58. Missed Heartbeats

While listening to that statement I missed few heartbeats. How many? One, two, three... I cannot say.

As I am a ‘Monitoring and Evaluation’ practitioner, I have a habit of looking for quantity in processes and qualitative processes hidden behind numbers. But at that moment, I was too shocked to be my usual self.

The taxi driver said to me, “But he has done a good job. Nothing wrong, he has done his duty.”

Ok. Let me begin from the beginning.

Last Thursday, I hired a taxi from Mumbai Central station to Dadar. On the way the taxi driver started talking to me, about rain, about elections etc.

We crossed through Arthur Road Jail, where half of the road was closed. There were many police vehicles parked, (kids were playing around those.) This was instrumental in traffic congestion and the driver cursed. Not having traveled through the road for many years, I just remarked, “Is some sort of VIP coming in or leaving jail today?”

“No, aunty. It is for a single person. For many months it is like this. You remember what happened in Mumbai in November? Ajamal Kasab is in this jail.” The driver informed.

I sighed. Yes, I very much remember those sad days. “Hmm. Now the facts are known, they should really punish him at the earliest. Why it is taking so much of time, I do not understand.” I was thinking aloud.

And then the taxi driver made the statement which shocked me to the core.

I was stunned. Was I facing a terrorist? I was not sure.

Was he trying to provoke me? Was he sarcastic? Was he honestly sharing his ideas with me because my outward appearance does not give any indication about my religious identity? I was not sure.

I kept my calm. I looked at the driver. I tried to understand his response. I had two options. One was to discuss with the unknown driver. Other was to keep quiet. I decided to talk.

“What good is in killing innocent people?” I asked in a natural peaceful tone.

Until then the taxi driver was talking to me coolly. But now he fired up. ‘Why none of you asked this question when thousands were killed during partition? Why none of you ask this question when riots happen and we are targeted? Why people like you keep quiet when we are forced to run away – leaving everything behind? Why?”

Even if this taxi driver was not some sort of a terrorist, he was sure to kill me in a road accident :), because he was looking behind and talking to me all the time.

I listened to him. Then I said, “In the past some people have made mistakes, but repeating it knowingly is not going to solve the problem.” I appealed to his conscience by saying, “Think about those who lost their dear and near ones. Think about those families who still miss them. Try to understand their suffering and pain. What was the fault of those who were killed so brutally? What wrong they had done? Are not there alternate ways to solve problems? If we cannot produce life, why take it?’

I kept on talking. For me the mission of that moment was to bring this man out of illusion of Kasab’s actions, Kasab’s ideology, if he has any. My whole energy was used for thinking about how to appeal his heart, how to make him see things differently, how to change his view about what happened in Mumbai on 26th November.

Initially he argued but then he listened. He opened. His face smoothened. His frown disappeared. He actually smiled. He agreed. He said, “Yes, there is a point in what you say. Kasab should not have killed those who were at CST station. They were innocent people like you and me”.

Then he asked me, “Sister, are you Hindu?”

I did not answer his question. I did not ask his religion. I asked from which state he has come to Mumbai. Fortunately recently I had visited that state, and the very district which he came from. When I spoke about the area and mentioned names of couple of villages, he completely mellowed down. He talked about suffering of people in his area and how things could change. He felt the connection. He kept on talking about his village, about his childhood days.

Within half an hour, the taxi reached Dadar.
“How much to pay?” I asked.
“Nothing”, the driver replied.
I was confused. I repeated the question.
“Sister, this ride is a gift from me. You treated me with respect; you talked to me very kindly and politely. You know my state; you work for my people; so I trust you. I think things will change for better for all of us.” He was honestly speaking to me.

I gave him a hundred rupee note and rushed to the bus stand. I purchased ticket and took my seat. I was completely drained by this conversation. I still miss a heartbeat when I remember that half an hour.

India may or may not have enemies outside, but they are definitely inside. We are in constant danger. We can be finished any time, not by outsiders but by insiders. Even on that fateful day Kasab and his men could act out their ideas, because some of us (Indians) helped them, either knowingly or unknowingly. Without our support, nobody can destroy us.

The flame is burning. That can take any form.
If we are awake, we will use the flame for good.

But if we ignore it, we surely would miss many more heartbeats, many more times.

57. The Indian Dream

Oh! You are speaking to me. Sorry. You know, you were saying ‘Uncle’, so I thought you were calling someone else. You see, I am old enough to be your great great grandfather.

