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. 

165. When Journey Meant More than Destination

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 25; the Silver 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 'When Journey Meant More Than Destination'.

(1)

“Kajaraa Re Kajaraa Re….” the mobile suddenly becomes live.

Roshan glances at it. It is from home. He curses himself.

Since the High Court bomb blast, his wife has started calling him after every couple of hours. She as if wants to ensure that he is not dead.

The traffic is moving slowly and the passenger is asking every couple of minutes ‘How much more time will it take? I should not miss my flight.”

Roshan gives the right kind of answers. He thinks that only if this man had not made him wait for half an hour, he would have been at the airport long time ago. Now this Dhaula Kuan traffic is creating stress.

“Kajaraa Re Kajaraa Re….” the handset shouts again. Roshan is wondering what the call is about. Generally if he does not pick up the phone twice, Malini, his wife understands that he is driving and waits for at least half an hour before making another call. But today she seems desperate - is there something wrong, Roshan wonders.

But first things first. Reach the airport, drop the passenger, go to the parking lot, report the vehicle to Meru desk, and then he would get time to call back home.

The mobile rings again. He picks up.

“Where are you?” that is how his conversation with his wife always begins.

“I just reached the airport. I was going to call you. Anyway, tell me, what is it?” Roshan asks with concern.

“Can you come home immediately?” Malini pleads.

Roshan’s heart sinks. “What happened?” he is breathing fast.

“You need to talk to Sudha. She is adamant about going to that place day after tomorrow..…” Malini is worried.

Roshan sighs. He can’t go like this. To the company he has to pay a thousand rupees every day.  The taxi drinks petrol like a camel from the desert. He had had only one trip so far. How can he go back without doing work?

“I will come early today. Don’t worry. There are still 24 hours – isn’t it?” Roshan wants to assure his wife.  

Sudha is Roshan’s daughter and Roshan is proud of her. She is mature; she understands the circumstances very well. She wants to study, wants to do some research she says. Roshan has taken lot of trouble to stand to people who wanted him to marry off Sudha a long back. But Roshan is convinced that education would change Sudha’s life forever. What else can he give to her? He has no estate, no land, no ornaments to offer her. Even the education, he is not fully supporting. Sudha has been awarded some scholarship. There is a group of people (they call themselves SAMATA or something like that) who help children of people like Roshan. Those people have influenced Sudha more than he would have liked – feels Roshan.

(2)

When Roshan reaches home at about 9.30 in the night, he is tired; but satisfied. He has earned enough money today – which always makes him happy at the end of the day.

He immediately feels the tension in the environment. Neetish, his son is watching some cricket match on TV, but his mind is not in the game is obvious. Malini is still in the kitchen and Sudha is in other room; ironing her clothes. Neetish smiles sheepishly and shows his fingers locked – indicating his mother and his sister are at war. What would be the topic of the conflict, Roshan wonders. Has Sudha decided to marry someone who is not from his own caste – he fears.

But the discussion would happen later. Malini has very wisely created this rule long back – during breakfast and dinner, no serious topics are discussed in their home. Roshan feels thankful to Malini about it. He has some time to think about what the issue could be.

Sudha comes out, she smiles but there is something sad in her smile. Malini serves. Neetish talks about the cricket match and how Sachin was out in 90s again. Malini talks about the neighbor. Roshan tells about the customer who forgot handset in his taxi. Everybody is trying to be normal, knowing that the ‘abnormal’ part is coming afterwards.

(3)

“So, what is it my dear child?” Roshan asks Sudha. Malini smirks.

Sudha says, “Baba, I had been to Jantar Mantar yesterday and today evening.”

“Jantar Mantar? What for?” Roshan is still clueless.

“That fast against corruption Baba”, Neetish adds.

Sudha smiles; Malini frowns at her son.

“What of that?” Roshan is still wondering.

“I joined the protest march from Jantar Mantar to India Gate today with my friends.” Sudha explains. She sounds nervous.

“Oh! You mean that old man’s fast? It is a good cause. Even I want to go once, let me see how I can make it. Sudha, what time does the protest march start tomorrow?” Roshan asks with enthusiasm.

“Now don’t you start!” Malini shouts. “Instead of scolding Sudha, now you are going to join the march?” Malini’s eyes are filled with tears.

Roshan does not understand what Malini is so sacred about, why she does not want Sudha to join.

