98. On Duty

The other day I was traveling. The train was to start from Mumbai Central and I had reached before time. Actually I always reach before time for this particular train, because the Pune – Mumbai train takes me there with a margin of at least three hours. I generally spend these three hours by eating something, reading books or newspaper and of course watching co-travelers without intimidating them.

This particular train is a Return Train. I mean it starts early morning from Ahmedabad, reaches Mumbai Central in the afternoon; again starts from Mumbai Central and reaches Ahmedabad late in the night. For me, it is convenient train, though I have to spend a day in transit. I travel by bus, only when I am traveling short distance or if there is no other alternative.

Even after the train arrives, one has to wait for half an hour as the coaches are cleaned by railway labor. It is disgusting to see the amount of garbage people throw in the coach during travel. But that is an issue for another post.

After I climb in the AC Chair car, I know what to expect in the next ten minutes. A beautiful dog with whitish almond color smooth skin enters the coach. He is apparently controlled by a police man. But I always feel that the dog and the police man have a tacit understanding about not troubling each other. Their relationship seems to be smooth and without passion.

Now this is bit funny. With all due respect to railway police, I find checking of coaches by bomb squad dog a little funny. I mean, this is a daily train. And if everyday you are checking the coaches at the same time, which foolish terrorist will get in the train with a bomb in his or her baggage? They can get in at Borivali, or Vapi or Valsad or Vadodara. Even they can get in at Mumbai Central after the dog has inspected the coach. There are still ten minutes for the train to depart.

But routines are routines and orders are to be followed mechanically.

I have been part of this scene so many times, that I have developed affection for this dog. Why dogs should die while discovering a bomb planted by human beings, is a question I am not able to answer so far. This dog is so silent, so clean, so beautiful that every time he passes by me, I want to touch him, I want to pat him, I want to say ‘Thank you’ to him. Of course, I have never done this. I do not want to invite attention of policeman and I am not sure that the dog would return my gesture with politeness.

Generally until the dog is in the coach, everybody is silent, everybody watches the dog move. And once it is out of sight, everyone is relaxed and turns to whatever she/he was doing when the dog arrived.

On that particular day, something strange happened. A man in full white started addressing the dog. He had come to see off someone and was engrossed in talk. When the dog approached him he suddenly started talking to the dog in a very friendly manner. What was surprising was that the police man stopped by that passenger; as if allowing him to play with the dog. The dog stopped too, but did not respond. He did not wave his tail. When the man in the white, tried to pat the dog, the dog just looked at him. His response must have been very cold as the man backtracked.

“Oh! It seems that Tiger has not recognized me”, the man in the white complained to the policeman.

“Sorry sir, he does not recognize anyone when on duty,” the policeman replied politely but with an immense pride.

The dog walked away with the policeman in a normal way.
The man in the white laughed awkwardly. He must have been intimidated by my questioning eyes.
“Madam, dogs are smart these days. I am one of his trainers. And this Tiger does not recognize me when on duty!! What kind of life we human beings have. Even dogs on duty are unapproachable” He sighed. Then he smiled – partly to me, partly to himself

Whether he was happy or sad about the dutiful dog, I cannot say.

97. Wisdom

Now –a - days we all are surrounded by sick people.
Move to any group, and there will be a talk about Blood Pressure, Sugar, Back pain etc.
Even younger generation talks about weakness, fatigue, insomnia, hair loss and stress.

So, when I asked 66 year old Basavannappa (it is funny that he is both Anna and Appa) about his health (just as courtesy), I was surprised by his answer. He suffers from nothing, absolutely nothing. No physical health issues, no mental stress and no social traumas.

Basavannappa is a farmer. He studied only up to fourth standard. He has five daughters, and a son, all happily married now. He owns a small piece of land. No, Basavannappa does not live in isolation. He is not a millionaire; he actually lived Below Poverty Line for most of his life. He is a simple village man but like all simple people he has a philosophy of his own. Importantly he lives according to his philosophy.

Here I have to meet two Self Help Groups (SHGs). When the first group arrives, with welcome and a song the meeting starts. I generally try to understand the context of people’s life. So, I ask various questions pertaining to the village. That generally works as an ice breaker. From easy questions, we will move to more difficult questions – why, how, what results etc.