Do I have time to talk to you? There is ample time. Sometimes I observe silence, but today I choose to talk. Someone has approached me after a long time. Why don’t you sit down?

Dream? I told you I am very old now. I haven’t slept well for last many years. No blood pressure. I am a naturopathy practitioner. And you know, fasting is the best solution for any health trouble. At times, the doctors had given up hope of my life, but I survived. I am a very stubborn old man. I am just under a little stress. Problems are there everywhere. And when you grow old, you cease to daydream. The realities of life are so harsh that one forgets to dream.

Aha! You are very determined. I like such people. Now I see that you are a mature adult, and you still talk about dreams enthusiastically. Good.

Yes, when I was young, and you see you can be young even at 70 or 80… what was I talking? Oh, yes I had many dreams. There might be some people who live with only one dream, but frankly speaking I had many dreams. I have written and talked a lot about those dreams, because I believe in sharing dreams, I believe in dreaming together. Did I write a book? Oh! Don’t bother about the past.

I had a dream that my brothers and sisters would stay peacefully together without fighting. But I was destined to see the separation. How painful were those days! I still feel that I had missed something vital that time. How could it happen in front of my eyes? And even today their children continue to fight. Reason? There is no reason at all. My family allowed the guest to interfere in our family matters, and that was the beginning of the problem. If I get the same life again, I will correct some of my mistakes. But alas, life never gives such opportunities.

I had a dream that my family – it is very big now – would be healthy and happy; each one of them will have enough to live a good life. But I see that some of them are still very poor – in ‘absolute poverty’ in your modern language. Some are wasting money in unnecessary consumerism and luxuries. The disparity is increasing. Yes, I use modern words. One has to change with the times to keep oneself relevant.

I was saying that most poor are still exploited. They are unhappy. How do I know? In my times I was known to understand people around very well. They said I could read the pulse of the people. Can’t I understand my own people? They speak different language nowadays, but in the heart they remain the same – for good and for bad both!

I had a dream that my children would learn good things in life, a kind of education which would make them better human beings, better instruments to serve the society. But they all followed English education, have become babus and are not bothered about their roots. Many of my ancestors and friends had taken trouble to bring the family out of ditch. But alas, all of them are forgotten now. Only on their birth and death anniversaries they get garlands! That is all.

By the way, how many machines do you have in your home? I am old, so do not understand these new machines. Good, I am happy that you use hand washed cotton clothes, and I believe you wash them yourself. You wash utensils yourself, you walk a lot. Good, I don’t mind talking to you.

I like people working more with hands than machines. No, No, I am not against technology. But at what cost your modern technology is used? I believe in appropriate technology. You know, production by masses is important and not mass production. Who has said it? You think that you have read it somewhere? How do I know? What if I say, I said it? Do not laugh. We Indians have this wrong habit of worshiping person and not paying attention to idea.

I can tell you a lot about my dreams. I have time, but you don’t seem to have. Sure, you can leave. It is alright.

Thanks. I do not want to be dropped anywhere, actually I have already been dropped. Yes, it is lonely here but I love this place. My family? They are busy in what you call a rat race. Who has the time to see that the old man is missing from home? Don’t worry. I am used to it. They will find me when they need me. No, I am not angry, I am just worried. No, I do want your jerkin. It is not made in India…I think so.

Name? What is there in name? Give me any name. My children call me “Bapu” – that means father. You can call me Bapu if you wish.

Ok, you insist. I like this spirit. I always insisted in my life, I never gave up easily. When you explore truth, you have to stand and fight, I know it. I can’t deny you the truth.

My name is Gandhi. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

My child! Don’t be so surprised and shocked. I did not tell my name earlier, because you did not ask.

Don’t think that I do not know I was assassinated sixty one years ago! I know I cannot have physical existence. I do not have.

Don’t bother about me. The idea matters, not the person. Don’t worship person, grasp the idea, live it fully, make the idea your life. Each generation has to dream anew, invest energy anew. The passion has to be regenerated to keep the movement on. Nothing but only guidance is given. You have to walk yourself in search of the truth, in search of the reality, in search of happiness, in search of equity, in search of peace.

All the time you are asking me about my dreams. But actually you are talking to me in your dream.

It is time to be awake. It is time to act.

Dream Well, my child. Dream Big. Dream for India. Dream for the Poor. Dream for the Neglected. Dream for the Exploited. Dream for the Humanity. Dream Collectively. Dream with all your Capacity. Dream with full consciousness. I pray God that all your dreams be fulfilled.