“But Malini isn’t it a good cause Sudha is in? What is wrong in fighting against corruption? We should support this.  There are well known people like Kiran Bedi in that movement. This Anna is an ex army man. The other guy – what is his name – he also has won some international award for his work. You know, how much I have to pay unnecessarily to the police? And you remember how we lost the opportunity to get Neetish in that school – because we could not ‘donate’ the money to school authorities? Remember how we had to bribe the hospital staff when your mother had cardiac attack? It is a good work and we should be proud that Sudha is joining the protest march instead of just sitting at home and watching TV.” Roshan tries to convince Malini.

“Ok, you also go to Jail then…” Malini speaks.

“Jail? What are you talking about?” Roshan is confused again.

“Baba, Anna Hajare has called ‘Jail Bharo’ day after tomorrow. I am going to register my name; that is what I am asking your permission for.” Sudha is speaking calmly. Roshan suddenly feels that his daughter has grown up a lot in the last few months. He remembers her as a kid who was naughty and who always demanded his time. He remembers her studying in the night with concentration and he remembers her joy when she was awarded the scholarship. He remembers her as a child who was frightened of darkness, and now she is ready to go to jail for social cause. What a change and how time passes!! His heart is full of love for Sudha.

Roshan laughs. He says, “Malini don’t worry. So many people will come forward that police will not be able to put all of them in jail. And even if she is put in jail, there will be thousands of others as well.”

“I am not worried about others. What if they arrest Sudha? Is she not too young to join such agitations? I am scared for her future. One wrong move and everything will be spoiled for her. You know better than me how police generally are, what if they misbehave with her? I have not objected to her joining the march, I too understand our responsibility. But going to jail is a risk; I want her to be safe and secure.” Malini pours her heart out.

“But Ma, I won’t be alone. There would be thousands of people. And my friends from ‘Samata’ will be there too. Ma, don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to me. And if you don’t give me permission, anyway I will go…” Sudha seems determined.

“The kids might not know, but how can you turn blind to what happened to you? How can you push your own kids again in the same dust?” Malini is shaking – whether with rage or sorrow or with both, Roshan can only guess.

The kids exchange looks. Neetish appeals mutely to his sister. Sudha thinks for a moment and then adds “But Ma, times have changed. The media is there, the world is watching, we are not small in number! I tell you; nothing wrong will happen to me. Just leave this fear behind…”

Roshan remembers his plight, that part of the past which he prefers to forget.

He was in his final year of graduation, studying in the district headquarter. In his native village, a company wanted to acquire land. The Gramsabha opposed the acquisition which was followed by brutal atrocities in the village.  Farmers agitated, Roshan joined to save his own small land, his family and their livelihood. He was not alone, sure; but he was not spared.

The company used many tricks to divide people. Some were offered jobs, some were offered more money, some were forced to sell, some were made to run for life, and some were jailed. The media came and went.  A sorrow of one village cannot have a news value for more than a day. Roshan’s elder brother was killed in police firing; his sister in law disappeared and her dead body was found in an old well; his old parents died of shock. Following arrest warrant, Roshan had to flee leaving his home forever. Later there was nothing to go back to home. He came to Delhi, learned to survive, learned to live, and was married to Malini. In the mean time a new government came and all the cases were withdrawn. So, Roshan was a free man in the eyes of law. He had once narrated the whole experience to Malini and they never discussed it again. They acted as if it was not part of Roshan’s life but some movie plot.  Sudha and Neetish had learnt the story in bits and pieces. They never dared to ask Roshan the details.

Roshan thinks. He suffered, no doubt. History has put a burden on his shoulders and he has to live and die with it. But does it mean that his children should not participate in something which is relevant to their life? Does it mean that Roshan should not allow his kids to take risks, to interpret the world in their own way? What if they put Sudha in Jail? What is wrong to be in jail for a good cause?

“Ok, I understand. For the time being, let us stop this discussion. Let us all think and tomorrow evening we will decide about it.” Roshan declares like a judge. Sudha is hopeful at this announcement, Malini is worried and Neetish is confused.

(4)

Next morning, both Sudha and Neetish are out early to attend classes. Roshan sits calmly at the dining table and speaks to Malini. “I understand your concern Malini. I keep on thinking what would have happened had I not joined the protest march in my village. Maybe, the company could have offered me a job. Maybe, my parents, my brother, my sister-in-law were still alive. Maybe we would have been richer and safer. Maybe I could have a chauffeur driven car instead of this taxi. Maybe we could give a far better education to Sudha and Neetish.”