Surshettikoppa is a village of about 600 families near Hubali in Karnataka. There are different stories about why the village is named Surshettikoppa. According to Basavannappa, earlier (long back in the history) there was a family of Suran Gauda, and then the Shettis came to the village. Both the family grew and lived together in a group (koppa) – hence the village is named as Surshettikoppa.

Somashekhar, a graduate from the village readily disagrees with Basavannappa. However all this disagreement is happening in a very friendly atmosphere. Somashekhar explains that Sur means God and Shetty means firm – the village is a place where Gods have stayed firmly for ages.

There is another story. Some pilgrimagers were going to Valvai to meet the Saint Channa Basaweshwar. They were carrying their luggage on bullock backs. The luggage hanged on both sides of the bullock back. To maintain balance, they had put some stones (this seems to be absurd). When they camped here, they put the stones on the ground. Next morning, when devotees tried to pull the stones back, they could not remove the stones. The stones were firmly rooted in the ground. As a proof of the story, people showed me temple of Brahmalinga, which of course is renovated and is bit modern.

Before the meeting started, Basavannappa anxiously asked, “When will I get time to talk to Madam? I want to give her full information about the work of Federation.” I smiled. I said, “Once this meeting is over, when women go home, I will spend some time with you. Is that alright for you?” He too smiled and accepted.

By the time (after about two hours) the first meeting was over, women from second SHG gathered. Looking at the crowd and their eager faces, Basavannappa asked me, “Madam when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow evening. Tomorrow morning I am going to Haveri district.” I informed him.
“Alright, I will come today evening at 7.00. Please keep one hour free for me,” he requested and went off.

Evening 7.00 and Basavannapaa is present in the campus. He tries to speak in Hindi initially but turns to Kannada when he has to express his deeper ideas. I have translators with me and anyway, when one speaks from heart, other hardly finds it difficult to understand.

I ask many questions about his Federation – the process, the activities, the challenges, the vision, people’s participation, financial position, the strategies, organizational management and all the usual stuff – usual for me! May be those questions were unusual for Basavannappa. He paused, thought, smiled, frowned, talked, and listened. Both of us clearly enjoyed the discussion.

At the end of the conversation I asked him how his health was. As expressed earlier, he is a healthy man – physically, mentally and socially.

“What is the secret?” I asked seriously.
“The secret Madam is I do everything not from the heart but from a palm-ful* distance,” Basavannappa answered spontaneously.
I was confused.
“Can you explain it? I am unable to understand what you said,” I requested him.
“See Madam, one has to do many things in everyday life. Each one of us has to keep contact with many people. We as human beings have limitations – we like certain things and we don’t like certain things. We are tempted, we get angry, we feel jealous sometimes, and we feel insulted. We have to face situations which we are not ready for. Is it right? Do you agree with me?” he asks.
“Yes, certainly” I fully agree.
“So, I do not do any of these things from the root of my heart. I keep all the things at palm-ful distance – both the joy and the sorrow. It does affect me but very superficially and temporarily. It never affects me to the core. That is why I am a happy person.” Basavannappa was telling the simplest of the truths.

I saluted Basavannappa – not from palm-ful distance, I could not follow his teachings immediately.

Those were the wisest words I have heard so far.

Wisdom can approach you from any corner, only question is whether we are ready for it?
* palm-ful may not be the right English word. If you have anything to suggest, kindly write to me.

96. Goodbye

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth 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.

(1)

“So, what is the plan?” Mukul asked.
We all were in the meeting room, waiting for the Boss to appear.
I wonder why all the bosses have this habit of appearing late for the meeting. They are never in time and expect subordinates to be before time.

Mehak giggled. So did Monalisa. Mak contributed by his manly laugh.

These women!! They have spoiled the professional atmosphere. We are not supposed to be homely in the office, it is a professional world. But last few years our company policy changed. After some kind of workshop with an organization called ‘Gender at Workplace’ or something like that, our company started recruiting more women and everything changed.

These women smile at everyone, share some fancy food items they have prepared at home and invite us with our family to their home – just for fun! And most dangerous is they like to be called by their first names and insist on calling others by first names!

I have always wondered why women have such funny ideas about everything!!

However I can not complain much as they are indeed excellent at their work. Moreover, they don’t expect monetary gains for everything they do; they seem to be content with the joy of work itself! As HR Manager, they are the last ones to bother me.

But again, this is bit weird, how can work be joy?

