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you The odds will betray you And I will replace you You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you It longs to kill you Are you willing to die?
The coldest blood runs through my veins You know my name"
Well, what more could one want. A lazy Sunday afternoon, which slowly, with overhanging clouds turns into a pleasant evening, bringing along with itself the first sweet smell of spring. Add to that a late lunch (plus a kettle full of tea) with close friends, and you have the perfect setting for a wonderful day.
'Nirma thali' at the next-door 'rajvadu' restaurant: Rs. 55
A kettle of tea: Rs. 18
Carefree Sunday afternoon, with A. R. Rehman singing 'Tere Bina' on iTunes: Priceless
Day before yesterday, I went to see 'Eklavya'. And contrary to what appears to be the popular opinion, I loved the film. The only review that echoed what I felt after seeing the film was this.
The film is definitely not for the masses, who may go rushing into the cinema halls drawn by the names of Vidhu Vinod Chopra, Amitabh Bachchan, Saif Ali Khan and Sanjay Dutt (and Vidya Balan, of course).
The cinematography of S Natarajan Subramaniam is, in one word, brilliant. The screen is resplendent in the royal colours of Rajasthan and the film is a visual treat. The scene just before the interval, where all that is visible is the dark silhouette of a dying Rana breathing his last in the arms of a royal bodyguard, with the sun setting symbolically in the background and throwing its last rays of glorious orange sunshine on the royal fort, is a classic...It leaves a deep impact as the lights of the cinema-hall slowly come to life.
The editing, by Raviranjan Maitra, is fantastic. Not one scene seems to be out of line. Scenes which apparently have very little or nothing to do with the story, come back later with a sweet after-effect; be it the explanation of what the young rajkumar was punished for early in the movie or the scarf that the maharani accidentally drops from the fort ramparts. Kudos to both, Raviranjan Maitra and Vidhu Vinod Chopra, for such crisp editing.
Amitabh Bachchan is par excellence. Not once do you see the typical expressions that you might associate with the Bachchan of Karan Johar films. Amitabh gets into the skin of the character and one is convinced that he indeed is Eklavya, an aging bodyguard who must guard not only the occupants of the palace but also their deepest secrets. Watch out for the scene when Eklavya is asked, nay, ordered to leave the fort and go back to his village. Bachchan is what he is because what he does in the scene; he emotes pain and shock without uttering a single syllable.
Saif Ali Khan was powerful in essaying his role of the prince. In a film where he could've easily been overshadowed by Bachchan's performance, all credits to him for putting in a memorable portrayal. This is the third time after the eponymous 'Being Cyrus' and Langda Tyagi of 'Omkara' that I realised that there is more to him than just the actor with a wonderful comic timing (be it Sameer of 'Dil Chahta Hai' or Karan Kapoor of 'Hum Tum').
Boman Irani shows why people say his best performance was not as 'J Dot Asthana' of 'Munna Bhai MBBS' but as the 75 year old Dhunjisha Batliwala in Rahul Da Cunha's play 'I'm not Bajirao'. Vidya Balan brings grace and, ahem, sexual chemistry to the film. Sanjay Dutt with his portrayal of the rustic DSP adds the much-needed humour from time to time. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Shergill do well in their short roles.
And finally, the best part of the film, the story. The film, while harking back to the legend of Eklavya from The Mahabharata, keeps asking questions about 'dharma' and right and wrong. The film also offers an interesting answer in the form of the definition which the grand old man of The Mahabharata, Bhishma, gives for 'dharma'. Then again, the film provides good food-for-thought with issues such as 'the young son helping an aging father' and 'a son's duty towards both, his foster and biological parents'.
Armed with this script, a play would perhaps have been much, much more powerful. I was also reminded of a play titled 'Durgesh Nandan' (Son of the Fort) that I had seen many years ago in Calcutta.
Okay, perhaps there's just one other review that I agree with. And what strikes me the most about this review by the New York Times is that this film 'has a heart for the classics'.
Vidhu Vinod Chopra, take a bow.
My ratings: 4.5 out of 5 stars
[Okay, okay... I give in, but this was a review that I found after writing the post. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Subhash K. Jha's review.]
Woke up at 11 today too. ~sighs~ When was the last time I got up early? (Only 2 days back, but that sounds like ages ago.)