You have got it right: No more personal dreams. Only The Indian Dream.”

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Remembering Gandhiji on his birth anniversary entails following his ideas. The book ‘Hind Swarajya’, Gandhiji’s dream for India, was first published in 1909. To live some of his ideas would be one of the best ‘INDIAN DREAMS’.
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56. At Last...

It is about 9.00 in the morning when I see her. No, I do not know her, and I do not talk to her. I am aware that taking this photograph is an invasion on her privacy. But I take it to remind myself the burden women carry in their life.

I am traveling from Munger (Bihar) to a small tribal hamlet. On the way we have stopped at a dhaba for breakfast. Anticipating non-availability of hygienic food my team has carried bread, butter and jam. So, in the midst of poverty, I am having a luxury breakfast. I am traveling in a car, which has air-conditioning facility. I have packaged water bottle with me. I have instruments like mobile and digicam. I have enough money in pocket and I have enough food. My life stands in full contradiction with the woman who has to carry this burden almost everyday.

We move away. I see men sitting on the top of the bus and tempo all through my journey in the state.

The transport facility is so scarce, that people have to travel like this. Inside the vehicle there is crowd. It is humid and hot. Those sitting on the top of the bus at least get enough air to breathe. I do not know what is happening to those sitting inside the vehicle – and women have to sit inside. Another burden they carry. I see my life in full contradiction with those traveling on the bus-top.

We reach at the end of the road. A tribal (Santhal community) young man is there to receive us and guide us towards the hamlet. He is speaking fluent Hindi and is not at all shy. As we are walking through paddy fields, I have to pay full attention to the marked walking path. One moment here and there, and I would slip in the mud. I can neither enjoy the conversation nor the scenic beauty around.

We reach a small hamlet. A bucketful of water is brought for us. Within five minutes women gather in the community hall. They are surrounded by children. Men too come to listen. The hall is packed. I sit on the chair. Generally I sit on the ground but today I cannot. On the road were many thorny grasses, my salwar is full of those thorns. If I sit cross legged, thorns are sure to trouble me, so I sit in the chair. The local men and women walk through these thorny fields regularly. There is no shop in the hamlet, no dispensary, nothing. For everything people have to walk for at least five kilometers. They live with the thorny grasses happily. I see my life in full contradiction with the life of these tribal people.

One of my responsibilities is to address such meetings. Actually I do not teach them much but I learn a lot from them. The hamlet name is Vannarkola. There are only 36 households in the hamlet. Electricity polls exist, but there is no electricity. Women and children are malnourished. I apologize for not knowing their ‘tribal’ language. They all enjoy my ignorance in a healthy way – ‘it is alright’ kind of expression on their faces. Most families own land – a small land of course. Women have formed couple of Self Help Groups. Some have participated in agriculture development program. I talk about different things.

I pass on the baton to my colleague and come out of the hall. I like this hamlet. The houses are small, with mud walls. I see green paddy fields around and the sky is clear blue. There is deep peace in the environment. I fully enjoy the moment, knowing well that I would never get it in the city.

My team comes out in search of me. They start talking about different aspects of the development program. I leave that peaceful moment behind and jump into the discussion. Well, a lot of things could be done here. We walk through the hamlet, open the doors (in the absence of its owner) and glance at the inner part of some houses. I meet a 10 year girl, whose name is ‘Gungee’. A man is carrying a small child on his shoulders, whose name is ‘Khushabu’. I see utensils, clothes, goats, cows, and birds. I get a feel that ‘this is a fine place’. And again, I see my life in full contradiction with the hamlet. One enjoys such remote hamlets when one’s life is not blocked into it. As I have a comfortable place to stay, I can appreciate mud house. What if I am compelled to stay in it?

The program ends. The SHG is providing tea and biscuits to all those who are gathered. I notice that the kids are given only biscuits. In the eyes of the kids, I see a wish for tea. I invite them to dip their biscuit in my cup of tea. Without hesitation, a child dips a biscuit. Then comes the second child, then the third and so on. I see their smiling faces, the happiness in their eyes.

And I see my life in full contradiction with these kids. For them, just a little tea to dip a biscuit is a source of such a tremendous joy. And for me?

We leave. A group of women and men walk with us about a couple of kilometers, just to see us off. We talk, we smile, we laugh, we plan, we promise to meet again. The feeling of closeness is mutual. The joy in meeting each other is mutual. The wish to meet again is mutual. The connectedness is mutual. The wish to hold hands is mutual. The smile, the happiness is mutual. The bond is mutual.

At last, there is no contradiction.
*

55. PWS

It was a cool Saturday in the month of July. I was not feeling well that day, wanted to take some time off. However, I had committed meeting Sachin at 9.30 in the morning. He was coming from Deharadun for some meeting. His friend Jai Prakash had e-mailed the meeting agenda to me, but frankly I had not paid attention. The meeting was in the campus of world known IT company, which was another attraction. So, finally I decided to go.

The moment my auto rickshaw stopped, a young smiling man came forward to receive me. “Are you Savita?” he asked, and when I smiled affirmatively, he pleasantly said “I am Jai”. I was astonished to find such a young man to be friend of Sachin. I could not get the connection at that moment. The other young man M too introduced himself. I started wondering what this meeting was all about.

After all the formalities of security check, photo pass for the day, leaving pen drive at the reception counter etc, I entered the classroom. Sachin was talking to some people. Everything was still hazy.

After a good breakfast (thanks to Jai), we had a round of introduction. There were about 20 people, mostly young, all well educated, enthusiastic and smart. They were meeting for last few months, but it was their first day-long meeting, with some new faces.

We watched a movie ‘UNSPEAKABLE’ – a Canadian documentary based on the interviews of People Who Stammer (PWS). The documentary touched the hearts of all participants. Everybody came forward to share what s/he felt about the documentary and in the process opened up a life canvas which till then was unknown to me.

Who can imagine that someone chooses only that food from the menu card, which s/he can utter easily without stammering? One man shared that he could not eat the famous ‘Baby Medu Vada’ in his canteen just because he feared that he would definitely stammer while uttering that word. Who can imagine that people chose certain career even when they did not like – just because it required almost no talking? Someone talked about the fear of pronouncing his name, so he always shied away from strangers. Many people shared how they could not instantly say ‘Yes Sir/Madam’ when the teacher was taking attendance, and they had to go and meet the teacher after the class to register presence.

I was observing all the speakers and sometimes I felt that the speaker changed the statement in the midst of talking. One participant explained it. He said, “Whenever a difficult word comes, I try to avoid it and say something else (easy) than what I had planned to say”. One man, a father of two kids, shared how he feels when his kids do no want him to place order when they visit a restaurant – fearing that the father would stammer. One woman explained how her friend is getting lonelier because of stammering. Some participants shared that: they speak in a hurry because they fear that they may stammer at any (next) moment.

Listening to all those experiences was touching. Because, I had never known this side of life. I had come across some people who stammered but had not given much thought to it. Sometimes I tried to ‘help’ stammering person by providing the right word – now I understand that this does not help him/her but rather makes him/her more conscious about stammering. Sometimes I had ‘helped’ such persons by taking charge of the situation and did all the talking myself – now I understand that by such action I did not really help the stammering person. I could understand the struggle this group (and many more people like them) goes through life, and I was motivated by their determination to overcome the situation and bring change. It was really an energizing and educative experience for me.

I was also feeling a bit awkward. I was a total stranger to them and they shared their heart’s concern with me, they had shown a great trust in me. I was not expected to be sympathetic and I was not supposed to support – I was to just understand. I was not sure whether my responses hurt them or whether I was unintentionally insensitive to them. I was not like them and still the group accommodated me with ease. Thanks, Pune PWS SHG.

How different God (Nature) has made all of us! How different challenges God (Nature) puts in front of us. We need to support each other so that everyone blooms and everyone has a good life. We need to form a group of ‘People Who Support’ (PWS) – irrespective of the similarities and differences. I am sure the PWS SHG is becoming a People Who Support group through their continuous interaction.

If you know anyone who stammers, motivate him/her to be associated with TISA (The Indian Stammering Association). For more information please visit
http://t-tisa.blogspot.com

54.For Seven Heads?

Request: Please, forgive me if you find this post too full of self admiration.

A hectic week was ahead. On Sunday afternoon I had returned from a week long travel in Andhra Pradesh. On Tuesday evening was a conference call, for which I had to prepare. On Wednesday I was going to Delhi for a workshop, which needed some amount of preparatory reading. Return from Delhi on Saturday night, and travel to Gujarat Monday (next) early morning was the plan. In all, I needed to prepare for five different meetings within two days. Life was too short.