(2)

“All the E’s will stay and the M’s will go.” Mehak was saying to her group.

Within the office we have several groups. Mehak, Mukul, Mak, Monalisa, Monty and Makbul are very close. I always find it fishy that they all should have names starting with M. Some people think that the ‘M’ factor has brought them so close. One more aspect is that they all joined our company on the same day – 2nd May 2005. Rather a coincidence, I guess. But I was stunned when I found that they all were born on the same day in the month of May! Though they were born in different parts of the world, they had same kind of education, which is something I fail to understand.

And why they are talking about E and M in the month of August? Appraisal is over long back. The results were declared in May. It is again coincidence that all these six youngsters even though excellent; manage to get M – ‘Mediocre’ during appraisal process. I have been watching them for last 5 years, and every year they get M, never E –Excellent. It amazes me that they are not bothered about it and seem to enjoy their M. They seem to have some kind of affinity towards the syllable ‘M’. With so much of turnover around, this group has consistently stayed here for five years, which is why I am suspicious about them.

You know everywhere appraisal processes are subjective. Managers try to show how objective they are, but those who are in the midst of it know how things change at the last moment. Youngsters don’t understand but keeping the boss happy is an important aspect of the work life. But what these people are talking about? I need to know.

“What do you mean by E will stay and M will go? Who is going where?” I asked loudly.

My voice surprised them. They looked at each other. They were so engrossed in the conversation that they had not noticed my arrival. Mehaks’s face flushed. She was silent – that was a big surprise. These women like to keep on talking. They never get tired.

“Oh, Good Morning, Sir. Just a little joke you know. Mehak is telling us that the management has decided that only Excellent – E will stay and Mediocre – M will have to leave. You know sir, we all got M this year too.” Makbul added hurriedly. Others nodded.

I did not believe Makbul, but apparently there was noting to say against what he said. Management decisions are hardly known to me even when I am the HR Manager. What he said might be true. Why should management pay to mediocre employees? I would be happy to see all of them out. They are good, but I am never sure about them. I know them for last five years, but I feel that they are complete strangers. And they are too close to each other. You know managers never like it if their subordinates are too close, if they are indeed a good team. We managers thrive on ‘divide and rule’, so we keep our employees divided.

(3)

Boss appears. The ‘M’ group has given a new name to meetings in our office. They call it a ‘Monologue’ – again a word starting with M. However it is indeed an apt description of the meetings in our office. My boss talks about ‘participation’ etc, but keeps on talking. When he asks questions, new comers start answering it. But we old timers know what is in the coming. The boss asks questions, pauses for a breath and answers his question. It goes on and on. Once, Monalisa even mapped the conversation. Out of 120 minutes, the boss had spoken for almost 100 minutes in the meeting!

In between he receives calls on his mobile and we all treat it as a well deserved break. We talk to each other, not about what is being discussed but about other things. The ‘M’ group is again in a huddle. God knows, what they are discussing.

Today Boss is talking about Global Warming. That is his new love. Ours is an IT company. What has it to do with Global Warming? But Boss is Boss. We all listen to him like school children. Actually some of us have better knowledge about Global Warming. Young generation might have its faults, but they have better knowledge too, one has to appreciate. Mak is much more eligible to talk about Global Warming, but only if Boss will give him some space!

Boss has a new idea. He wants to establish ‘Ecological Task Force’ in the company. That is why the ‘M’ group has been invited; they all have Environmental Science background. I as an HR Manager will have to provide support through adequate systems backup etc. The administration officer is also there. Everything is settled. The M group is happy to have something challenging to do – they are very good at programming naturally. Somehow I am not comfortable that they all are thrown together. That means more huddling, more secret jokes, more conversations which others will not understand.

The M Group gets one week’s time to submit concrete plan with budget for approval. The ecological work has to start immediately.

(4)

I am worried at the moment. Within half an hour, Ecological Task Force meeting starts. Some senior managers of the company will be attending the meeting. But none of the M group is in the office.

It seems that yesterday they worked late at night, up to about 11.00. Security man Ram Lakhan tells me that when they left, they all seemed to be normal, happy. Mukul even gave a hundred rupee note to Ram Lakhan. The canteen boy Ishwar tells me that the M team ate sandwiches and consumed cups of coffee. No drinks of course! It is bit strange that Monalisa gave her mobile handset to Ishwar.