Had two lectures of New Venture Creation (NVC) followed by two lectures of Retail Management. NVC was fun, in the usual manner. If I would have had my way, I would re-name these classes as 'Dream Sessions'. Don't get me wrong, it isn't that what the professor teaches is so out-of-this world that it lulls you to sleep, just that I day-dream of how new ventures take their businesses to the corporate level. The strategies that they use, the myriad of options that they have and the choices that they must make. Network models, promising start-ups, venture-backed start-ups, marginal start-ups... they're not just words which random research scholars have typed into their word-processing software; they're live organisations, humming with the combined heart-beat of all the stakeholders of the firm.
Ok, I hereby conclude that I'm a "romantic-academic" (Eureka!! Have I just invented a term for the English language?) at heart !
There are two things that I must mention about these NVC classes before I move on to another topic (actually, make that 3!!).
1. I was surprised by a professor saying the following words, "If an individual wants to take his fledgling organisation to the corporate level, he must start with a very simple step: set audacious goals." Really? Is it actually that simple?? That humble goal setting process???
2. Sir sprung another surprise when he said this course wasn't something that we would forget about once our MBA would get over and we get on our with our jobs; the NVC spiral of articles and research papers isn't something that we'll be dusting off shelves in say, 5 years time, when (and if) we decide to start our own ventures. According to him, he is arming us with enough research materials and (he hopes) an inquisitive mind to study not only the organisation that we would be working in but also all forms of businesses that we encounter in our daily lives. Hmm... what say, do you see the makings of a Starbucks in your neighbourhood 'chai-waala'?
3. Speaking of 'chai-waala', there is no dearth of chai-waalas, maska-bun waalas, small-time coffee-shop owners that we discuss in class. The only way the class becomes interesting and lively is by the impromptu and passionate speeches that the students start making when they cite examples of people they personally know who started out small time and eventually made it big. And, typically, Sir springs to the black-board and starts drawing either a matrix or a graph to (to quote Sir) "try and see if we can have some idea about how the person was successful". (Trust me, nothing sounds as intellectual as those words when said by a greying Bengali prof. who knows his stuff).
Just as I was wondering whether I've taken my MBA at least a year or two earlier, Sir sprung another surprise. He said, "Your real MBA starts once you walk out of this institute. Here, we only provide you the tools and some basic knowledge, the real learning starts when you apply this knowledge to the uncertainties of the world outside." Cool ! :)
Moving over to the Retail Marketing classes, I actually kept Sir back after class to discuss Apple Stores with him. I've become an Apple fan of late, and was wondering where in India do I have to go to see (and someday, hopefully, buy) a MacBook. I had thought that with the booming economy and the number of people looking to buying a laptop, India would've been a sure-shot target. When I went to the Apple website, however, I found that the closest address for an Apple Store is in Singapore. :(
Sir said that he'd already spotted a shop in Forum Mall, Bangalore where they have the authorised dealership of Apple products. [My friend Abhinav also told me to check out the Himalaya Mall in Ahmedabad where, apparently, there's another dealer.] Not satisfied with 'authorised dealerships', I asked Sir how long would it be before we could expect an Apple Store. "Any time now." And what had kept them waiting for so long? "You must please appreciate the FDI norms that the Govt. keeps commenting on." And the destination would be?? Mumbai? Bangalore? "Of course Bangalore, no doubt about it. But you never know, even Hyderabad is picking up quickly."
Hmm..
Had worn my India t-shirt all day long, and thank God the guys won at Goa.
Post dinner at Madhurya (with Sam and Basanti), have been working on the Capstone project. Hope we rock tomorrow.
I've been hibernating from blogosphere. But tell you what, it's good. It has meant a lot of quality time alone, and means that I've had time to introspect and chart out a road-map for the future.
I have started blogging again. It is a blog where I review the books that I read. Two reasons why I had to do this. One, I love the idea of keeping a track of the books that I read. Two, the itch to write was just too much to ignore. So, those of you who think I might be reading some interesting books and would do justice to reviewing them, click here.
As for blogging about my thoughts and life in general, I have been debating with myself over and over again (then again, I'm a Libran, and this constant attempt at balancing of scales is always expected). Let's see whether I do actually blog again. Till then, namaskar. :)
