212. People and their Hero

We, the People need heroes. The word hero includes heroines – role model, idol.  

Whatever we might do when real life situation demands, ideally we like to worship a hero. That gives us weird satisfaction of being secure, of being worthy followers.

The more heroes:  the better.

In case there are more heroes, we easily establish hierarchy amongst the existing heroes – to each one his/her own is our principle. We fight on points like ‘whose hero is better’?

Mind you: “mine is always the best”

We can present arguments in favor of our hero and go to any length to criticize the non-hero.

We the People can make heroes and We the People are capable of dumping heroes. We the People are powerful than Government, Bureaucracy, Judiciary and Media imagines; or would like to imagine.

If there are no real life heroes, we take on cricketers, film stars, political leader, whosoever is available; even we choose our boss - we manage our hero worship hunger by compromising with our values.

We like heroes who are simple. We like heroes who are poor. We like heroes who are naïve. We like heroes who do not have power. We like heroes who give us a chance to shout slogans, to be on the roads with candles, to clap, to laugh, to cry, to do some kind of activity which we had hardly done in personal life. We like heroes who awaken sense of being part of ‘history making epoch’ in our life – because otherwise there is nothing exciting in our life.

We don’t like our hero to be criticized. We forget that others too have right to express, howsoever different that opinion might be. But we tend to call them traitors, we doubt their intentions, we say that they are trying to break our unity.

It is always interesting to throw stones on others. After all we have chosen them as our representatives, so we have every right to thrown stones and de-throne them. Don’t ask us why we were not aware of their weaknesses; we are emotional people and we believe a charismatic leader with the hope that s/he would make everything easy for us.

We like to be part of a process which changes others, which threatens others. There is no other joy than watching a powerful person wilt against higher power.

Now don’t ask questions like - what about my responsibility? What about changes in my life? What if tomorrow my hero invites everyone to take an oath?

For example, if my hero asks me to:

1.   Never bribe a traffic cop when my two /four wheeler is picked up from a non-parking area.

2.   Pay full taxes without hiding any income.

3.   Not to pay anyone extra amount to get train ticket, movie ticket, passport, job, and berth in train journey etc.

4.   Neither ask for nor give dowry.

5.  Not pay donation for my child’s education, if that means my child would study in poor municipal corporation school, so it be then.

6.   Not join any tuition or coaching classes - because this is another way of spoiling education system.

7.   Not approach any politician to help me from punishment for breaking laws.

8.  Not accept money for voting a particular candidate or not voting in any elections – even my residential society elections.

9.   Not use office telephone for my personal calls/ I will not use office computer for personal work like searching new job or playing games.

10.  …………………

11.  ……………………….

I am sure, the moment our hero starts putting such demands; we will turn and find another hero.

There is no dearth of heroes around.

"We the People" are Powerful!

204. Void

Readers of this blog know that I have a poor memory. As is my habit, I must have shared this fact with you a number of times. I hardly worry about poor memory – but on some occasions it creates embarrassing situation for me. Today was one of those days.

Today I started early for office. I had to prepare for a meeting and in the evening I was planning to leave early. Taking advantage of ‘flexi-time’ facility, I took Metro early than my usual time. I had a different crowd around me. Everyday though I do not have conversations with my co-passengers, we do exchange smiles. If someone is in good mood, she would ask me where I was last week and then I share travel experiences with her. Today too, I was taking Metro after a gap of couple of weeks. But as I mentioned, this was not my usual time, so there was no possibility of meeting someone.

I entered Metro and found a vacant seat. The route I take is underground, so there is nothing to watch through the window. As the journey takes hardly 20 minutes, I generally don’t read book in the Metro. I close eyes and just relax – that is what I was planning to do even today.

Suddenly a young woman sitting opposite to me said “Hello” and smiled. I too smiled spontaneously, but I did not reply. I realized that I did not know this woman. I assumed that she must have addressed to some other woman. So, I kept quiet. Smiling to strangers is alright, even I talk to strangers, but today I did not want and so kept quiet.

I noticed that none of the women sitting either to my left or right spoke to that young women. I was curious. Of course, it was happening in an instant – I am take much longer time to write it; even your are taking more time to read it. I was looking at that women but did not respond to her. Suddenly she showed a feeling of insult and stopped smiling. Her eyes showed frustration and anger. She stopped looking at me, and adjusted her earphone for music on mobile handset. It was clear from her body language that she was not comfortable.

By that time, I too wasn’t comfortable. Part of my brain was trying to find out ‘whether I know this woman and if yes, where have we met.’ The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I have met this young woman earlier. In knew her face, her eyes, her voice … I was sure that the women had said “hello” to me and to none else.

So, I wanted to initiate dialogue with her and started looking at her. But now the woman was not at all looking at me. As if the one-two feet distance between us has suddenly become one or two kilometers. For a moment, I thought of leaving my seat, approaching her and talking to her. But I noticed that the woman was completely ignoring me. That created another wave of doubt. Was she really addressing me or someone else?

I kept on staring at the woman and with every passing moment, I was sure that I knew this girl. She must have been aware of my gaze, because next moment she looked at me. I was fully ready for that moment, and I asked, “Do you everyday catch the same Metro?”

She nodded – indicating ‘no’. I said, “I am surprised that we have never met on the Metro.”

Now she was completely relaxed and gave a big smile. I said again, “How is it that we have never met on the Metro? I travel everyday around the same time.”

She explained about car servicing and said, “Are you coming to Chanakypuri office today? We have to gate down at Race Course station.”

Listening to her, it dawned upon me that this young woman was none else but Shehanaz.

I was ashamed of myself.

I know Shehanaz for more than a year now; I have met her at least 25 times during the year. At for hundred times I had tele-conversations with her. She is receptionist –cum –telephone operator in one of my offices.

/

Shehanaz is a good natured woman. She is efficient and proactive. Her work is always of a good quality. She has offered me help on many occasions. Whenever I visit Chanakypuri office, Shehanaz is always kind to me. She always asks about my wellbeing, offers me coffee and helps me to sort out my work in that office. What I have observed that Shehanaz is good with everybody around. She is a kind soul. I have a very good opinion about Shehanaz and I have written good words about her to her seniors.

I speak to Shehanaz. We hardly get five minutes. Shehanaz is now in good spirit and she is smiling. Metro arrives at Race Course. Shehanaz gets down. Doors close. Shehanaz moves away but turns back and smiles at me, waves her hand. I too smile and wave back.

However, I am engrossed in thought. Why did not I recognize Shehanaz immediately? If I meet someone after a long gap or someone whom I hardly know and like – I can understand poor memory. But I like Shehanaz and I keep on meeting her regularly – still I failed to recognize her.

It is possible that as I had never met Shehanaz on the Metro, I least expected her to meet here. Well, if I was surprised, it would have been natural – but I failed to recognize her cannot be justified in any manner. Generally we picture people in a given set up – it is hard to recognize postman in civil dress and without postbag; or a vegetable vendor at a movie theater. So, maybe meeting Shehanaz here was not at all expected by me.

Am I equating human being with his/her work? Am I looking at them as machines and not as human beings? Am I too selfish or insensitive to existence of others? Am I always lost in my own world? Am I getting disconnected from the reality around me?

Life has its own speed. There are always new happenings in life, so the old ones are easily left behind. But is it just a game for me – to replace old memories by new? Am I looking at life as a game? What will it lead to me? Until I get old, new persons, incidents, memories will keep on entering into my life – so I can afford to forget the past – persons, incidents, memories and what not. Because I am still active, my senses are working alright, I can play this game; as if it the only one of any significance.

What will happen if I get long life? By law of nature, my senses will become weak; a time will come when nothing new would be added to my life. When the inflow of new persons, incidents, memories etc. stops (and it will stop one day); what will I remember? By that time past will be dead and there will be hardly exciting ‘present’. If I remember something from the past, will that past have any place for me? Will those people, incidents, memories of the past mean anything to me? Will there be only a vacuum – where there will be no past and there will be no present. What will I do then? With the Mind, with the Body and with the Ego?  

Will I be able to live happily in that void? 

**

196. Translators

Some jobs needs more than what they mean.
Look at the translators; for example.
Apparently it is about a set of skills but it is also about what kind of human being you are.

People have different ideas - not  only about others but also about themselves.
The personality exhibits salient features more in certain professions.
And I have come to believe that "translation" is one such profession.

Being born and brought up and working in a multi-lingual society like India has its advantages. However it also means that most of the times I have to depend on translators. I have done "translation" tasks a number of times and know how difficult it is. I keep on wondering why translators think that 'knowing two languages makes them automatically eligible for the job of translation."

Once I had a translator who had opinion on each and everything under the sky. Each time he would translate very briefly what other person had said and elaborate on how he disagreed with that opinion. I had hard time in separating his opinions and the opinions of the people. I had to assure him that I would interview him later and at length.

There was another translator who made it look so easy for himself. The tribal women spoke for about ten minutes and he translated it in one minute. When I protested that the woman had spoken many points, he shrugged shoulders and bravely said that he was helping me by filtering the talk. I had to remind him that it was for these tribal women that I had come so far.

Once I was asking few questions and the translator kept on answering those without consulting local people. When I reminded her that I needed to get those answers from local communities, she simple said, "Oh! But I know those answers. What is there to ask? In fact you should be thankful that I am saving lot of your time."

One translator always forgot to translate the response. After listening to the response, she would keep on asking her own questions (totally irrelevant and misleading the whole process) until my interference.

Once I provided an example of how the lack of quality assurance destroyed the enterprise of one Self Help Group of women. The idea was that the participants should pay more attention to quality assurance. What I spoke for five minutes, the translator told them in one sentence. I asked  what he had told them. He had plainly told that "don't go into this enterprise, you will fail."

Do you see a pattern? Translation is not only about skills, they are highly important. It is also about what kind of person you are. Are you ready to hide yourself? Are you ready to forget your likes and dislikes for a little time? Are you ready to treat yourself insignificant in the whole process? Are you ready to communicate what you have been told without adding spice in it? Are you ready to help others? Are you willing to learn?

We need good translators; not only linguistic translators but also those who can translate ideas into actions.
For that one needs to treat her/himself as an instrument - are we ready for that?

I look back at my experience and realize that half of the work gets spoiled due to bad translators!
Both idea-action translators and language translators.

185. Uncertainty

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 34; the thirty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "Of-Course, I'm insane"

“Why you did not show me the answer even when the teacher was busy in conversation with the other teacher? I needed your help and I thought you are my friend,” the boy is fuming.

“How could I show you the answer? It is not good to copy during exams,” the calm looking boy answers.

“You are insane, man!” the aggrieved friend says.

The boy smiles. He adds confidently, “No, I am not insane.”

*****

“Why did you not appeal?” the Captain is upset.

“Oh! But he was not out, the ball was leaving the off stump, I know,” the bowler is all smiles.  

“We all were appealing, but since you did not appeal….”the Captain does not know what to say. He adds sarcastically, “You are insane, man!!”

“No, I am not insane…” the bowler is in tears.

*****

“Let us have a cigarette” one of the boys says.

“Just smoking? I thought we are going to celebrate in an adult manner,” other adds.

“Ok, you continue with your celebrations, I am leaving,” third boy says.

“How can you leave? We are celebrating your success,” the first boy is really surprised.

“But I can’t celebrate by smoking and drinking…” third boy.

“Come on yaar! We are not school children. You are selected by one of the best IT companies in the world and so we are celebrating,” another one says.

“Look, even the girls want to smoke and drink  ...” another one. The girls immediately join the chorus.

“No, long back I promised my grandma that I would never smoke and drink,” the boy is indeed adamant.

“You are insane, man!” exclaim his friends.

“Maybe, I am insane …” the boy is feeling little guilty for spoiling the fun of his friends.

*****

“Oh! Where is our bike?” the girl is anxious.

“It was parked in ‘No parking zone’. So the police have taken it away,” the shopkeeper informs. “Look,” he adds, “there is the traffic police van, go and get your bike before it is taken away.”

“Come on,” the girls says.

“Give him hundred rupees,” the girl asks.

“Will you give me a receipt?” the boy asks the police.

The police gets angry. “Come to police station, pay three hundred rupees, get you receipt and pick your bike,” he answers.

“Don’t be a miser. You earn loads of money,” the girl shouts.

“The question is not about money but…” the boy tries to explain.

“Come on yaar, leave it, I will pay,” the girl hurries through her purse.

“No, I won’t take the bike by paying bribe,” the boy is adamant.

“You are insane, Man!!” the girl’s anger is beyond bounds.

He keeps quiet.

*****

“What are your expectations?” uncle asks.

“What expectations?” he is really puzzled.

“Oh! Nothing really. Whatever you want to give to your daughter, you should give. We don’t demand anything, you know what your daughter needs and what is best for her….” One of the uncles says.

Everybody smiles, nods.

“Are you talking about dowry? Then my answer is NO…” the boy’s voice is stern.

“Come on, who is talking about dowry? You don’t understand anything. For God’s sake, keep quiet,” one of the aunties orders him loudly.

“Calm down young man! No, we are certainly not talking about dowry. …” the man sitting next to uncle explains.

“If you are talking about any 'give and take' in the marriage, I will not marry…” declares the boy.

“You are insane, Man!” his cousin remarks.

“No, I am not insane. You all are…” the boy says and storms out of the room.

*****

“You are insane, Man” his colleague says.

*****

“You are insane...” the officer says.

*****

“You are insane, “the shopkeeper says.

*****

“You are insane,” the corporator says.

*****

“You are insane,” the headmaster of his son’s school says.

*****

“I want a mobile, dad,” his son demands.

He looks at his ten year old son.

“You are still young,” he says.

“But everyone in my class carries a mobile. It is only you who is not allowing me to have a handset. If you don’t give me a mobile, I will not go to school,” his son threatens.

“It won’t work my boy. You don’t need mobile, that is it,” he firmly says.

“Don’t be a miser. And don’t tell me about your values. We have to live according to the norms set by the world around,” his wife is trying to argue.

He ignores the demands, the pleading, and the accusation of neglect.

“You are completely insane Dad,” his son shouts through his tears and runs away.

“Of course, I am insane...” he shouts back.

He weeps silently.

He has not been able to create a space for himself in this world.

Is he insane? Or the world around is insane?

He is not sure.

The uncertainty has always baffled him. And it continues to do so.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 29

181. Categories

When I am getting out of Delhi Metro Station(s), I am interested in observing people's choice(s).

There are three choices - to take a lift, an escalator or staircase. Obviously, this is before or after Metro travel!

It is understood that those people who are either ill, very old or having luggage should use the lift. 

Rest of the commuters have two options - staircase and escalator. Most of the Metro Stations do not have the facility of escalators for climbing down - they are only for climbing up. So, I am mainly discussing the tendencies exhibited during Upward Mobility! 

Every time I see some people rushing to lift. Even for climbing down they want to use the lift. They are not always old or ill or do not carry luggage. However, they are obsessed with 'saving time' and always want to take the fastest route. I put these people in category one. Sometimes I wonder whether these people know only one way of living, I doubt whether they are flexible and I wonder how they would respond to life without electricity. 

There are some people who would always take staircase. " Use Stairs to Stay Fit" declares Delhi Metro. Some people do take this opportunity to exercise a bit and stay fit. They are least affected physically as well as psychologically, when the escalator is not working. They are determined and they carry on with their mission without bothering about the external situation. I am not sure how many staircases they climb up every day. These are category two people for me. They are health conscious and certainly they can adjust to the situation in a much better way than the category one people. But in a way, they are like category one people! They also have a fixed way of thinking - only staircase!! 

The third category of people always try to use escalators. They are kind of people who use technology (or luxury) when available. But if the escalator is not working, they would calmly climb up the staircase. They would say : alright, once in a while it is good.  These people have choices and initially they try to make easy choices. However, if easy choice is not available, they do not mind the hard way. They could be easily mixed into category one and category two - it is hard to identify at a glance.

Fourth category is more spontaneous. Depending on their mood or situation, they decide what to choose. Sometimes they would just run on the staircase and some other time they would lazily wait for the lift. They don't have any fixed route - they enjoy the variety and for them the variety comes from within.  I am a regular Metro traveler for two years and know some of the faces who sometimes take escalator and sometimes staircase. I like their unpredictable ways of choosing options. Wherever they go, I am sure these people would always create fun for themselves - by being flexible.

And I know there are many more categories.

One category who observes, thinks, shares.
Another category who never bothers.
Another one who does not like being categorized like this.

We belong to either of these categories - maybe we are in different categories for different things in life. But certainly our behaviors create pattern giving glimpses into inner mind.
Of course, sometimes we could be fooled , we could be completely wrong.
However, the process of categorization keeps on happening.
With knowledge or without knowledge.

How much of it is conditioning and how much of it is choice?
I do not know. 

180. Game

"How was the marriage ceremony?" the moment I stepped in, Sudhir's grandmother asked.

I was little surprised at that question. Because not only Sudhir's grandma did not know the bride and the groom (and their families), she also did not know me well enough to ask this question. 

Sudhir is my friend's - Nirmala's - husband. I was in the town to attend one marriage - which I could not afford to avoid due to my close relations with both the families involved in the marriage. I had taken this opportunity to stay with Nirmala and to chat with her. 

"Oh, it was good," I answered grandma with a smile and immediately switched the topic. Grandma naturally had more questions to ask but my reluctance was visible to her too. Fortunately at that moment Sudhir came. 

"How was the marriage ceremony?" Sudhir asked. Though Nirmala was my close friend, I had hardly met Sudhir. We knew each other mostly through Nirmala. So I glanced curiously at Sudhir. I get tired of entertaining people in a meaningless way. So, I completely ignored Sudhir's question and said, "Sudhir, did you see the news of this new scam?" (That was equally meaningless question!).

Sudhir smiled clearly showing his understanding of my thought processes. He pushed the easy-chair in front of me and said, "Now just relax. I will bring you a cup of coffee. Nima would be joining us any moment."

And Nirmala came. Surprisingly, she too asked the same question: "How was the marriage ceremony?" 

That was it. "Nima, the marriage ceremony was like any other normal marriage ceremony. The bride and the groom put garlands, the Pandits and some of the old ladies sang mantras, people queued for lunch, the video cameraman's presence was overwhelming .... Is it not that each marriage ceremony is the same except for the changes in few details? One glance at the invitation cards tells you what to expect!!" 

Nirmala must have sensed boredom in my voice. After a moment's pause, she said, "Well, there are certain things which are beyond all this obvious. I know you don't like to attend these ceremonies but you attend because you don't want to hurt people's beliefs. You also look at this opportunity to meet many people. So when I asked, 'how was the marriage ceremony?' what I wanted to ask was - 'Did you meet any other friends? Did you enjoy the gathering?' Now that you answered with such irritation only shows that your time was not well spent."

In spite of my irritation I smiled. That is the specialty of Nima. She always speaks in such terms that I can understand. 

I turned to Sudhir. "Sorry, Sudhir, and what did you really want to know?"

Sudhir said, "Like Nima, I was also interested in knowing whether you enjoyed. Also I think we have similar views on  the give and take part, the show of wealth in these ceremonies and the meaningless rituals etc. I wanted to know your remarks on these aspects of the ceremony."

"And what was Grandma's intention?" I asked feeling little guilty.  

"Oh, being a lady from old generation, Grandma was naturally interested in knowing about ornaments, menu, rituals etc" Sudhir answered with smile. 

"Oh! Then why don't we ask directly what we want to ask? Why the mask of words? Is it not confusing that each one of you wanted different set of knowledge but used the same words?" I was talking to myself but spoke out aloud. 

Sudhir smiled again. He said, "How can we change language? Sometimes the direct questions sound very rude and undesirable. Instead of that why don't you take a challenge of interpreting the question in the right way? It all depends on the persons with whom you are conversing and your relationship with that person. We keep on using the same words, but each one has a different expectations from the same words, for each of us the hidden meaning of the words is different. It is a game of interpretation. One has to play it with interest and not get irritated. In reality everyone plays this game ...."

Same words, with different meaning, with different intentions, with different expectations. 

This seems to be an interesting and challenging game. 

**

179. Strangers in the Night

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 31; the thirty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Strangers in the Night'

I was being followed.

Constantly; continuously; without break; always.

I could sense IT.

Now that was bit funny.

I could not see who was following me, could not hear, could not touch, could not smell… still I could sense IT. The nameless, formless entity – It was difficult to elaborate IT to anybody. So, I chose never to talk to anybody about IT.

Who was IT? 

A Ghost? A God? One of my Ancestors?  My Conscience? My Instinct? And was it natural fear- born out of that instinct?

I did not know.

A stranger, I guess.

I named our pair, our co-existence as ‘Strangers in the Night’ only because I could never see who IT was. IT always remained a stranger to me. But the description of our relationship was not right. IT knew everything about me and I did not know anything about IT. Would IT name me as Stranger? No, I think not.

When did this start? I mean when did IT start following me? As far as I could remember, IT had always been there. I could never feel the absence of IT! IT had become inseparable part of me.

However, I was not frightened, – I mean not after certain time; in fact never except for the initial days. I got used to ITs’ presence. I accepted IT as part of my existence. Whatever I was doing – good, bad or ugly – IT never commented, never advised, never got angry, never irritated, never had a word with me.  When I did something good, I felt IT to be nearer and when I did behave badly, IT moved away from me a little further. This went on for years. I did not know what was achieved in the process - whether the stranger came nearer to me or moved away from me – I could not tell. IT was always at a handful distance and still away from my shadow. I could hardly affect it, leave controlling IT.I could never catch IT, could never understand IT.! I just kept on feeling IT. And sometimes I told myself that IT was just a hallucination – that was all.

When I was on the deathbed, I remembered the lines from MuNDaka Upanishad.

द्वा सुपर्णा सयुजा सखाया समानं वृक्षं परिषस्वजाते

तयोरन्य: पिप्पलं स्वाद्वत्त्यनश्वनन्यो अभिचाकशीति 

(तृतीय मुंडके प्रथम खंड – १)

(Two birds, united always and known by the same name, closely cling to the same tree. One of them eats the sweet fruit; the other looks on without eating.)

Then everything became clear to me.

We were strangers only because I was ignorant. We were inseparable because we were never two, we were always ONE.

When the realization dawns upon, there is no ignorance, there is no night and there are no strangers.

Everything is ONE.

Strange indeed, that I spent my whole life without understanding this simple truth.

Wish that for you there are no more Nights.

And no more Strangers in the Nights.

(Note: After reading the first four comments, I thought it better to add these two links. Those who want to know more are requested to go through those;
1. Upanishads
2. MunDaka Upanishad)

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: XX

176. Right Question

When I read the notice about a Panel Discussion, initially I just ignored it. 

Then I saw that RB was going to chair it, I noted down the date and the time. 

I respect RB though I do not know him personally. I had listened to him a couple of times and had liked his talks. So, I decided to go for it. 

And I could make it as was planned. 

Before the panel speakers started the presentation, RB announced that all questions would be taken up for discussion in the end. He appealed that all those who had questions to ask to panelists should write those on a piece of paper. the small pieces of paper were circulated. 

I was amazed to see a number of people from the audience writing enthusiastically and handing over the piece of paper to the volunteers. I was wondering how people can have so many questions to ask. It was bit ridiculous of me to think so as I too keep on asking many questions. The only difference is I ask questions to myself and they were asking it to others. Maybe, I am too egoistic to admit my ignorance. RB was going through all those questions that kept on coming to him. 

The panelists shared their ideas one by one. RB summarized the discussion. He was brilliant as usual and did a lot of value addition that the 'Chair' is supposed to do and by thanking everyone he declared 'end of the session'. 

The audience was stunned. One of the volunteers rushed to him and spoke something to him. I was sure and everybody else was sure that the volunteer must have reminded him of the questions people had asked. 

RB smiled. He nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to lost in some kind of thoughts. Then the usual peace returned to him and he spoke calmly. He said, " Thanks .... (abc) for reminding me about those questions. I have read all those questions. None of those was a question. I invited questions and not comments, not your ideas. However, all those were comments. I kindly request you to learn to ask Right Questions. That is very important when we are seeking answers sincerely."

There was complete silence. Those who had written questions must have been hurt with the gross insult. But everybody kept quiet. 

Asking the Right Questions!!

Well, that is what I need to learn.  

174. My Choice

I was visiting this particular city after a long time.

“How many years ago, did I last come here?” I asked myself.

Well, maybe five years ago, maybe seven; I did not even remember it.

So, I gave up that idea. If I don’t remember, then it is not important for me at that moment.

I suddenly remembered my friend. In all my earlier visits, this particular friend’s home was my contact and staying place in the city.

“For how long we have not communicated with each other?” I asked myself again and had no answer and so gave up that too.

I found the phone number of that friend in the contact list.

I was not comfortable in directly making a call. I was not connected and I know I cannot take for granted anything from anybody at anytime.

I texted a message on that number even when I did not know whether the number still existed or not.

“I am in your city today. We can meet if you wish.” I knew this was rather a cryptic message.

Five minutes passed away. Another ten minutes ran away. I was waiting for the reply and was anxious about what it would be.

After half an hour, I received a text message. It said, “I have lost contacts from my old handset. Whose number is this?”

I wrote my name, which on second thoughts I should not have.

If somebody who was your close friend once upon a time has lost not only you but even your contact information - the message is loud and clear.

You are lost – forever.

Why try to keep things which are not yours?

I smiled and then forgot everything about that friend.

But then afterwards I asked one more question to myself – “What is the difference between two of us?” Nothing; actually.

So I have no business to feel bad about how others treat me.

"They" have their choice and I have my choice.

172. Mind Games

On that day, I was traveling from Mumbai to Pune once again. During summer vacations it is difficult to travel on this route. Though there are innumerable options, they are all crowded. It is hard to book tickets in advance and even if you have 'reserved' seat, it is of no use is my experience. So, there is an inevitable discussion among the co-passengers on "vacation - crowd - railway reservation - corruption - railway management - government - increased population ..." and so on. Some respond to the situation coolly and some show their experience by saying something like "Oh! This crowd is nothing. Last year I was traveling to ...." 

We Indians like to discuss. The discussion does not end even if everybody agrees. The disagreement is generally on un-important points. These points vary according to the season and situation. On that particualr day everybody agreed that 'the summer is getting intolerable' -and on this the discussion continued. 

In my childhood the topic of summer had a short life. The summer was either mild or strong or severe. Now even kids talk in terms of temperatures like "Yesterday Pune was 39  (degree Celsius), our Mumbai is much cooler you know, it was only 34." The credit goes to 24X7 news channels as well internet. I never find news on TV channels interesting, but people refer to those news bites seriously in various discussions. 

Everybody was sweating during the journey. The price of cold-drinks was making poor parents sweat more. Then the discussion as expected turned towards 'water' and especially 'drinking water." People remembered how the delayed monsoon caused trouble last year and hoped that "this year the monsoon is on time."

The discussion continued. The train passed Kalyan station and then Karjat station. The train was on time. People were planning what they would do when they reach Pune. Outside, the Sun was blazing, the hills were barren and dry. Everybody was waiting for the end of the journey. 

When we reached around Monkey Hill, there was a sudden change in atmosphere. There was wild breeze and the sky was covered with black clouds. The blazing Sun had disappeared behind those clouds. There was the typical smell of earth when it rains .. and within moments we met stormy Rain.

I love rain. Even by its hope, I become happy and fresh. My mind becomes rain when it actually rains outside. 

I was happy. I looked at my co-passengers and was surprised!  Nobody was in a mood to welcome Rain. All windows were hurriedly shut down. The train lost its speed. It stopped for ten minutes in Khandala station and took twenty minutes to reach Lonvala from Khandala. Passengers were not comfortable and everybody was looking at his/her watch after every minute.

Slowly, people started complaining about the delay, about the railway management, about the rain. Someone said, "Why this rain had to come only now! It  could have come later!!" Others agreed. They continued the discussion on 'how untimely the rain always arrives". Some other even suggested that "why it does not rain only on agricultural and forest lands? Why do we people in cities need rain for?" The argument no doubt was unwise, foolish and disastrous. It clearly showed selfishness and lack of understanding and respect for Nature. However, nobody argued and it seemed to be that everybody was thinking on the similar lines. 

I found the change in response of the people around me rather funny. Why are we always dissatisfied with what we have? In summer, have we ever tried to exchange a smile with the Sun? In summer we complain about the heat, in winter we complain about the cold and in rainy seasons we complain about rain. Why do we do that? Why do we behave and respond like this? Why do we think that only a farmer could be happy with the arrival of rain? 

"I should get what I want" is not a very healthy attitude. 

And do we really know what we want? 

Are we aware that our wants, our desires, our demands keep on changing. 

Whatever we have, we are not happy with; and whatever we don't have, we always want. 

What kind of Mind Game(s) are we playing? 

Will it ever end? 

**

168. Trigger

Life has been too busy lately.

By ‘lately’ I mean for many years now.

Every morning I wake up with the thoughts and ideas of the work I have to carry on that day.

Every night I sleep with the experiences of the day and the life that I have planned for tomorrow.

This assumption that ‘I will wake up tomorrow and will be breathing and living after (say) 24 hours’  always amuses me.

However, I have spent most of my life with that assumption – taking life granted is integral part of me.

Sometimes I realize that this assumption has become a trap – assume, run, assume, run and assume again to run further and to assume again.  Not exactly never ending chain; it has an end but when that end would happen is completely unknown to me.

What will happen if I stop assuming about life?

Well, with all imagination – I can’t experience my death. After seeing so many dead bodies and experiencing loss of many friends, I know death in a way is very normal – it is pretty routine happening; innumerable people die every moment.  Nothing very significant is going to happen to me or to others after I die.  As I assume life, I assume death too. I see and experience death around. I technically know that I am not going to be here forever. But this thinking is all on ‘intellectual’ level; it no doubt creates wisdom and understanding – but it is still not an experience. It never will be – I fear sometimes.

Maybe if I stop running, would I find another aspect of this complicated truth?

I tried.

I stopped running for a while.

And I realized that desire, want, aspiration – none of them is the real trigger. It is not because of all this I live. It is actually the other way round. It is because of life desires happen. It is because of life, wants occur. It is because of life aspiration arises. It is because of life, I dream and breathe and run and think.  

Life is the real trigger and everything else is secondary.

The uncertainty of this trigger called life is the real pleasure. Nothing else really matters now as I have experienced this truth. 

167. That Last Night

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'That Last Night'.

I am busy with my computer when Bahadur enters my cabin.

“When did you come, Madam?” he asks.

“Oh, just now, a few minutes ago.” I answer without taking my eyes from the screen.

Then I realize that he is still standing there.

I look at him questioningly.

“I was at the reception and I did not see you,” he complains.

“Maybe I came in an invisibility cloak,” I joke but he does not smile.  He goes out reluctantly.

After five minutes, he returns with a cup of coffee.

“Madam, at what time did you leave yesterday?” Bahadur pretends to be casual but there is something funny about his question.

“Bahadur, you know better than me that we have a definite time to come in, but never for leaving the office“, I am getting little irritated. I have a report to complete and this guy is asking stupid questions early in the morning.  “Now, go away, I have to complete this document. Then I will answer all your questions,” I almost order him.

***

Fifteen more minutes and Kapil enters. “Madam, Sirjee is calling you.” He tells me. OMG, the boss is already here and I am still in the midst of the document. But no excuses! I will have to bargain for at least an hour.

“Savitri, Yes, where is the report?” boss asks without any formalities.

“Sir, just give me an hour. I am giving final touches to it.” I say politely.

Boss looks at me with surprise. “But you were to complete and email me the report last night.” He barks.

“Sorry Sir. Just 60 minutes and it will be perfect.” I add apologetically. I am the Project Leader, so he knows I am the best person to write this report. He nods and I start leaving.

“By the way, last evening why did you not pick up my calls?” he asks.

“Your calls?  Sir?” I am surprised.

“Why did you switch your cell phone off?” He looks sternly at me.

I pull out my cell phone from the pocket.

I am bit confused. How come my cell phone is switched off? I think fast.

“Sorry Sir, the Metro does not provide charging points and the battery was almost over, so I switched it off,” I am telling a complete lie. He too knows. He is asking about why it was switched off yesterday.  But he looks concerned.

“Are you telling me that you traveled by Metro today to reach office?” boss asks.

“Yes Sir, as usual,” I am happy with the change of topic.

“Have you lost your mind? Since yesterday evening, Delhi Metro is not running. There was a bomb blast at Rajiv Chauk station. Don’t tell me you don’t know that. If you want to tell a lie, at least be smart enough about it.” Now his rising temper is visible. I am clueless.

Raina, my colleague helps out, “Sir that blast was on Dwarka line. They have restored the Huda City Center line today morning. Savitri must have taken an auto from Central Secretariat.”

I am indeed thankful to Raina.

*****

I come back to my cabin and concentrate. The doubts can wait for a while; the report is the topmost priority now. I am good at focusing, so I complete the report and send it to the boss. On this final report the remaining 20% fund release will happen – so this report needs to be perfect. However, as I am working with this international funding agency for a decade, I know what they want and I have done it without any kind of exaggeration.

I press the bell and ask Bahadur for a cup of coffee. Now I can entertain his questions. In the mean time, I switch on the cell phone and see number of missed calls. It seems that all the people from A to Z in my contact list have called. I have to call back at least some of them But when did I switch off the cell phone and why? I also find it surprising that there is no call from Shaunak. 

With Bahadur, comes in Raina. Bahadur waits in the corner. Raina asks in a conspiracy tone, “By the way, how did you come to office today? You should have called me and I would have picked you up somewhere near your residence.”

“You know it, you told it to boss, and why are you asking me again?” I feel uneasy.

“To tell you the truth, not a single Metro line is yet restored, I said so to save you from wrath of boss.” He says. Is he joking? My head starts spinning.

Diya comes in – bubbling with enthusiasm as usual.

“Are you not well?” she asks.

“Why, I am fine. What makes you think so?” I am not at all polite with her though she is not at fault.

“No, your clothes are not ironed today. Oh, look, you are wearing the same set of clothes that you were wearing yesterday. Is something wrong with you?” She starts laughing initially and then sounds worried.

“Oh, just did not get time to iron it. But I had washed it yesterday evening.”  I say casually. I make out a story – that after bomb blast I took a cab; I was caught in traffic jam; the network was temporarily stopped by officials and I stayed with one of my friends. In the mean time the battery was down …

Neither Diya, nor Raina nor Bahadur are convinced. They exchange looks hoping that I have not noticed it.

They leave but I am sure the discussion continues outside.

*****

Is it all a dream and actually nothing of this sort has ever happened?  It is only that my office colleagues are playing a mischief with me? Let me check about the bomb blast first – whether it is right or not.

I open e-paper and the images tell the true story. The Metro as Raina mentioned is not yet running. I open my purse. My debit card, I card, entry pass, cash – everything is intact.

I make few calls. Everyone shouts at me for switching off mobile and not calling them. After the news of bomb blast, everyone is concerned about my safety and security. I repeat the story. They are angry but happy that I am safe. This continues for more than an hour.

The Tiffin lady (who delivers home cooked food to me) too calls. “Deedee, you did not come in the morning. Yesterday night too Bipin said that the house was locked so he brought the Tiffin back.” I explain again and ask her to send Tiffin today night.

Now I sigh. Something is absolutely wrong here.

When did I leave yesterday evening? Why don’t I remember anything about bomb blast? How did I reach home? If I did not go there, where was I the whole night? Why did I switch off my cell phone? Why did I not complete the report? Why I am wearing the same clothes? Why Bahadur could not see me coming in? if Metro is not running, how did I reach this office?

Questions after questions.

“Am I dead?” I ask myself.

No, it can’t be. My heart is beating, I have taken two cups of coffee since morning, I have done a quick report finalization job, I can breathe, I am anxious. If I am dead, I can’t be doing all these things.

Was I drugged? But then my body and mind both seem alright – no scratches. Did I sleep in the office itself and nobody noticed? But then I would have remembered that. And Bahadur always checks the whole office before locking.

Was I kidnapped by some aliens? That seems to be the only possibility – I say sarcastically to myself.

*****

Cell phone rings. I am surprised to receive a call from Avinash. He is Shaunak’s friend and Shaunak you must have guessed rightly is my husband. Why is Avinash calling instead of Shaunak and at this hour?

“Savitri, here is a good and a bad news for you. Which one you want first?” he asks. He seems to be in a good spirit.

“Where is Shaunak?” I ask.

“Don’t worry, he is absolutely fine. “ Avinash assures.

“Where is he? Is anything wrong with him?” I demand.

“Savitri, listen. Shaunak had a bad accident yesterday, must be around 7.00 PM India time when it happened….”

“What?” I shout before he completes.

“But nothing to worry. He is completely out of danger now. I called you because he keeps on telling me a funny thing and he wants me to tell you that immediately.” Avinash sounds little confused.

“And what is it?” I wait.

“Well, it sounds weird. But Shaunak keeps on repeating that you saved his life. It was you who fought and brought him back from the clutches of Death.”

I smile.

Now I understand the mystery of that last night.

No time to think about it. Maybe I will be able to put the pieces together when I meet Shaunak. 

However, that will come later. Now  I will take the first available flight and see Shaunak. This is my top priority today night . How would I explain that last night to the world, will always remain a problem. 

****

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166. Multi-Tasking

“What are you reading now?” my friend asked after our conversation took all the usual turns.

“Well, …” I took a pause rather sheepishly.

“It is strange that you have stopped reading books. I keep on telling you not to write or read blog, it is rather addictive.” He acts old fashioned sometimes. I don’t know exactly why but he is dead against blogging.

“No, no, it is not that. I still have lot of time to read,” I pleaded like a guilty child.

“Good”, he said, “what are you reading?

Now, I can never get him wrong. He loves reading and most of the conversation we have is about books. We exchange lot of books and he is instrumental in introducing me to some wonderful authors.

“You know, lately I have started reading Bengali books. I downloaded the font from internet and finished a hundred pages book. Then, at Kolkata airport I purchased a five hundred pager Bengali novel - ‘PoorNa Chabira Magnataa’. “

We spoke about Bengali terms, Bengali script and the story I was reading.

“You know, at times it becomes tiring for me to read that book at length. The strain of understanding the script makes the act of reading an effort. But I enjoy the book, the language is beautiful indeed.”

He understood it. He said, “I remember your reading of first Guajarati book, was it not the same then?” he added solemnly.

“Incidentally, I am reading Marathi translation of Saat Pagalaa Aakaasha Maa,” I told him. This was the first Guajarati book I had read (in Gujarati) twenty years ago. I added, “Recently I visited Sahitya Academy and purchased this book”.

“That is a good combination – Bengali and Guajarati book”, he teased me.

 “And also…” I added.

“And?” he was completely puzzled.   

“Well, you remember how serious this Kundanikaa Kapaadiaa book is; I need something light to keep myself away from the burden.” I added little guiltily.

“Hmm.. “ he was lost in thought.

“And which is this third book?” he asked.

“Damsel in Distress by Woodhouse,” I clarified.

“And in what sequence do you read these books?” he showed interest. I explained.

Then we talked about something else for half an hour.

While leaving, he suddenly remembered that I was simultaneously reading three different books in three different languages. He turned to me and said, “Do you know that you have been caught in the net of Multi-Tasking?”

“What?” now I was puzzled.

“You remember, when we were young, we always used to get engrossed in book, forgetting food and sleep, never noticing if someone was calling us.” He became nostalgic. He was right. I was such reader – always jumping into the world created by books.

“And now you are reading three books simultaneously with limited time in hand – and it is not that any of the book is boring, you want to read all those.” I was not sure where the conversation was going.

“However, in our professional and real life too we need to manage various tasks simultaneously. That habit has changed your reading habit too. Now you can’t afford to be engaged in one task, only in one work – you have to be constantly moving from one arena to other and come back to it whenever required.”

I realized.

Can I come out of this trap of Multi-Tasking?

I don’t know. Let me try. 

164. Irony

Sometime in 1980:

I pull five two rupees notes from my bag. I count them twice.

Last week, I have received the scholarship amount. My friends have asked for a party. It is supposed to be a lavish party. We will be having Cream Roll with cup of tea. A cup of tea costs twenty five paisa and Cream Roll costs about twenty paisa each. There would be nine friends with me. I calculate the amount. Five rupees would be sufficient. However I am keeping additional five rupees. I come out of room and my mind starts asking questions. Should I not carry more money with me? If by chance someone wants to eat Idlee or instead of tea wants coffee, I will need more money. I run upstairs. There are only coins. I count five more rupees; lead my friends towards the hotel in the corner. My pocket is heavy with coins and heart happy to be able to treat friends.

All these nine are my good friends. I know that if I need a loan of a rupee or two, one of them would certainly oblige me.

Sometimes in 1990:

I am leaving Mumbai. I have submitted statement of accounts to the office. I have no personal bank account, so there is no question of clearing and closing the account. One of my friends had bought a train ticket for me which will take me out of Mumbai. But I don’t know how I am going to manage my expenditure. I have to certainly start from scratch, but where does that particular spot lie I am not sure.

We are at Dadar station. My train leaves at 8.00 in the night. Many of my friends have come to see me off. The train moves slowly. One of my friends hands me an envelope through the window. The train has gained speed, so I don’t have time to ask what the envelope is for.  It must be a farewell letter – I think. I sit quietly – thinking about Mumbai and thinking about clueless future. After an hour or so, I open the envelope; there are grand new four fifty rupee notes and nothing else. I smile. At least, I don’t have to start from a scratch.

2000:

I can tell you story after story.

2010:

However, I am aware that your story might as well fit into this narration.

2012:

Now I carry ATM cum Debit card with me and don’t have to carry cash. But still one never knows whether the ATM would be functional or not. So, I still prefer the old way. I check my wallet; there are few five hundred rupee notes. I don’t know whether amongst strangers if I need help, will there be someone in these strange parts of the country?

I sigh. And I withdraw some more money – just to feel secure and safe!

I won’t say that with lesser money I was happier. But the converse is also not true. I mean, I am not happier because of more money! I was not unhappy because I had no money  - for me happiness and money were never really related. 

I have realized that many of our happy moments have nothing to do with money. In the midst of happiness, one does forget all such things as money, possessions, relations, success… The moment of happiness is very peculiar and it is not bound by any such material aspects of life.

For that one moment, we all strive to do our best in material life (that is making money) – that is the irony, which amazes me. I am sure it will always amuse me.  

162. Confusion

I had two interesting conversations today.

In the office early morning, the peon brought me a cup of tea.

 I smiled. Generally he smiles and moves away.

But today he did not move. He is a young lad – maybe in his 20s. He works on daily wages here. Not much of education and being on his first job, he does not have much exposure.

I realized that he was standing there. So, I asked him, “You want anything?”

“Madamjee, can you give me a suit?” he asked.

I was baffled.

“Suit?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“A set of your old clothes”, he explained nervously.

I was still confused.  It took time for me to understand what he was saying. But why did he need it?

Then I asked, “Do you have a young sister?”

“Yes”, he was happy that finally I had been wise enough.

He needed one set of my used clothes for his sister.

I said, “I will give it to you tomorrow.”

He smiled and went away.

**

In the evening I went to see a very senior government official. After 35 years of service he retired today.  We sometimes used to chat and many times I had asked him to write memoirs 'after retirement'. Our relationship is not ‘boss –subordinate’ type; but of mutual respect.

There were many people in his room. He was obviously busy. But still he smiled and said “Hello” to me.

I sat on one of the chairs and enjoyed the conversation regarding his financial arrangements.

I wished him happy retired life. However,  I knew he was taking on another assignment – a high profile one.

I asked, “Where are you going, Sir?”

He was confused. He looked at me and then looked at his watch. It was almost 6.30 in the evening.

Then he smiled and said, “I am going home.”

Now it was my turn to be confused. I clarified, “No Sir, I mean which job you will be taking now?”

“Oh, that is what you are asking!”  He laughed and told me.

**

Two conversations.

With two different human beings.

With difference in age, education, experience, social status ….

I have different relationships with these two – though I claim those to be egalitarian; the understanding of the term is different for both these persons.

But confusion was common.

Why?

Is confusion integral part of  me? Does it reside within ME? 

Do I tend to use words without touching its depth? Do I use words superficially?

Is it better to be silent than to speak or write constantly?

Somehow, I feel that silence always (almost always) creates more confusion especially when the topic is very trivial. Better to speak out even when I need to clarify …

In critical matters, words create more confusion – there silence works better.

But how do I decide what is trivial and what is critical?

The confusion remains.