Monday morning I reach office and there is an invitation. The institution has long term relations with my organization, so I cannot reject. I am supposed to facilitate a session on ‘Women’s Empowerment’ on Thursday. I won’t be in town on that day. None of my colleagues are free to do me a favor. I have no option but to request the organizers for change of day – and Tuesday is the only possible day.

Monday night, I come home and prepare for the session.

When I reached the workshop venue, there were only four participants. Swine flu had scared the potential participants, hence the meager attendance. By the time I chatted with the workshop coordinator, two more people joined. Then we had formal inauguration - I spoke informally though – and we had snacks and tea. One hour spent in waiting, introduction and my ‘inaugural speech’.

By the time I started my session, one more participant came – so there were seven heads (– I am not including mine in the total for obvious reasons.) I was given two hours’ time for the session, and I took exactly that much time. I enjoyed the session and the participants’ verbal and non-verbal responses showed joy and satisfaction. They all forced me to lunch with them. After all the ‘give and take’ of cell number and e-mail id etc, I started back for office at 2.30 in the afternoon.

On the way, I suddenly remembered N. I was a full time activist then. N was Vice President. He had arrived in the city to conduct week long training. On the first day, only three participants appeared. I was completely disappointed and thought that canceling the training was the best way. To my utter amazement N had a full two hour session (which was the plan) with them. He was calm, quiet; he did not compromise with the content and with the quality of the delivery. After every five minutes I was looking at the wall clock, wishing to wind up the session and the event.

Immediately after his session was over; (and before the participants left ;) I suggested N that ‘we end the training here’. I was not bothered about putting such a suggestion to the Vice President. N was surprised. He asked, “Why? What is the reason?” I was impatient and said, “Do you mean that only for three people we all should waste so much of time and energy?”

N smiled. “Do you mean that those who did not come are more important than those who came? You should check your premise.”

I was taken aback by his response. However I was adamant. “Is not your time and energy more important? Don’t you think that you should utilize your time more effectively?” I was indeed rude to him. “I will plan some other activity, which will attract more participants”, I added.

N smiled again. He said, “Experience has taught me never to count on numbers, never to play for gallery. All good work needs a farmer like patience. You sow seeds at the smallest opportunity. Who knows, something will grow here too. If nothing grows, don’t feel guilty. Your job is to deliver irrespective of rewards. Do it for the sake of work, joy of work, excellence and duty. Never bring down the quality of work because there is nobody to appreciate. One should always give hundred percent. ”

I was touched by his sincerity and honesty. I gave up. But I was puzzled. I was not fully convinced. I did not understand him then. It has taken 25 years for me to understand what he said that day.

Today if someone challenges me for wasting half a day just for seven heads, my answer would be: I did it because I believed that I had something important to share. I did it because I trust that no good work is wasted. I did it because the cause mattered to me. I did it because I valued and respected those who were present. Less effort from me would have been an injustice. I did it not for any external gains but for the pure joy of working excellently. The work itself was rewarding.

I did not do anything for those seven heads. I did it for myself.

53. Teachers: Aaj Kal

When I was studying in school, teachers’ day was not of a great relevance to me. No, we did not give flowers to teachers nor did eulogize them. Even during those times, I had a dilemma between Guru Poornima and Teachers’ Day. They generally appeared within a span of few weeks. ‘Why we celebrate two different days for the same event’ – was the question nobody liked me to ask. (Later I read that 5th September is not the real birth date of Dr. Radhakrishnan, it is his registered birth date!) Actually nobody liked me to ask any kind of question. They all wanted only answers and only those answers which they taught me to give. I thought it was profession which one was pushed into. So, I guess, I never wanted to be a teacher. And more than that I wanted the studentship to end as fast as it could.

During the last year in the school, all the students were ‘allowed’ to take a role of a teacher for one day… for one 35 minutes period to be exact. But I remember that I wasn’t interested in teaching anyone, because even then I knew that I could not. Somehow, I was pushed into that role, which I did not like.

But I have good memories of my teachers. The one in my primary school, who could write with both hands, was like a magician. The one in secondary school who became emotional while teaching a poem was exceptional – he taught me to look beyond expressed words. It opened a whole new game of ‘interpretation’ for me. I still deal with facts, interpretations, feelings, thoughts…. with enthusiasm. There was a time when I hated Mathematics. But one good teacher changed my view. He really made Mathematics a fun for me and later during the college days, my Mathematics teacher opened links of Mathematics and Philosophy to me. I can write a lot about my teachers. They have taught me a lot. Though I am not sure I picked up the right aspects of their teachings. So, don’t blame them for my faults and limitations :)

I thought that after completing my education, I will not have to listen to teachers. But I was completely wrong. I realized that learning never ends (good, otherwise what will I do if all learning is over, it would be almost like a death) and I kept on meeting teachers now and then. A traffic police not accepting the bribe (oh! Oh! Not me…) is my teacher. A Train Conductor treating a beggar very sympathetically is my teacher. A tribal woman teasing me “I know your language, but you don’t know mine, then what is the use of schooling?’ is my teacher. A woman who picks garbage from my residential complex teaches me about segregating disposable and non-disposable waste. Thousands of women dealing with domestic violence and alcohol abuse are my teachers. Some artist in the corner of the country engrossed in his art (not for livelihood) is my teacher. A bus driver, working on festival days is my teacher. I am surrounded by teachers; I am given a lot of knowledge and experience free of charge.

That has changed my perspective about teachers, though I do not like people who always preach. I admire practitioners who teach me silently and through their life. These teachers allow me to ask questions and they do not expect me to give ‘taught’ answers. In fact they do not want any answers from me. They are capable enough to ask questions and to find answers for themselves.

Aaj Kal my teachers have improved a lot. Or is it that I have improved as a student?

Does not matter until the learning process is on.

52. HMV

I am bit naïve even after attending so many workshops. I assume that people would prefer to interact for a longer time, which is not the case. This workshop too was over before the scheduled time – a usual practice. As the organizers had asked participants to book for ‘cheapest flights’, many of us were stuck at the venue. The workshop was over at 11.00 in the morning and my flight was at 8.50 in the evening.

The first taxi to the airport was to leave after lunch. Many local people had made their own arrangements, but the outsiders decided to have lunch at the workshop, chat for some time and then leave for airport. There were about 12 people, women and men, representing different organizations and government departments.

The workshop theme was ‘Empowerment of Women’. There were different perspectives regarding what is empowerment (whether it is primarily economic), the process of empowerment (whether it is primarily individual or collective), role of outsiders in women’s empowerment and so on. It was interesting to listen to people with different backgrounds and working in different states. Sometimes people agreed and sometimes they did not agree. Everybody was passionate about his/her ideas, but the basic respect for the ‘other thought’ was never lost in the discussion. The discussion was taking place in a very healthy environment. Now a days I hardly get a chance to participate in such open discussions (for me it is mostly ‘what to do list’ – though people generally don’t order me…) so I was fully enjoying it.

The post workshop discussion was on difference of opinions as it was a small group. People differed about whether microfinance should be an agenda of Self Help Group (SHG) and whether SHG Federations should work as microfinance institutes. People had different ideas whether gender aspects could be tackled through grassroots institutions. And some had strong opinions about whether livelihood challenge can be addressed through SHGs.

Suddenly I noticed that one sentence was appearing on the surface more often. It was ‘Come to our place and listen to women’s voices. I am saying what women in our area (meaning in my organization’s working area) want to say. We need to respect their ideas, thoughts and feelings’. People were honestly saying this, but I was just wondering why women have such different opinions and ideas and feelings – and that too about issues like microfinance, empowerment, livelihood etc.

Then the realization dawned upon me. Most of the times we allow only those people around us (especially so if they are ‘beneficiaries’…) who speak the same language and have the same ideas. Development practitioners generally facilitate things the way they want. That is the expected skill. The more successfully one can facilitate (meaning ‘push’) one’s agenda, the more successful one is and the more ‘market value’ one has.

This means we avoid ‘other voices’, we shun away from ‘different ideas’. We allow only those who agree with us, in the process we create ‘His/Her Master’s Voice’ which we wrongly interpret as support and understanding of grassroots realities. In our world we allow only those, who agree with us. Thus, by using HMV technique, we create illusion around ourselves. Then to believe that this is real, we try to find only similar minded people... we try to follow voice of some or the other Master… by creating HMV, we too become HMV….

It is fun to have contradictory ideas and perspectives in life. It is necessary that we question ourselves and bring in changes in life. Being HMV might be the key to success in this world, but by being HMV we do not grow in real sense. Instead of being HMV we need to listen to ‘Voice of My Heart’ (VMH)…

(I do not mean that you all listen to my heart... but your heart...)