Since early morning, I am trying to call them, but each one’s mobile is out of service. Only the one given to Ishwar by Monalisa is working, but it is of no use to me – as she has erased the contact list. I sent them mails, but every mail has bounced back. What happened to this group? Did they meet some accident while going home? My Public Relations Officer checks with Police Station through his sources, and there is no news of any accident.

I try to locate their nearest contact persons, their In Case of Emergency numbers. To my horror, the data is completely missing. It is erased by someone – when and why I will have to find out.

Panic spreads. Every one of the 200 heads in the office is thinking about the M group. What happened? Where have they gone? Where did they disappear? Are they in crisis? Are they murdered? Kidnapped? From where can we get information about them? Everybody is trying to find out about them, but nobody has any clue. The amount of discussion is not adding anything to the information we have.

I do not have much time. With M group or without M group, the meeting has to take place. I will say something like ‘Swine flue’ epidemic and listen to seniors. When senior management is there, I don’t have to speak much, I just have to listen. That I will do anyway.

I ask couple of new environmental science graduates to be ready to join if called for the meeting. I ask Nandita, our Network Administrator, if she can trace out if the M group has prepared any presentation. Nandita is a smart kid. Within minutes, she has traced the presentation, checked the first slide, and copied it to the laptop in the meeting room. I will just have a minute to open it and most probably I will be able to present it. About Global Warming everybody knows, what is there to enlighten people about?

(5)

The meeting starts. I explain the absence of M group and as I expected nobody bothers about it. I open the presentation and realize that it has a voice over – a recorded message with the text.

Monty’s deep voice resonates through the room, “We are sorry that we are not present in the meeting. There was an urgent call and we had to leave without giving any prior intimation to you. We are thankful for the hospitality.” What is he talking about? Everybody is confused. The Boss looks at me, I avoid eye contact.

Monty speaks on, “Please, share this with the entire world. The Earth is in danger. The danger is caused not only by human beings but by some Cosmic Actions. These are beyond the control of human beings. Earth will face severe natural calamities. Torrential rains, Tsunamis, Earthquakes, Cyclones will have more intensity and they will come to you with more frequency. They will destroy human life and earthly life. All your measures to control Global Warming are as childish as was your earlier thought of controlling Nature. You have to flow with the tide…..you will have to leave Earth… ” What this hell the bloody Monty is talking about? And why is he preaching like a Messiah?

Monty continues, “So, we the M – the Marsers – the beings from Mars who inhabited your home for last few decades have decided to leave Earth. Your home is beautiful; no doubt about it, but it is going to be perished within next few decades. We leave the E – the Earthers – behind. Sorry, we do not have enough space here. Once we settle down, we will make a room for you. Those of who you want to come with us; we will come back and take them with us as our guests. We are really thankful to you for your hospitality.”

“GOODBYE” they say - all six of them together and the screen is blank.

I am stunned. Everybody is silent.

“What is this little dirty joke? Just fire them all. Get a new group to work as Ecological Task Force. They get only two days. You will be personally responsible for their work”, the Boss shouts and storms out of the meeting room.

I am perspiring. I know Monty is telling the truth. That explains all. The names starting with M, born in May, their affection to the words starting with M! Everything becomes clear to me.

I sigh.

(6)

I look out of the window. It is raining. The hillock is lush green. I can hear the call of a kingfisher and of an Oriental Magpie Robin. A blue butterfly is just outside the window. Life around is fully vibrant.

"Beings come and go, I Welcome them and they say Goodbye to me, but nothing perishes my child, don’t worry. If one world is destroyed, another is created.”
Somebody is saying this to me. Must be Mother Earth?
May be it is just a hallucination. Must be my subconscious.

I smile.
Yes I am an Earther, and I owe a lot to Mother Earth.
When the Mother Earth is getting destroyed, I will not leave Her. Even when I cannot save Her, I will not leave Her to perish alone.
I cannot live without Her. I cannot die without Her.
My body will perish here and will be mixed with the soil and water here. I will be there until she is there.
I am not going to say Goodbye to her.
Never.

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95. Limited Choice

“You are from Mumbai?” the woman asked me in a sort of accusing tone.

“Yes”, I answered without any guilt. I was no Mumbaikar in the sense of ‘belonging to Mumbai’, but then I was staying in Mumbai.

She was a woman in her 50s. Many times rural women due to hardships appear older than they are. So, may be this woman was just in her 40s. Of course, the woman in front of me did belong to middle class. Actually I was given her reference by a friend of friend in Mumbai. Her name was Suman. Suman Mavashi , to be more precise.

I gave her the name of my friend’s friend. Her face softened a bit. In fact, she smiled.

“Come inside. Would you mind if I ask you why you are here?” she asked, the accusation had reduced, just mild curiosity remained and she did not hide that.

This was a small village, consisting of only about 100 houses. The nearby calm river and the green hillocks made the spot very beautiful. I was very peaceful that moment and was enjoying the typical forest smell.

I was working with an organization as a Full Time Activist. As part of spreading the message, the work, we were visiting unknown villages and meeting lot of strangers. However I was a woman and very young then, so nobody allowed me to travel without reference. And these references worked like magic wherever I went. My friends and all their friends seemed to be good people. Their name opened new doors for me.

I told Suman Mavashi everything I was supposed to tell. Initially she listened to me quietly. Then she asked number of questions. She offered me food. She took me to few more homes and introduced me to various people. We had number of informal meetings and cups of tea. I ate lot of food that day as no family accepted ‘no’ as an answer to food. Well, I was happy. When well fed, we all are happy, isn’t it?

By the time I had my last sentence spoken; it was time for the last bus. Suman Mavashi wanted to have few words with me alone, so I went back to her house. I was excited with the experience but feeling tired. She too must have been tired. We were chatting something very non consequential. Suddenly she asked me, “As you stay in Dadar area, you must know XYZ.”

Yes I knew him and knew him well. He was office bearer of one organization with which my organization was closely associated. We had good contacts. We met at least once a week. XYZ invited me and my colleagues to his house very often. I knew his parents well. His wife was my friend. To his kids I was an elder friend. Such relations should normally be termed as close relations. I just nodded to Suman Mavashi.

“How well do you know him?” Suman Mavashi asked very sharply. I was alarmed by her tone. Her face looked hurt and angry. She was trying to control her emotions but tears emerged. She started weeping loudly as if somebody had just passed away, her body was shaking.

I was shocked. There was nobody around. I did not know this woman very well, though I had taken liking towards her during the last few hours I had spent with her. She was helpful, witty, kind and calm. She was sort of a community leader. She was well read and was enthusiastic.

I did not know what problem she had with XYZ. I told her ‘Yes, I know XYZ rather well. Do you too know him? I asked casually.

“I want to kill him,” Suman Mavashi said and I was stunned. I put my hands on her shoulders and tried to calm her down, but to no effect. With my kind gesture she broke down. She looked so sad, so helpless that I was frightened for her life.

Suman Mavashi had a story to tell. One of her nieces was closely working with XYZ in his organization. In the recent past, the 20 year girl had committed suicide and the family was still in that trauma. I knew this girl too and I was aware of her sad demise. The family suspected that XYZ had sexually abused the girl and hence she committed suicide. Actually the girl committed suicide after she was detected as pregnant.

Listening to Suman Mavashi, I was stunned. I was numb. I was terrified. I wanted to run away from her. How could I trust her more than XYZ? I knew XYZ for few years, I knew his family, and he had been always good to me. He always cared for me. We were good friends.

“Don’t you believe in me? My niece had left a note. But just to avoid public scandal we did not complain to police. But my niece was so simple, that she won’t name XYZ if he was not involved.” Suman Mavashi added.

“Don’t you believe in me? “ She asked again. “Do you think I am telling a lie? You are too young, you are like my niece; just be aware of people like XYZ. Don’t move alone to strange villages like this my child. Take care of yourself. All the people around are not good.” she kept on speaking and crying. She collapsed in my lap. I kept on patting her. Slowly she stopped crying. Her body stopped trembling. I was motionless. That was a deadly peaceful moment. I realized that whether wrong or right, true of false, Suman Mavashi was convinced that XYZ was guilty. I had no words to console her.

Somewhere inside me I was deeply affected. The intensity of Suman Mavashi’s sorrow touched me. It was frozen cold. It was lifeless. It was unnatural. It was alien. It broke something within me. I felt so lonely, so insecure. I could understand the pain she was going through. I could feel her helplessness. I could sense her feeling of taking revenge.

I suddenly grew that evening.

I could never talk to XYZ on this topic. I could never share the incidence with him. Somewhere something had changed. I had become a different person – rightly or wrongly I do not know. I never judged XYZ. Slowly the friendship died. For that matter I never judged anyone, and many such relations ended.

But that evening I realized that people can be 'different' to different persons. There is always a possibility that you will never know the truth. Basically because truth is most of the time what one understands; how one interprets. There is nothing like absolute truth. Not about human beings. Everything changes, people change, relationships change, expectations change….

So if someone accuses a person close to me, I can understand the accuser as well as the accused.

Sometimes, for no apparent reason, people close to you change. We hear totally different (strangely disappointing) opinions and stories about them. It hurts. Sometimes two people who are close to you hurt each other badly and both of them want you to trust them, believe in them - with their version of truth. In the process, you are torn, you are stretched beyond limits. Your values become weapon for others to hurt you.

Sometimes, I wish I had never met Suman Mavashi.

That day Suman Mavahi unintentionally made me realize certain aspects of life for which I was not prepared then.

I am not prepared even today.

However life chooses whatever gifts it wants to give me!!

I have limited choice!!

94. Puzzle

Lately I am going through a funny experience. This is one aspect of growing old I guess.

A few months ago I met an old friend - now a very famous person. We were introduced to each other in 1984. She must have invited me for dinner at her place about 300 times during those five/six years. I was sort of their family member – a pampered one. I was part of their joy and sorrow. We used to talk to each other a lot during those days.

Later I left that city and kept constantly moving on. Those were the days when letter writing was the only means of communication. By the time I could afford email and mobile, I had lost contact with her. Because she has grown to be a ‘Page 3 Person’, I did not dare to contact her. In the mean time life had taught me how to deal with such losses and so I did not lament. I have grown to realize that everything disappears when it ceases to contribute, when the teaching is transmitted.

The other day I happened to attend a public program where this old friend of mine was the chief speaker. She instantly recognized me, was happy to see me and started chatting with me the moment the official function was over.

My friend was bit emotional – naturally. Then she asked me, “Do you remember this?” and narrated a particular incidence, which I did not at all remember. She was surprised. Then she kept on asking me the question repeatedly and funnily I did not at all remember any of those events, happening, joys and sorrows.

It was striking that she remembered certain portion of our interactions which I had completely forgotten. Even after listening to her, I was not able to recall any of those incidents.

Last week, I met another friend. Here too, I was meeting her after almost 10 years. In earlier times, her home was my home for few months. For about 10 years she had taken care of me – by feeding me nourishing food, by offering books to me and by sharing life with me. The contact was lost due to unavoidable circumstances –my moving out of the town again.

This friend was talking to me and again I had the same feeling. She was remembering certain portions of out interactions, discussions which I had completely forgotten and could not recall.

Whatever incidences my friends were sharing (and asking me whether I remembered those) were not at all inconvenient to me (rather they were emphasizing goodness in me), but I had no traces of those. Does it mean I have a bad memory?

Does it mean that we understand/interpret the same facts differently and we underline experiences differently?

Does it mean that the intensity of each person is so unique that the same experience can be labeled (sorted and stored) differently by different persons?

Does it mean life is a jigsaw puzzle of pieces and everybody gets hold of one or the other piece only?

Does it mean that we should be more tolerant and more patient – because whatever is important to me is not important to others and vice versa?

Does it mean that human beings are so complicated (and so is human life) that no one ever will be able to complete the jigsaw puzzle called human being and human life?

93. Who is J.G.?

“Who is John Galt?”

The statement is repeated hundreds of times in ‘Atlas Shrugged’ by Ayn Rand.  People utter this statement simply, without expression. Sometimes fear is attached to this utterance. Attached to this statement is a feeling of terror without reason.

The question is symbolic; it is apparently a question but in fact a statement.  It indicates lack of knowledge, lack of information, a mystery, and helplessness. It denotes that one has reached a dead end, a situation where ‘Devil and Deep Sea’ are the only two options.

That evening I remembered “Who is John Galt?” I even asked - in hope and in desperation – not exactly about John Galt but about one person whose initials were also JG. In a way I asked “Who is JG?”

The name JG appeared in one of our important communications and we (our team) were asked to share the progress regarding discussions with this particular JG.

So I asked my colleague, “Who is JG? Who has discussed? What?”

He did not know. We realized that both of us did not know. And we were supposed to discuss this in the next 10 minutes - on an important international call.

Then I asked the question to the people who are supposed to know, who should know. 

             

They asked back, “Who is JG? Who has discussed? What? For what?”

That was great. I had just few minutes at hand and I had no time to get amused or irritated.

Then I turned to those who must know.

And they asked, “Who is he? And discussion about what?”

That was indeed fantastic.

People meet every day, they call every week, they have internet connection, they are supposed to work together, and they are part of one team. But it is interesting that someone who is miles away from us, has access to such a piece of information which none of us have. No doubt knowledge brings power, but some people seem to think that not sharing knowledge generates more power.

I believe that communication is not a skill hurdle or technology problem, it is basically a mindset problem. There is no dearth of communication tools. What matters is whether one feels like communicating, what message one chooses for communication, how one communicates. People can meet, they can call, they can send text messages, they can write blogs, they can write letters, they can meet and spend time together without talking, they can express their anger, joy, happiness, they can choose not to express, they can trust each other. There are ways and means to choose recipients, messages, tools, outcomes. What is lacking is the urge to communicate!

The lack of communication reflects on how one treats others, how much importance one gives to team work and how much one values egalitarian sharing.

Who is JG -John Galt? – is much deeper and subtler question than it appears. It reflects on life values of ourselves and the people around us. Beyond certain limits, one cannot choose people around – life is full of compromises.

However, one can certainly choose life values.

It is better late than never!!

92. Wish

(1)

“What is your last wish?” the officer in uniform asked.

“Why?’ I said, as I did not properly understand his question.

“Oh! The judgment is over. You will be slain tomorrow evening, if everything goes as planned.” He added in a matter of fact tone, but I could see that he was more than happy.

My last wish! That is indeed funny.

Sounds strange, isn’t it?

After few hours another officer came, he was friendlier than the earlier one.

“How are you going to kill me?” I asked. I can definitely be destroyed, but I am not sure whether these backward people have the required knowledge to destroy me.

“Why take so much interest in the means when the end is coming buddy?” the officer was amused.

“Just want to tell you that you people cannot kill me. Neither the bullet can kill me, nor the fire, nor the water….” I started explaining. The officer started laughing.

“Look, he is preaching Bhagvadgita. At the doorstep of the death everyone becomes a philosopher” He shouted loudly to his friends. They all laughed.

"Nainam Chindanti Shastrani, Nainam Dahati Pavakaha…" someone chanted from outside and was followed by another waver of laughter.

Yes, I know this particular shloka very well. I smiled.

Truth is more fictitious than what one can imagine.

(2)

I do not know where to start this story, because it is still happening, I am in the midst of it. From wherever I start, it sounds like a sudden start; from whatever angle I see it is complex. The end is clear, but how I will reach that end still is uncertain.

If I say that my life took a sudden turn like life of Passépartout; some of you would immediately recollect ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’ by Jules Verne. Have you watched the movie by Jackie Chan? But that is not the story I want to tell you.

My master was as intelligent as Passépartout’s master Mr. Phileas Fogg. We need no high IQ to conclude that my master was as eccentric as an intelligent person could be. But the times have changed and even a traditional Londoner does not have a luxury to live like Mr. Fogg. Globalization, rat race, competition and what not. Yes, I read daily newspapers and watch innumerable channels (which by the way provide the same news!) and so I have picked up these words.

My master was an Anthropologist. He lived more in history than in present, more with the dead than the living. So, it was actually a big surprise that he had me. Because I belong to the era of scientific revolution, technological leap is the right word than scientific.

It was a weird combination of two of us. There was my master - deeply interested in skulls, cave paintings, ancient religions and scriptures. And there was me, with knowledge and skill that a modern life requires. My master had a great sense of humor. He must have gauged this contradiction at the first instant. That is why he named me ‘Master’ as I was the real master of all the actions he needed to do in the external world. The sense of humor is contagious indeed. Because I do not know why and how, but I responded by calling him ‘Grandmaster’. I still remember how he laughed at that. I hardly saw him laugh ever again.

Grandmaster had no family and no friends except for his Anthropological Society colleagues. They always discussed serious things like beliefs, scripts, and monuments – another group of people who spent more time with the buried. Since I joined, I used to take care of Grandmaster. With modern gadgets cooking, cleaning, shopping ..everything has become much easier. Grandmaster must have been a genius in the field, because he had ample money. His bank balance was very good.

One of my basic responsibilities was to prepare itinerary for Grandmaster’s travel. I accompanied him everywhere he went. It was easy because he was very methodical. But making his travel schedule outside the territory was bit difficult. He liked to go to places where not many people go- naturally only flight booking was not sufficient. I had to arrange for many things. I am efficient, but not a magician. Grandmaster often forgot that and expected me to provide anything he wanted. So I had to prepare wildest of checklists and store different things in the travel kit.

Slowly I learnt that Grandmaster does not need highly technical tools – just a digital camera and a laptop would be enough for him at the end of the day. What he needed was a torch, a knife, a rope, a piece of cloth, a brush and many such small things. Once I knew this, I could stock things easily and even make purchases at the local stores. The cash transactions always excited me because in the city we only use credit cards.

(3)

Like Mr. Fogg, and Passépartout, one day we left the city with a very short notice. Both of us were blindfolded and dropped on a kind of ‘no man’s land’ by a helicopter. I did not know what was happening and why it was happening. But Grandmaster was always so weird that I thought it to be one of his scholarly and secret excursions. I concluded that it was something important and urgent. I was not sure whether like Mr. Fogg; Grandmaster had a bet with his colleagues at the Society.

A day passed in walking and we were reached nowhere. Night arrived, I put the tent, served ‘ready to eat’ tin food and Grandmaster slept. I naturally could not sleep. I was awake. The night was strangely still, the black backdrop made the stars look fiercely shining. I was curious. I decided to take a little walk outside, just around the tent. It was chilly silence everywhere. Fearing for Grandmaster’s safety, I returned within three minutes.

And there was the tent, but there was no Grandmaster inside! I turned to left and searched for him, but no Grandmaster. I turned back and searched for him, but no grandmaster. I turned to right and searched for him, but there was not Grandmaster. Grandmaster had completely vanished from the world.

I was not dreaming because I cannot dream. I was not confused, because I cannot get confused. But my logic was completely defied. Grandmaster’s safety was my first and foremost responsibility. I had committed a mistake by leaving him alone. Where could he go? Within three minutes?

And then they came, from all sides. I could see a gun aimed at Grandmasters’ body. Was he dead? Was he unconscious? Who were these people? Why were they violently handling Grandmaster?

“Hands Up, otherwise we will kill your friend”, asked one of the crowds. I obeyed them. I do not question human beings, I only obey them.

“Don’t say anything about me, don’t reveal my identity” cried my Grandmaster. One of them kicked Grandmaster and they pulled him away. I never saw him again.

(4)

The people, their leaders, their officers asked me many questions. But I could not answer. Grandmaster had ordered me not to speak about him. There was not much to speak about me either. So, I did not answer those questions. They tried to harass me but they could not. I did not cry, I did not shout, I did not feel any pain. They used second degree, third degree even the fourth degree, but I was not affected. Initially they were curious that I neither eat food, nor drink water and nor sleep. The curiosity was turned into obsession and then into a mass fear.

They are frightened. The panic button is pushed. Everybody wants to get rid of me at the earliest. But apparently they have a democratic system and the Human Rights Groups are active, so they can not just make me die ‘accidental death’. Hence, the drama of Justice was played to perfection. Now trying to kill me is going to be more frustrating and frightening experience for this community, because I repeat they will not be able to kill me.

I belong to S6 generation. I have no emotions, no feelings; I am designed to have only intelligence and a sense of duty. Like a human servant, I can’t speak about Grandmaster; because I am not emotionally attached to him. Because of his order, I can’t tell these people that he is one of renowned Anthropologist. I cannot utter his name, by his strict order. I can’t communicate to his Anthropological Society colleagues, because I am supposed to communicate only with my Master i.e. Grandmaster. I am not sure whether I wish to see Grandmaster and take him back to his comfortable home. As he is not there, I can just wait for Grandmaster, wait for his next order.

They have kept me in a dark underground cell. I can carry on for six years (S6 means one who can live on inbuilt battery for six years!) without Solar Energy – that is going to madden the community.

I wish I could wish like a human being. I wish like human beings, I could die instantly.

But I cannot, because I am a Robot, Generation S6 Robot!