“But Malini, I am convinced that I was right then in participating in that protest march. I paid a high price of that act, but that does not mean that my action was wrong. I feel no guilt about what happened. I feel morally right when I stood against the company and had to fight my own way out of the mess. I failed but I am happy that I fought. We need to take a stand against wrong. We need to join this national cause. We need to encourage not only Sudha but Neetish too, to join.”

Malini argues. Roshan explains. Malini argues again. Roshan explains. The more time goes in, the more Roshan is convinced about joining.

“Ok, I will call that Deedee from SAMATA to ensure that Sudha would not be left alone,” Roshan moves to make a call. Then he has a flash. He smiles.

That evening crowd of thousands is walking from Jantar Mantar to India Gate, with happy faces, smiling, holding each other’s hand, singing ‘Vande Matarm’ , charged with patriotic emotions. They are melted in the national emotions, they feel proud. Their joy has no bounds.

That journey from Jantar Mantar to India Gate meant more than destination not only for Sudha, but for Neetish, for Roshan and for Malini as well.

And for hundreds and thousands of Indians. 

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.

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.  

163. World of JH

Oscar is a socialite. He likes to attend various social meetings in the town.

When the door is left open, Hamish runs away from the surgery and sits patiently waiting after reaching home.

Judy the nurse, dutifully watches everyone. She is always there to attend the ill.

Gertrude gulps two gallons of beer.

Bobby is a picture of massive muscle power.

Skipper is stunned by the death of Jingo and almost gives up his life too, only to be revived by presence of another young one in the family.

She is hiding her new-born baby.

What am I talking about?

Last few days, after reaching home from, I did not do anything but spent my time with those whom I have mentioned above.  

It does not matter that Oscar is a cat, which was found by a girl and brought to surgery.

I forget that Hamish is a Dog of a retired school teacher.

I have not mentioned that Judy is Eric Abbot’s sheepdog taking care of ill bullock and small chickens.

Gertrude is sow who has is just not allowing her newly born baby’s to come near her. The baby’s would die if it the mother continues to behave so.

Bobby is a splendid horse belonging to Mr. Mount.

Skipper and Jingo are two dogs.

There are not only cats, dogs, cows, horses, pigs.

There are interesting human beings as well.

Who would forget Tristan’s pranks? And his brother Siegfried?

The benevolent Mr. Barge with his Soothitt; Mr. Hollin the farmer with traditional wisdom; Mr. Mount with probing grey eyes; the overconfident Mr. Seth Pilling who had to eat his words; Mrs. Ridge who was happy even when her car was stolen because her dog Joshua barked at the thief; how lonely James feel along with number 87 of Mr. Blackburn; Paul Cotterell who appears so strong and James thinks that nothing touches Paul deeply.. how he commits suicide after his dog Theo had to be put to rest;    how blindness of dog Digger helps Andrew to come out of the dark phase of life…

There are stories after stories. Enchanting stories of the world of Darrowby .. World of Yorkshire.

As seen by James Herriot.

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. 

161. Queue

“Are you in this Queue?” he asked.

“Yes and No” I answered.

He frowned. At least I thought so.

Today I was in Nasik.  Even before we started our work, people asked me whether I wanted to visit Tryamabakeshwar temple. Someone called me from Mumbai and suggested me to do so.

I have visited this temple many times and it is one of my favorite places. So, in the evening at last, people were able to convince me and thus we were there.

There was lot of crowd. One of the trustees was visiting temple then and so there was much more discipline than what is usually observed. As always, local people tried to arrange for some kind of special treatment for me – that in most of these religious places means avoiding standing in the queue. I don’t like to break the queue when so many people are standing there. If I want to visit temple, I should follow the standard procedures. If I don’t have time, well, no God needs me.  We have a mutual understanding about not needing each other.  We respect each other and let live other in peace.

I told the people around me not to bother about breaking the queue. I added that one should approach God by leaving aside material achievements – because they do not matter in the relationship with God. As the security guards did not allow ‘special entry’ today, people around me had no option but to follow the queue.

For last two days I had overworked. Lot of travel, no food on time, many challenges in the work I was supposed to monitor and had to be very patient to make people understand the next steps that were essential. I was completely exhausted and needed time to relax and refresh. Looking at the length of the queue, I said, “Ok, it looks like God does not want me to visit him today. Let us go back.”

On my casual remarks, the team around me panicked. They immediately started searching for some higher authority of the temple, with whose permission they could get me through easily. I had no energy to discuss rationality with them. My views on God are bit weird and it needed special efforts from me to communicate those to others. I realized that if I don’t stand in the queue, these people will continue to feel uneasy and they will keep on trying some or the other way to take me inside by the shortest possible way.

The only option for me to stop them was to stand in the queue as if I was really willing to visit the temple. It was hypocritical of course, but at times I have to be so – not for my own wishes, but to satisfy others.

So, I was in the queue physically and was not there at all emotionally or spiritually. Hence this:  ‘Yes and No”.

And then I kept overhearing others. Two people behind me were discussing some Rural Development Scheme of Government and were sharing secretes about ‘how to get included in the beneficiary list’. A woman standing in front of me was reading an English book but her 10 year child was not allowing her to concentrate. A woman in her 30s was chanting Shiva stotra – she broke suddenly and shouted at her 8 year daughter for some kind of misbehavior. A group of youth was planning about what they should eat in the evening. An old lady was explaining her knee-ache to other lady.   A young man was looking dreamily at some tree in the temple courtyard. A girl in jeans and sleeveless T shirt was sentimentally watching her plate in which flowers and other material for worship was kept. A group of children tried to bypass the queue and got a big scolding from elders. One elderly gentleman started his sermon on how the next generation is getting worse. I was wondering why nobody is using mobile and clicking and realized that mobile phones and cameras were not allowed inside temple premises.

The queue kept on moving. As it was a zigzag queue on every turn I had different people on my left and on my right.  I kept on hearing different versions of life – mostly material.

Nobody in that queue was willing to give up material aspects of life even when they cherished to see the God, even when they were in the presence of God.  I was not different from them as like a sponge, I was taking everything that was around me.

Was I in the queue?

Not really.

“If you are not in the queue, you are not in the queue”, again he spoke.

I was surprised.  Then I smiled.

I said, “This remark is very absurd, specially coming from you.  It is more like Zen.”

“Well, if you are not in the queue, sometimes you are also in the queue,” he added thoughtfully. I cannot imagine him smiling, but I guess he was smiling.

“Decide for yourself,” he said and disappeared.

I am still tired.

I have yet to get some nourishing food – simple but nourishing.

Who was he? What did he say? Why did he say it to me? Did that conversation really happen or as always I was just dreaming with eyes open? Why it always happens to me? Is there any seed of truth in what he said or the fatigue is getting over me? Why can’t I stop thinking?

Lots of questions. There is sort of queue of questions.

Yes, somehow, I am always in one or the other queue.

(Nasik, Maharashtra)

160. Search

I could not help smiling even though I was little stressed.

The reason for stress was simple – Air India pilots went on strike  - once again – and though the reports said that they have joined duty – I did not know whether my flight scheduled today afternoon will take me to Delhi or not.

But anyway, there is no point in thinking too much about things which are beyond my control.

So, I was taking my breakfast with leisure.

The restaurant was such that I could overhear conversations around without any effort. The usual tourist conversations are not very interesting – so I was not paying attention to those.

Then a large family appeared. The way they came in different pairs attracted my attention. One of the pairs was a woman in 70s and a young man in 20s.  The other family members had already started their breakfast and this pair had arrived little later. They probably were grandmother-grandson.

“What would you have grandma?” the grandson asked obediently.

“Nothing” declared grandma. Then on a second thought she said, “Just bring me a cup of tea.”

Then she probably heard other members talking about various dishes available on the buffet counter.

By the time the cup of tea arrived, grandma wanted a piece of toast.  She said that as she had to take medicine, it was better that she ate something first. Initially she wanted plain toast and  then she ordered for jam. The moment the jam was offered to her, she wanted butter too.

After a minute or so she said, she won’t mind a piece of paratha and then of course she wanted some pickle with it. When pickle arrived, she asked why curd was not served. The curd came.  By the time I left the restaurant people around her were telling her how good the puri-subjee was and I am sure that would be the next order of grandma.  

I was smiling.

I guess the behavior of that grandma was not unusual. We all do the same on various occasions. All new- year resolutions are of the nature of grandma’s resolution of ‘not to have breakfast.”

Why do we get tempted? Why are we not sure about ourselves? Why do we get influenced by what others are doing? Why can’t we take decisions for which we have enough capacity to practice those? Why can’t stand to our resolutions? Why do we get carried away by our desires?

We all search for these fundamental answers. Those who get it, cross the barriers. Those who don’t are caught in the same net again and again. We never know when the search would be over. The key is to keep on searching.


(Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh)