tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40556060910426204782024-03-14T04:51:32.468+08:00A Basket of Fallen LeavesManish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-35464183759174284052019-03-24T22:24:00.000+08:002019-03-26T17:12:54.399+08:00Dwi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Around 20
years back, my hairline started receding. ‘The good lord giveth all, the good
lord taketh all,’ someone said. But I kept trying recommendations. Lived in
state of denial for some time, held grudge against the God thereafter, while
hair loss continued, until there was nothing left to lose. My mother said my hairs were curly when I was a little boy.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I live with
the loss today. It doesn’t bother me anymore. What remains, is the gratitude
towards what I had once.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Guess we
all learn to live without something or someone dear. There lies our
freedom, and theirs. Just have to understand their role and their stage in our
lives and move on.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>In 2002</strong>, in
an evening we were complaining about the food James, our helper at the Siemens
guest house in Dehradun, prepared for us.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“He has no
sense of taste or variety. Cooks the same stuff every second day. Doesn’t even
ask us what to cook”, we cribbed while James listened, with his head down.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kanan
looked at us in disbelief. “Tell me if you guys have made any attempt to inform
him in advance about what you like to eat?” She asked.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“You talk
about your customer’s been rude to you, aren’t you guys equally rude customers?
aren’t you guys equally inflexible?” And she smiled. Kanan was our project
manager. More than that she knew how to manage racoons like us.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">From that
time onwards, I have always tried to put myself into customer’s shoes; have
tried to become a good customer myself. Have also made efforts to understand people’s
perspectives and have chosen my battles carefully.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong>In 2017</strong>, I
shifted to Singapore with family. Had to engage a helper given my daughter
is too young and my mother bit old.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We had
never engaged a helper to stay with us full time. But thankfully there have been
several agencies in Singapore those provide references to choose from. An
issue was, the maids had put their Instagram worthy pics. More than 50% of them
appeared too attractive and hence not qualified. Well I thought so.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We finally
chose a girl based on our intuition. She appeared simple and non-descript; thought
we could start with that. After waiting for her around a month, we met Dwi
Lestari in May 2017.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In
following months and years, I saw her learning and doing things, carrying out
her work at home and outside, taking care of people at home, her patience and
her intelligence. She has been my hero and remains by far, the most intelligent
and determined lady I have met.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She lived
without any support of husband, away from her small child and her mother. She looked
after us with great care and grace, in spirit of meeting our expectations. Last
December when her mother passed away, she went to her home town for a couple of
weeks, put her child to a friend’s place and came back to finish her contract,
despite all my requests and advice not to come back. Life’s greatest lessons
come at unexpected places. I learnt how to deal with a customer, at home.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dwi left us
last Friday after completing her contract. She has been able to save some
money. I know she is going to make best use of it, perhaps towards what she likes to
do, run a small business selling clothes. I am sure she will be successful in
that too. Like her name, all that I’ve learnt from her, will stay abiding in me.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br /></div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-38717836179404993202017-09-24T18:20:00.000+08:002017-09-25T19:16:54.539+08:00A life of details..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodyJEgo4domDyrPvwOxbzoSuU6cGHRX0EXkr-Didq1u1h-XTvBFd0tuTBOXi1_vVT6Mykc4NYAqh2C5NXGg7y8FTuujFp8Waw1sKJwRP2gh7DvKBEGGvUAufZ5aukWNsJBaU_JIlCkhA/s1600/20369062_10213799963770909_3589965811873884429_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="1476" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodyJEgo4domDyrPvwOxbzoSuU6cGHRX0EXkr-Didq1u1h-XTvBFd0tuTBOXi1_vVT6Mykc4NYAqh2C5NXGg7y8FTuujFp8Waw1sKJwRP2gh7DvKBEGGvUAufZ5aukWNsJBaU_JIlCkhA/s320/20369062_10213799963770909_3589965811873884429_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Few weeks back on a Friday, a meeting
started at 6.30 PM. It was a tough discussion, on a technically complex
topic with multiple interdependencies and unknowns. Joined only to ensure
everyone gets clarity on next steps. But towards the end, I was one completely drained.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Why do you take everything on yourself?’
asked Kuhoo. She calls every evening to remind that I have a home to come back
to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the way back, the taxi driver
explained why I should opt for ECP rather than taking Marine Parade Road. Later
at home, saw in the news that Federer lost to one Del Porto. And before I
slept, a friend messaged that of late I appear hoary and hassled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Even this shall pass…’ I thought.
Weekend was coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>..of lost identities..</i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my little daughter refuses to cognize
weekends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I got up as usual on Saturday; and sat
in the living room facing the balcony. Nice clouds, lots of wind and Ira in my
lap, rehearsing the poems she learnt recently. She would kiss me occasionally
and smile. And I would forget how ugly or stupid I look to the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time is changing. Many take themselves
too seriously. Some are serious about their wisdom, some about their
looks. And then that desperation for such wisdom or looks to be admired. Yet no
one sticks to a King Solomon or Marilyn Monroe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a result it seems, desperation in
growing into identity crisis. Looking good is no more enough, comparisons
are necessary, others must be proved 'not good enough'. If that doesn't work,
try tantrums, absurdity if must. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>A life of details..</b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t been able to fit in much. Somewhat
lonely in my life of details. But I still see each person is inimitable. And I
have learnt to be even more patient.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It feels so bad to see how quickly our
young ones get bored. Video games come with life-like graphics, devices are simple
to use and exciting. One can become a Joe or Alex, a champion racer or fighter
and that with a re-start button. Recognition is easy and quick in the virtual
world; real life requires a lot more rigor, a lot more routine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not all gloom and doom though. These
kids are quicker learners. They also have a wider network. They are just different.
And they are in rush. Perhaps they see world changing quicker than we’ve seen
so far. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s more critical than ever before that
we let these kids decide which subject or sports interest them. And while they pursue
their interests; we leave them with a couple of cardinal advice:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>First,</i></b><i> they should not carry any sense of entitlement.</i> No one is obliged to entertain them, much less care for what they
want. So they may have to walk alone. If they get any help or encouragement,
they should be grateful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Second</i></b><i>, it’s ok to be ordinary. </i>But they must take things up. Fail or excel, but don’t let a false recognition
drift them away from their purpose. Keep in mind that some of the most reliable
things in this world are made by people who failed the most. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-66027966973635244382016-12-06T01:38:00.001+08:002016-12-06T08:04:28.195+08:00Shores..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The phone rang relentlessly during the wee hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who is calling?” bit
uneasy I picked up, seeing an unknown number.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Recognize me?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry. I am unable
to.” I tried hard. The voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t remember.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You once told you can identify my voice in a crowd.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Disha!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. You loser.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I chuckled. Felt so good to hear from an old friend. “Where
are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Listen I have just come to KL.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Idiot, you are telling me now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Am with a tour group. Will stay at Colmar Tropicale till
Sunday afternoon. And then we’ll proceed to Kota Kinabalu. Can we meet today?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“At Colmar?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. I will message later in morning. My Freaky Ali wants
to go for golf. But I like to catch up, we’ll go for a trek may be. Come please,
no excuses.” She hung up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Which girl friend is missing you now?” Kuhoo mumbled, half
asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Disha and Rohit have come to KL”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great. Coming here? When?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. They are in a group staying at Colmar Tropicale. Rohit
is going for golf in morning. Disha will stay back, wants us to join her.” I
told about her plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ira is coughing. I think I won’t be able to come. Tell them
to drop by on their way back from Kota Kinabalu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright then.” I went back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Mussourie, 2001</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met Disha in August 2001 in Mussourie. Average looks,
bit tomboyish, very cheerful. She was part of a scout group that stayed in same
hotel where I stayed during Janamastami weekend. In evening the hotel had organized
a common bonfire for hotel guests. Scout boys and girls sat and sang there
till late. That evening Disha also sang, and sang quite well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next day, I saw her again during breakfast. Complimented on
her voice and suggested her to record some songs and send for auditions. Later we roamed around Mall Road, Company Garden, Gun Hill etc. And from that day on we have
been in touch over e-mails, which became sparser since 2008, around the
time she got married.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That Sunday, I realized that behind the aura of an abrupt
and cheerful girl, Disha was a very sensitive person. She could see every little thing; she could explain difference between a fir and a pine tree while both appeared
like a Christmas tree to me; she knew them by their aromas. She could talk
about leaves and flowers and of hills and roads. Of people far up, and of places
oblivious to this mad world. And of connection and her ability to carry those connections
inside her. <i>And finally of her wish that her heart could always be wheedled</i>,
for she always wanted to be happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Colmar Tropicale, 2016</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I reached Colmar Tropicale around 9.30 AM. Saw Disha waiting
near a cafe. She looked chubbier, and a bit fairer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have got mature looks now.” She smiled. “Where is Sher
Khan?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks.” I wasn’t sure whether that meant I looked too old.
“She couldn’t come. She has asked you guys to drop over”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK. I will talk to her.” She said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, how is Dubai?” I started, trying not to appear clumsy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You really want to know that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. Dubai would know better.” We said together and laughed.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a lot to catch up on. We continued to talk as we had
breakfast, and then walked around Japanese gardens and Organic farm. Disha had stopped traveling, spent most of her time at home, and visited her local
friends and those in India, occasionally. And she’d stopped singing long back. She
wasn’t the same person I met 15 years ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I blabbered more, while she was thinking or observing. And
then she asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you like more? The waves or the shore?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Depends.” I wasn’t ready for such question. “At times, I
will like to ride the waves; and then perhaps, will like to be at the shore.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have you found the shore?” She looked into my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That got me zapped. Finally I spoke, “No. I am still learning to live through. People and their expectations affect me. Sometimes I do get hurt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So what have you learnt?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The waves always find a shore.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She smiled, her eyes shining. We sat quiet for some time.
Later we came to the hotel lobby. Rohit returned around 12.30 PM. After lunch with them, I drove back home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig21IQTZx62INrlNuZDzDqqJZIMyEmjSDRBln7BIL3RIFCjozUr0oflvbFp38uDcDtLM3QK-0B0HzfLRfOLSzHEXZvSRCmd2BnAwLkgYf5RHTwfnmctSMifbzDpogs4zLzS7o_XgIudjQ/s1600/401138_10201183786454361_425370842_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig21IQTZx62INrlNuZDzDqqJZIMyEmjSDRBln7BIL3RIFCjozUr0oflvbFp38uDcDtLM3QK-0B0HzfLRfOLSzHEXZvSRCmd2BnAwLkgYf5RHTwfnmctSMifbzDpogs4zLzS7o_XgIudjQ/s320/401138_10201183786454361_425370842_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disha messaged in evening, “Thanks for everything. Indeed, there are no quick fixes. Just needed some motivation, some reason to continue. Been looking
for the shore all the time, <i>now I have a reason to stay with the waves.</i> They will find my shore. See you soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-5901807188804628282016-09-11T23:02:00.000+08:002016-09-11T23:02:42.550+08:00Dreams of tomorrow..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The driver cursed the road conditions, municipality
officers, and everyone walking on the road as we got stuck in a jam at the old
Beadon Street of Kolkata. Ira was sleeping, Adi trying to solve some puzzle in
mobile. The cars and bikes honked impatiently, and to make things worse, it
started raining. I was looking out of the window.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Any message from Richard?” Kuhoo asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My reply made her more curious. Life hasn’t been easy in
recent months. Too much of traveling, turbulence at work, health condition of few
dear ones, and my own health didn’t help much. And the onset of autumn, the
season that has brought several big changes in my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was traveling back to KL that night. With some reflections
on the days in India, and some learnings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No one is indispensable?</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In last two months, I saw a promising guy sacrificing his
career to support his ailing father; a doctor deciding not to marry to continue
supporting his bed-ridden parents; a dear one passed away, and another who isn’t
left with much hope. When I look at their lives, I realize the value of a person, without whom paths of many lives will change forever.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There ‘are’ indispensable people in our lives, in our
societies and surrounding establishments. They are everywhere; even in the
history books.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take some risks</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Growing up in a competitive environment, fear of failure,
social pressure etc. have made many of us habitual risk-averse. We have stopped
experimenting, and try to get into a comfort zone as quick as possible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But actually there is no late age to start anything. And many
a time the biggest roadblocks are just thoughts. Surprises could be our best
teachers, and how we respond shows our character and resolve.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my side of the road was a tea shop. There was a lone old
man, quite old, nondescript perhaps unwell too, busy in cleaning, arranging his
kettles and glasses all by himself. The mud-stove was lit but the empty benches
suggested there wasn’t any customer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it started raining, he suddenly jumped out of the shop.
Stumbled over the water logged drain and somehow avoided the rains falling in the
mud-stove. I thought that was unnecessary because he hurt his leg in doing that.
Anyway there was no customer, and then an injury could have resulted in shutting
his shop and business for few days.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But as quickly as he’d jumped out, he went back to his place
and put the kettle on. While I blamed the rain, the old man used that as opportunity.
He got four-five customers in people who hid near his shop due to rains.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn’t stop grinning. And there he saw me. He knew I was
into his world for some time. He smiled back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a quiet in chaos, a rhythm in disorder. Within indispensability and risks lie the very fabric of life. We cannot be afraid of living. We can not be afraid of our dreams. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVxhGw-glhFwdp1nYUUkbFhzu3cTaKiSE8nc8d0HVuzF_Ubsrw5mfd473flb5W-JpOnmhyphenhyphen50BiAkb63Qw3niaDYKoCGdth5ZHE2HGJMFZ9MJG_59VNC5WeY3QmvHKMQmk-UyA7ecOMso/s1600/IMG_0529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVxhGw-glhFwdp1nYUUkbFhzu3cTaKiSE8nc8d0HVuzF_Ubsrw5mfd473flb5W-JpOnmhyphenhyphen50BiAkb63Qw3niaDYKoCGdth5ZHE2HGJMFZ9MJG_59VNC5WeY3QmvHKMQmk-UyA7ecOMso/s320/IMG_0529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic: By <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sudhirkgupta/about" target="_blank">Sudhir Gupta</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-8343749258590813822015-05-04T23:50:00.000+08:002015-05-04T23:50:46.211+08:00Let go..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The challenge of our lives has never been in reaching
extremes. It has been in reaching the right balance and staying relevant. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guess
we all learn this as time passes by, sooner or later. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To me, the change process has been quite a hassle though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><strong>Don’t let go..<o:p></o:p></strong></em></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Undeniably over the years I have developed a tendency to not
let go. I fell several times, and rose stronger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This tendency has helped me overcome all failures and fallacies
so far. One day when my life demanded me to study statistics, I studied
statistics; then it pointed towards law, I did law; and the pattern continues
as I continue to respond and learn newer tricks and trades. The thought has
been, if I can manage 10, why can’t 15; when 15, why can’t 20, and so on. If
there ever was a question on ‘can I?’ I responded staring right into the sun. I
didn’t let go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Never let go’ has
been my strength; and but as it turns out to be, it is also my weakness. It
feels like that frog sitting in gradually warming water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I accept the challenge without realizing I may be nearing
the extreme. It does not let me balance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><em>Let go..<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guess it is an art, not an easy one to master.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Let go’ means we let go what we ever dreamed of, what we ever
got our emotions attached to. It takes a lot of mental strength to ‘let go’
without keeping any grudge or negativity. For people, who ‘don’t let go’, it can
be way more difficult than I may describe. It may feel like giving up or
contradicting ourselves, bit hypocritical sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I have had few moments of ‘let go’. For all the inner
conflicts they caused, the outcome of ‘let go’ has been sheer peace. At times,
it plays out like childhood, like we ask for something; if we get that we are
happy, otherwise too, we aren’t too sad, and enjoy what comes next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Don’t let go’ is a necessary evil. ‘Let go’ is an optional
bliss. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But if happiness is our final destination and right balance
is the prerequisite, ‘let go’ is not optional anymore. We must let go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSFlfnxNa5UoY7MrpdnchRh1JEnWAmxJVxUewQ_Bs79HSK7D4yQ8nTBJEqUfPeZAAuWC-yGVkGPqMfMuLgj_Ln166cWyvV9xwP3oeIgGn_pfNZPEL93SikEfUVIse66EX3SUx6D4mQxs/s1600/IMG_3569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSFlfnxNa5UoY7MrpdnchRh1JEnWAmxJVxUewQ_Bs79HSK7D4yQ8nTBJEqUfPeZAAuWC-yGVkGPqMfMuLgj_Ln166cWyvV9xwP3oeIgGn_pfNZPEL93SikEfUVIse66EX3SUx6D4mQxs/s320/IMG_3569.JPG" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Geographic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-88985707741263743682015-01-25T23:36:00.001+08:002015-01-29T06:04:10.661+08:00Life is calling !!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Around 1600 BC, an eruption of Santorini volcano formed
volcanic ash that reached the Cretan shores and wiped off the Minoan
civilization. Some debate that tsunamis were the real cause; but a civilization
perished, a civilization that had attained maturity in almost all scales of
societal, economic and military strength.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sounds stupid or irrelevant, but a question comes ‘was their
destruction completely predestined or it was retribution of their current or
past deeds’?</span><br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Karma..</span></i></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I find it difficult to believe that their deeds or <em>Karma</em> were
solely (if at all) responsible. No child or an innocent person should ever meet
an unfortunate end, if I had to believe in Karma.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Humankind has quietly gone through a number of such indiscriminate
destructions, due to calamities or conflicts. And then of course, it has seen revivals,
triumphs and heroes; some greats, and some fakes too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These miseries and recoveries continue. A plane crashes; our
loved ones pass away; without any basis of selection. ‘It is all pre-determined’
some of our elders say. ‘There is no differentiation on the basis of good or
bad in this’. So both Mother Teresa and Princess Diana would become famous, even
if one worked for others; and the other only for herself. And both would die in
1997.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An ongoing paradox..</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Does God pre-decide all outcomes ? Or his decision (and thus
the outcome) is his response to our choice or deeds?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If outcomes are pre-decided, then our choices would also have been pre-decided or inspired by God. We couldn't have chosen to do something else if we follow the theory of ‘pre-destined’ outcomes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And if an outcome is God's response to our choice or deeds, no innocent
would have ever lost his life, including the Minoan civilization.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Actually if God didn't know our
choice, he wouldn't have known the outcome. Then he cannot be the God that we know of.
God has to be omniscient, remember?</span><br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The lesser God..</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, going with experiences of millions of people, one may still construe
that God exists. Perhaps he sits in a timeless space (a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four-dimensional_space" target="_blank"><em>tesseract</em></a> may be), out of
the time dimension, seeing our past and future all at once. He may not be able
to stop calamities or conflicts. But he has been able to communicate to us, with his messages or signals.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His messages</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> may not change our fate; but they suggest how to live and enjoy our lives. However it takes faith and patience
to be able to receive those messages.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe in such ‘lesser’ God, because he fits better into the
overall scheme of events from evolution and history better than
the omniscient God.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Purpose..</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My new God concurs that there is no point in seeking purpose of this life. None of the events of our past suggest any broader or wider purpose other than surviving the odds; natural or spawned of our own weaknesses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Given that our fate is fixed for tomorrow or for next 500 million years, the choice of action is ours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our greatness lies in our ability to live well and enjoy life. That's our only connection to God for he continues to guide us on ‘how
to live or enjoy this life’; if we could keep faith and patience to hear him. There is no further
greatness to be reached. There is no higher purpose to be achieved. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkwmbsODGWegWXJU2_RH9v7CquYvEM_X0fq7mpuJ704PTe-PHgM0wK_GMDGDkUtQb4PpY6IQopkQZlbH3vhQJlfR1hYnz-qUTzjGB2aSXAaZhnOnK0LilYZP_Hs_tD834fsCo6EDXCuY/s1600/Life+is+calling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkwmbsODGWegWXJU2_RH9v7CquYvEM_X0fq7mpuJ704PTe-PHgM0wK_GMDGDkUtQb4PpY6IQopkQZlbH3vhQJlfR1hYnz-qUTzjGB2aSXAaZhnOnK0LilYZP_Hs_tD834fsCo6EDXCuY/s1600/Life+is+calling.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152178470481343&set=a.10151652048896343.1073741824.672261342&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Ajay Sudhanshu</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
</div>
</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-15195955682231192422014-07-13T14:17:00.004+08:002014-07-13T14:53:45.224+08:00A pinch of salt..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Yesterday Sher Khan got up in <em>scaring-ly</em> happy mood. I got apprehensive of whether that could be one of those days I am reminded of my miserly low income. But it was too late to cook an escape plan; doom fell on my Saturday. She had plans to go to Pavilion and Berjaya time square. All husbands in Malaysia know the torturous effects these two malls may bring to people like us. <br />
<br />
We reached Berjaya around lunch time. We decided to have lunch before getting to the shop floors. <br />
<br />
The food court was almost empty. It wasn’t too difficult to find a nice place to sit. Sher Khan ordered her favorite ‘tandoori chicken with naan’ at the curry shop right next to the entrance. Adi is fine eating anything vegetarian if you promise an ice-cream after that. <br />
<br />
Everything was going fine. But the day had something in store. <br />
<br />
“They haven’t cooked it properly. I think they have not put any salt in it”, Sher Khan kept the chicken back in her plate. <br />
<br />
“They may have done this in hurry. Should I ask them to”, I was worried because she had hardly eaten the first piece. I looked at the counter. <br />
<br />
The guy came quickly and apologized. We came to know that their regular cook had taken day off. They offered ‘Kadai chicken’ and Sher Khan accommodated with that. <br />
<br />
After some time we left the table and stood at nearby ice-cream parlor. I noticed that the curry shop guys had cleaned everything but had left the plate of untouched ‘tandoori chicken’ and the basket of ‘naan’ (we could not finish all pieces) on the table. <br />
<br />
I looked at them; and they just smiled. <br />
<br />
And few minutes later, we saw a teenage boy went to the curry shop, spoke with the guys at counter; and then came back to our table and ate that chicken and naan ! <br />
<br />
Ashamed, we watched him eat. Sher Khan had her eyes filled. “He didn’t ask for salt”. <br />
<br />
The girl at the ice-cream parlor spoke. “We at this food court, instead of throwing such untouched portion of the meal, leave that on the table or sometimes on a separate table. Any person can come and eat that”. She continued, “Several food-shops in Malaysia allow people to buy extra dinner for those who fast. So those who cannot afford may get free meal in evening to break their fasts during Ramadan”. <br />
<br />
We returned after few hours of shopping. A number of thoughts came by. What if this was possible at restaurants and hotels in India; say not on all days but on festivals, or on special days like birthdays or anniversaries we could buy extra lunch and dinner for those can not afford. That could be managed over a take-away counter if space may be a constraint. <br />
<br />
It sounds ridiculous in Indian context; so did the idea of <a href="http://www.suspendedcoffees.com/" target="_blank"><em>suspended coffees</em></a>; but for example Cafe 42, in Indiranagar, Bangalore does that.<br />
<br />
A new government has taken over in India, a lot of new changes are being considered. I know there are many establishments in India who are already working in this area. What if we could write to the foods and public distribution minister of India to just propose such thought to all restaurants and hotels in India and see what may come out workable for both worlds ? I am going to try that. <br />
<br />
And till that time, those who may like to celebrate their special days by giving something to those who really need may try these (and many more): <br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>In Malaysia (KL) - Agathians Shelter (<a href="http://www.agathians.org/">http://www.agathians.org/</a>)</li>
<li>In India (Bangalore) – Sri Rakum (<a href="http://www.rakum.org/rakum_school/">http://www.rakum.org/rakum_school/</a>) </li>
<li>From anywhere - <a href="http://www.helpageindia.org/">http://www.helpageindia.org/</a></li>
<li>Sai Devotees - <a href="http://www.shirdisaitrust.org/index.php?pgid=240">http://www.shirdisaitrust.org/index.php?pgid=240</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
God Bless.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalUBe2yBV3gXGrfYkFTpl00draWDftFQuGtvBSoy68MgSytv2bXfn5PvaX9Ehf4qOGNDgBQSSc5mjAb2l_objhfQ595f16V95vExZqNh6PGa2IYfN5uGggpZHRP2G5hrgenyN51WOOMo/s1600/Malaysia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_lm_351663="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalUBe2yBV3gXGrfYkFTpl00draWDftFQuGtvBSoy68MgSytv2bXfn5PvaX9Ehf4qOGNDgBQSSc5mjAb2l_objhfQ595f16V95vExZqNh6PGa2IYfN5uGggpZHRP2G5hrgenyN51WOOMo/s1600/Malaysia.jpg" height="221" width="320" wua="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A city with a heart !</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-50483961909381371432014-05-13T00:02:00.002+08:002014-05-13T09:26:08.444+08:00For a place in the world..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="border: currentColor;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border: currentColor;">
Not sure whether this is some kind of a drift or an odd lack of abstinence; for past few days I wonder ‘what percentage of our lives we really control?'<br />
<br /></div>
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Over the years, perhaps, I became too etiological; developed a tendency to look for a cause and solution for everything, to control all outcomes, almost negating the indeterminism of the events and of the people. <br />
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Most recent victim of my hysteria has been my son; as I started seeing my ‘another’ childhood in him. Out of love or fear; I tried to give him all inputs on what (I thought) works and what doesn’t. Just never knew when to stop and let him experiment. I almost controlled his thoughts and actions.</div>
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However things are changing lately; and obstinacy making way for acceptance.<br />
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Last Thursday, spoke with the girl from my first office, a girl who we all got attracted to because she giggled whenever she talked. But that day, she spoke in an uncharacteristic fraying voice; about four heart attacks she suffered recently. She held herself while she explained about her illness but my heart sank. She spoke as if she is living a borrowed life and all she wants next, is to talk to everyone she ever liked. <br />
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God willing, she is recovering. But since that time, I have done nothing but introspection. Have realized that none of us will ever be able to control what happens next in our lives. We all must accept, what in a manner we all are, destiny's children.<br />
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Like many of us, I couldn’t envisage what I do today; the cause of my next step has mostly been the result of the contiguous previous one. And with age, I knew there were too many variables that I could never have identified and accounted for. My best laid plans had to fail.<br />
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And then yesterday, found an old notepad while arranging the bags; one of those I have kept since high school days. Read some pages, smiled and then cried. Felt sorry to see my habit to control myself over the years. Wish I could somehow tell my ‘<em>younger self’</em> that it was okay. Wish I could tell that kid to go for the guitar classes few more weeks; to follow that girl in blue ribbon to find out where she lived. Wish I could tell him that towards the end he won’t repent the things that didn't work out but the things he didn’t try.<br />
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Wish I could have tell him that merchant navy was not the only way he could see London. He too had a place in the world and all he needed was to keep that honesty in his dreams and deeds.<br />
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At the hindsight, I admit I had some dreams. Not all of them worked out, but I am happy I had them. They gave me the drive while destiny kept deciding my roads and destinations.<br />
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Guess it is time we leave our kids with their dreams, and with their experiments and do not control their lives injecting our apprehensions and controls. They are smarter and wiser than us; there is no reason why they won’t be any luckier. And if we managed to find a place in this world, they surely will, in the skies as well.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKijURQvW2hV1KPNcvg91ebZ6-ZsqUEtYzKCC76Jqc-r0mVAVYxkIzXv-25u21vHbgxNvKwKurahK76ZBZAi6_8_uxpqqscIkelRJsQBxwacctOE-nO9U8imxdNiE_Xm0O7zjZcTXy4r0/s1600/Adi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_lm_181083="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKijURQvW2hV1KPNcvg91ebZ6-ZsqUEtYzKCC76Jqc-r0mVAVYxkIzXv-25u21vHbgxNvKwKurahK76ZBZAi6_8_uxpqqscIkelRJsQBxwacctOE-nO9U8imxdNiE_Xm0O7zjZcTXy4r0/s1600/Adi.JPG" height="187" width="320" yta="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?fbid=10152101732256343&set=a.10152101744751343&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Ajay Sudhanshu</a></td></tr>
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Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-66711793806378174692013-09-27T22:39:00.000+08:002013-11-18T08:25:17.111+08:00For God's sake..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Few years back in Bangalore, rats used to cut the wires of my car. After paying several visits and repairs at service centre, infuriated, one morning, I bought some rat poison and kept that inside the bonnet. By the very next day, the rats started dying. </div>
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It was a peculiar type of poison that would choke a rat’s breathing; they would come out to get air, but the poison would eventually stop their breathing and heart. The idea was appealing, since that will bring out the rats in air and kill, rather than let them die in some corner or under the bed or wardrobe to stink. </div>
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Issue got resolved. But there wasn't happiness thereafter. The sight of dying rats kept coming back. Later discussions with some of my friends gave various perspectives, and a bit of solace, for I kept looking for some kind of penance. Several years have gone by, but till today I haven't been able to outgrow that bad feeling, notwithstanding the righteousness of what I did. </div>
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I have learnt that something that doesn’t leave you with a good feeling is ‘bad’. On the other hand, something that leaves a good feeling is ‘good’. And if we do not resolve an issue in ‘good’ way, the hassle continues. This is not about whether our thought or action was justified or not, this is about realizing that there could be a ‘good’ or the better way, that we might have explored. </div>
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The point is, both the good and the bad invite reaction. If we haven’t chosen a ‘good’ way to solve the problem; it may not only continue the hassle but may also initiate a conflict, sooner or later, depending on when the receiver is able to recover and retaliate. Sometimes it triggers a chain of conflicts; and eventually people forget ‘who’ or ‘what’ started it. The two continue the struggle and in the end both suffer. This applies almost everywhere and to everyone, be at home, in office or the world outside. I guess whether we are able to solve an issue in ‘good’ way or not, defines our real strength. </div>
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Let us look at the tussle some societies and countries in the world are undergoing today. Behind every political unrest, economic crisis or so called holy wars, the root cause that comes out is a human weakness, <em>the greed for power, place or pleasure</em>. Our history is testimony of the fact that in the end there is no victor or victim. That leaves us with only one survival strategy; to invoke our strengths; to apply mass strengths against mass hysteria. If our weakness has started a conflict; it has to be one of our strengths that can stop or further avoid it; and that most often, is not our physical strength. </div>
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Trying to imagine what God must be thinking. Most of the religious books convey that the God is almighty and he upholds ‘good’. He gave us strength. He had to give us weaknesses too; <em>else there was no meaning or relevance of strength.</em> But we appear to have missed the point; instead of coming over weaknesses, we let ourselves go for the ‘bad’ or temporary solution, or come back to God to seek help. We pray for mercy if we’ve done something wrong; pray him for justice when we are wronged. Pray him when we are afraid, pray him when things aren’t working our way. God has become a matter of convenience, and that must be very frustrating to him.</div>
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Recently a friend told me, “I do not pray any God. I am a free thinker”.</div>
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Curious I did some reading on ‘free-thought’. It's astounding to see the number of people (particularly younger ones) adopting the ‘concept’ of free-thought and <em>pansy</em>, in various parts of the world. It is becoming clearer that if the God or religions continue to be misused, the next generation which is evidently smarter, wiser and abler than us, will simply disregard the concept of religion and God. <em>And if we believe everything happens for a reason, this could very much be the God’s very own exit plan from our lives.</em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1QXqDvjFoFbMk_ElNCn_ImAYSepq_kDLZfPQiQue-62clvZFxwwpBd2VBms-JFh12-iqaGkrVC6dQAVvJ49C9g91Icnq_OavZYeGw-edcHvNfMEC1GxJH6DjnBRRQqLjnMTTuEHL38ro/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_609471="null" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1QXqDvjFoFbMk_ElNCn_ImAYSepq_kDLZfPQiQue-62clvZFxwwpBd2VBms-JFh12-iqaGkrVC6dQAVvJ49C9g91Icnq_OavZYeGw-edcHvNfMEC1GxJH6DjnBRRQqLjnMTTuEHL38ro/s320/Capture.JPG" width="320" ysa="true" /></a></div>
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Guess the time has come when we all start taking 'good' decisions. If conflicts are inevitable, we must invoke our inner strengths to resolve them. <br />
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Let us teach our kids the essence of all religions. It will help them take the ‘good’ or right decisions when times come; and it may also avoid the unnecessary confusion, some people create, in the name of religion. It may also stop the dislike or disregard our younger generation is showing towards the God and religion. <br />
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Let us begin with our homes, let us try at least...for God’s sake ?</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-71914949018529098982013-06-22T12:58:00.000+08:002013-06-22T13:27:35.244+08:00The Alter Ego..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1a23S-iHda97pQbI7GhNhQoOX1RxY8oxdTK1d-4TnxzXcZgkOmWC9mDAwAnPZdDnyooi3fGJ0GfKM9bepLADaclU7Cq-8wwzqEi2FniIcu_LktwmoFFK4YX2ZaEi1szF289JwbSKEZg/s1600/Alter+Ego.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1a23S-iHda97pQbI7GhNhQoOX1RxY8oxdTK1d-4TnxzXcZgkOmWC9mDAwAnPZdDnyooi3fGJ0GfKM9bepLADaclU7Cq-8wwzqEi2FniIcu_LktwmoFFK4YX2ZaEi1szF289JwbSKEZg/s320/Alter+Ego.jpg" width="291" wya="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?fbid=10151685675271343&set=a.10151685675661343.1073741826.672261342&type=1&theater" target="_blank">Ajay Sudhanshu</a></td></tr>
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“Tell me the name of the person you wish to be like”, asked John Williams. “You may also share <em>why</em> but that’s optional”.<br />
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“Al Gore”. I replied. “He is one of those who have taken up the fight against common human greed”. <br />
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We were attending a workshop conducted by John Williams, the principal and founder of an Australian consulting firm called JHW Pty Ltd. After replying I sat down, thinking whether it was necessary to share the why. It came out of spontaneity as I have been impressed with Al Gore’s contribution and the purpose he carries in life. Of course some of the participants immediately gave me that '<em>wtf </em>' look.<br />
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Today we justify our actions only on a profit scale, and that too on the <em>immediate </em>profit. If there is no profit, any thought or action in any direction is considered waste of time and energy. Greed is justified and charity is a bad word. Resources or <em>human</em> resources, have to be <em>exploited</em> as their <em>use</em> may not be profitable enough; and just say to the world we <em>leverage</em> them, let people guess the meaning and intention.<br />
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A profession, to my understanding, <em>was</em> guided by method. I grew up thinking that teaching, consulting, medical, legal practices etc. are professions (<em>guided by method</em>) and not businesses (<em>guided by result</em>). Once I shouted at a friend who said sex is world's oldest profession and lectured him on not to confuse a <em>trade</em> with profession.<br />
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But over the years, the connotations have changed. We have changed. Despite we all aspired to be guided by method, <em>someone's </em>greed took over and made us all guided by result. Interestingly, at many occasions, it was <em>our</em> greed only that made us what we are; and not what we wanted to be. Today many of us have a split personality.<br />
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We like cost cutting in organizations where we are a shareholder, promoter or owner; but not in the organizations where we are employed. Till the time we are not impacted (as employees or otherwise), we prefer talking about profits, not about who may suffer; and so do the people who we consider responsible for global warming, terrorism, etc.<br />
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I like Al Gore because he is undeterred in his fight. Recent devastation at Kedarnath Dham has almost sunk my heart. Only those who've ever come to Kedarnath know how beautiful this place is or was.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEByzF_vV-TEEvdabxOVD7o8DC_PwoeepF7JULGg8kLjQKz6ANPArcWcqVWPMjELW20SIm5uCseWVw5HLul8Jbod9s_lu9feneL8dUoxyt-251pD6O2gMnDbMDvA6ta1bWjMLlpApDOw/s1600/Pic+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEByzF_vV-TEEvdabxOVD7o8DC_PwoeepF7JULGg8kLjQKz6ANPArcWcqVWPMjELW20SIm5uCseWVw5HLul8Jbod9s_lu9feneL8dUoxyt-251pD6O2gMnDbMDvA6ta1bWjMLlpApDOw/s320/Pic+2.JPG" width="320" wya="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/07/ancient-evenings-and-distant-music.html" target="_blank">Ancient Evenings and Distant Music</a></td></tr>
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It is time, we bring method in our approach towards an end. I have taken that road and it is my personal performance criteria to keep the method alive. Our <em>shadows</em> also won't stay behind.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRBtjlr94UbiCxwjXfw81r09oJbEVSWl-kpy-7qnsOh5gKD9GxfK3U6gXwVvlL92bF_4Mn6TqvGH8ZC0cGsDhyznr2AIQI_eYjDDhaMEuhg65LN3G687dA2fIymHktJ7LB0Q-R3x2ico/s1600/Bhavani.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRBtjlr94UbiCxwjXfw81r09oJbEVSWl-kpy-7qnsOh5gKD9GxfK3U6gXwVvlL92bF_4Mn6TqvGH8ZC0cGsDhyznr2AIQI_eYjDDhaMEuhg65LN3G687dA2fIymHktJ7LB0Q-R3x2ico/s320/Bhavani.jpg" width="320" wya="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=463004575123&set=a.422771450123.205989.641620123&type=1&theater" target="_blank">Bhawani</a></td></tr>
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Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-50104627814812448982013-04-21T23:36:00.000+08:002013-04-23T15:41:17.813+08:00Little bit of Monica..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On 4th April afternoon, we reached Pangkor Island, a relatively quiet place in the north-west coast of peninsular Malaysia. And it came out to be my most relaxing weekend of recent times.<br />
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We were off-season guests; and the guys at reception took additional care to explain the options and availabilities. I kept nodding for half-an-hour they talked; while Kuhoo and Adi romped around the place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdeZyMFn9T2HIodSR3DXdhuxYI_0FsAQHX5NYMdaPX_oAy0jogICBt1lwbjp0UCqukR_k3sg2lo8aXK492nRrY5K3bDGKLwyZCOFS-Qn5Le01Fx_mZj4_b6ntFswoj4arSjprLg5DILk/s1600/1aaa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dua="true" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdeZyMFn9T2HIodSR3DXdhuxYI_0FsAQHX5NYMdaPX_oAy0jogICBt1lwbjp0UCqukR_k3sg2lo8aXK492nRrY5K3bDGKLwyZCOFS-Qn5Le01Fx_mZj4_b6ntFswoj4arSjprLg5DILk/s320/1aaa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The chalets with the back drop of densely forested hills attracted me. But my <em>water-addict</em> better-half, had an eye of sea-facing ones. The resort appeared quiet and restful. Finally I agreed to take the sea-view chalet and we followed our sprinting porter.<br />
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Within minutes we reached our unit, and stopped, as we heard our neighbors greeting us (<em>almost shouting</em>). There were two Croatian girls. One of them wore a towel and the second some kind of beachwear.<br />
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“Now I understand why you agreed to take the sea-view chalet”.<br />
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“Nooooo… It’s just that I am lucky today”, I said with a smirk. “I don’t mind this view too”.<br />
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Our chalets stood in arched fashion with dense forest and hills behind. Our verandah almost touched theirs. They were drinking and <em>sun-bathing</em>. Through-out the day, they kept shifting their chairs in front of us. The only way to avoid seeing them was to close our eyes, which of course, I couldn’t.<br />
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By evening Kuhoo got bit skeptic. She found them drinking all the day and talking to everyone who passed by. The risk was, her husband for last ten years may get infatuated and they, disregarding all those <em>semi-naked</em> studs on the beach, will fall for her fat, bald and old husband.<br />
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“They don’t look nice”.<br />
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“Don’t worry. I barely look tolerable”. But that wasn’t enough. <br />
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“In India, no one will approve such behavior”.<br />
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“Yes. But they may be <em>friendly by nature</em>. Why judge them?” I wasn’t sure whether she was complaining about those girls or India.<br />
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We went to the beach and sat. I told her about one such ‘friendly by nature’ person; whose appearance or behavior may be misleading at times; but they are as truthful as we try to be. I told her about <em>Monica.</em><br />
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In May, 2007, I traveled to Sydney to conduct a training course. The participants were a small team of 8 HR officers; Monica was the newest to that group. It was a 3 days training course starting from 9th May; however our kind client had arranged the fly-back on Sunday, which gave me a free day on Saturday (12th May 2007). <br />
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Monica is second-generation Indian (father from Chandigarh), married to an Aussie. She is amazingly pretty and gregarious. Every day after the sessions she would insist to come along for food; talk about bollywood movies; crack silly jokes and laugh herself. At times, she would appear like she knew me for years. <br />
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On 12th May morning she came with me on for the Blue Mountains Day trip, around 60 km west from Sydney. We traveled through the lovely town of <em>Leura</em> and reached at 3 Sisters view-point in Jamison valley.<br />
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Monica shared the legend of the Katoomba tribe, about Lyre bird searching for the magic bone, etc. She talked like she wasn't heard for ages. And then she held my arm and asked, “Do you ever feel alone?”<br />
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“Why?” I wasn't prepared for such question.<br />
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“You don’t laugh too often”.<br />
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"Does that mean I feel lonely?" I tried to laugh and appeared more stupid. <br />
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She perhaps had made her point. “I feel alone. And therefore I laugh as much I can, even over silly things. And talking to people makes me feel better”. </div>
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“Monica, you hardly know me. How can you trust a stranger?”</div>
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“I trust myself. I think that’s more important. I felt if I come along, you won't feel alone. And you aren’t a stranger”.</div>
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I came back to hotel; laughing at my thoughts. <br />
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Around 8 pm while I was packing, the house-keeping guy came in and handed over an envelope. It had a couple of photographs Monica had taken during the day and <em>two small pieces of Legos which didn’t fit each other</em>. On the back of a photograph, handwritten was, “I enjoyed the day. I promise you friendship and expect the same, nothing more, and nothing less. Do well. Stay in touch”.<br />
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“Why did she send the Legos those didn’t fit?” asked Kuhoo.<br />
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“<em>I think that said all</em>. This is what I learnt of Lego-block philosophy of life from Monica. We all are parts of a big construction set. One which is good fit to you, need not be the best fit overall; actually you could be its only fit. So we shouldn’t conclude over any person based on our own fitment criteria. Remember all lego-blocks will eventually fit as per their shape and size. There is a rule of construction between us, and if that works, we may forget the rest”.<br />
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As evening fell further, we saw Adi playing in sand. The Croatian girls found more guys on beach, and I found my worrying baby back in arms. There is a little bit of <em>Monica</em> in her now.</div>
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Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-28574522178200246142013-04-05T00:26:00.000+08:002013-04-05T00:37:51.219+08:00The Second Chance..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
“Buy one of these; I want to keep it”, I heard Adi pleading.<br />
<br />
“No. They are dead. And these are not the type of fish you can keep as a pet”, Kuhoo explained while she tried hard to stop me from galloping past that fishmonger’s shop. She had caught sight of the ‘<em>Rohu</em>’ fish and I had caught that obnoxious smell.<br />
<br />
Promising Kuhoo to buy ‘<em>Rohu</em>’ on our way back, I managed to move ahead, but my perseverance test followed.<br />
<br />
“That fish has come from India ?<br />
<br />
“May be.Yes”<br />
<br />
“Like <em>Nemo</em>. Right ?”<br />
<br />
I was thinking what to answer. Adi continued, “But it is dead now. If it had a second chance, it could have survived like <em>Nemo</em>”.<br />
<br />
I spent next half an hour explaining him about the food-chain, about several things which aren’t exactly like what we see in movies etc. etc. And we bought vegetables on our way back.<br />
<br />
Later in evening the point about ‘<em>second chance</em>’ returned. <br />
<br />
“Papa, I will write this again. OK?” Adi looked at me. <br />
<br />
I didn’t reply. Although I was a bit unhappy with his writing speed, I didn’t expect him to write it over again. I do get annoyed at times with the video games philosophy of second life, second time or second chance. I believe they have been somewhat spoiling the kids; as I hardly see them understand the importance of doing things <em>first time right</em>.<br />
<br />
After an hour, Adi came back. He had written the whole chapter again; <em>just to see me happy</em>.<br />
<br />
God I was happy. I explained him about examination, importance of practicing, and keeping focus during the exam hour etc. But I saw the place of second chance in my world, which not only established his writing ability but also his willingness to do better. <br />
<br />
The second chance implies hope, optimism and readiness towards correction. <br />
<br />
I can see why it exists in a kid’s mind, though I can’t see why it doesn’t in our minds. There are times we easily get caught by our obstinacy. Even when we realize that we may have made a mistake, an odd resistance within does not let us start over. We continue on the mistake until everything falls apart towards desolation. We just don’t give ourselves a second chance.<br />
<br />
Interestingly in today’s adult life we find it very difficult to even realize our mistake. But the second chance doesn’t necessarily relate to the mistakes only we make. It also applies to our response to others mistake. Is it hard to forgive and give someone a second chance? Does that change our righteousness?<br />
<br />
Perhaps the heaviest thing we carry in our lives is <em>grudge</em>. Absolving ourselves is as important as absolving others. There is no point carrying such burden. There are multitude of perspectives and preferences that have actually contributed to a complicated society today. So even a right step may only be relatively right. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYhyphenhyphen9xHYTtBqCOvOhuTsOT46E8acFDOWy0Diw8Ft6y1pBB28n5pNGmwh-Aop7Hj9IlJ1rHwkMYRlRSd7CS3Tw61UauAKobFpsr5yel7zf8AERR3mk5wkMMvYQFA0xgvGM23Bo9LurRpE/s1600/207327_10150151204990666_904066_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" mta="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYhyphenhyphen9xHYTtBqCOvOhuTsOT46E8acFDOWy0Diw8Ft6y1pBB28n5pNGmwh-Aop7Hj9IlJ1rHwkMYRlRSd7CS3Tw61UauAKobFpsr5yel7zf8AERR3mk5wkMMvYQFA0xgvGM23Bo9LurRpE/s320/207327_10150151204990666_904066_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?fbid=10150151204990666&set=a.10150151203510666.287245.642455665&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Ravi Garg</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At least once in our lifetime, we all have been prisoners of our love, hatred and prejudices. And I do not see world becoming any simpler. <em>There will always be one who will let you down, one who will break your heart, one who won’t come back.</em> <br />
<br />
So why not live life without regrets? Why not give ourselves a second chance?</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-71550951099343869582012-12-29T23:32:00.000+08:002012-12-29T23:32:53.696+08:00The last pretense..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was a quiet evening. I sat with Kuhoo after a long day. We talked occasionally, for the most of evenings with her, words aren’t required.<br />
<br />
“Why get ahead of ourselves? Let us stay simple and see things as they come” Kuhoo spoke. <br />
<br />
“I agree, though it’s been difficult to resist the drag. People around try to show what they are not; talk about things they hardly know; and do things they seldom understand”, I said.<br />
<br />
The muse continued. I remembered the days in my kindergarten school. On one of these days in winter I felt lost in the crowd and I did my first experiment.<br />
<br />
“My <em>pandali</em> kite cut ten kites yesterday evening”, I said and looked into Nikki’s eyes.<br />
<br />
“Ten”? Nikki looked astounded. <br />
<br />
By next day Kanu, Chandan, Soni, Hemlatha, Kaushik and many others in my class knew that I cut ten kites. Something stopped me from telling Nikki later that I could never really fly a kite. She never thought I could be lying; I never thought I could become famous. <br />
<br />
For few days I lived a <em>facebook</em> life, empty inside and ostentatious outside. <br />
<br />
Finally one day I saw my classmates gathered around Kaushik. “I cut twelve kites yesterday”, I heard him saying with all the confidence he could muster at that age.<br />
<br />
I <em>knew</em> he was lying. I knew his uncle had cut those kites because Kaushik resided only next to my house. And I knew Kaushik couldn’t even fly a kite without his uncle’s help. But I kept quiet as I realized Kaushik, for the same reason I <em>knew</em>, would also <em>know</em> that I was lying few days before. <br />
<br />
I also realized even though my experiment was successful, I had failed.<br />
<br />
I grew up reading people around, met many other actors; better actors than <em>me</em> and <em>Kaushik </em>with newer ideas and more resounding explanations. But they could never escape me. <br />
<br />
Later in class 10, I read<em> ‘akhbar mein naam’</em>, a story by famous hindi writer Yashpal. I realized that the world recognizes that <em>‘akhbar mein naam’</em> perspective. I absolved myself and moved on.<br />
<br />
After a number of years, lately I feel amused seeing a large number of people like <em>me</em> around me. The desperation continues, and their virtual worlds appear to have taken over them; they look so artificial. <br />
<br />
In that <em>facebook</em> world, there is no clash of opinion, no lack of money, no trace of mediocrity and <em>no truth.</em> It’s the world we have projected about ourselves to perhaps show what we are not, what we miss and what we wish. <br />
<br />
In the actual world our opinions are flawed, our relations fading, our accounts depleting and <em>we see limitations.</em> But this is the <em>only place </em>where we will eventually find the real happiness, that real love and our place in the world.<br />
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It’s not that I have found it, but I <em>know </em>I am directionally right. The first pretense happened within me, so will be the reprisal <em>or the last pretense</em>..</div>
Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-38116565289621453412012-07-15T23:53:00.000+08:002012-08-16T18:29:34.608+08:00The Tea Pot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em>(Section 9: </em><a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/06/impressionist.html" target="_blank"><em>Impressionist</em></a><em>)</em><br />
<br />
<br />
It was around 2'o clock of the early morning of 24th December 2009, we were traveling to Dwarka in a train from Mumbai. <br />
<br />
Expectedly everyone around was sleeping. Kuhoo and Adi were on the lower berth. I was trying to sleep lying on the upper one.<br />
<br />
I looked at Kuhoo. She was..<em>careless and beautiful</em>. In the start of the month she had complained that I was getting too involved in office again.<br />
<br />
Actually I was; therefore I had a taken a week break to spend some time with her and to catch up with life.<br />
<br />
Few memories came by. Remembered the planning we did about our marriage and the honeymoon. <em>I liked the hills and she liked the beaches</em>; I asked her choice and <em>she chose my choice</em>. We went to Darjeeling, during an almost off-season, where we talked and walked endlessly across the winding roads in and out of the town. I promised her I would balance my work and life. And six years had passed since I had made that promise, and more or less, I had failed every year.<br />
<br />
On one of those evenings at Chowrasta, we had stopped for tea. And Kuhoo asked about my priorities in life, which actually I had never thought about. Incoherently I spoke something and she smiled, “Hope you will include me in your priorities”.<br />
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I still remember her filled eyes when she started telling about her childhood, her likes and dislikes, every little thing she wanted to try but couldn't start, the dreams she had but could not pursue, her priorities and the expectations that sourrounded her.<br />
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Unfortunately, in some of the smaller towns in India a girl child is taught more don’ts than do’s, and the circumstances, those impact her confidence and independence. We talked for hours during those quiet moments. <em>I promised her the world</em>. <em>She told I was her world</em>.<br />
<br />
As years pass by, I see some changes in me but she fights to protect her world. I try to act practical, but she stays in her dreams. And her belief in those dreams does challenge the reality I live in.<br />
<br />
We spent good time together during the Dwarka trip and lived through the old memories. On return journey we sat by the window, and we're having tea when I tumbled the cup and tea fell over. Bit disgusted, I said, "Moments of happiness come to everyone's cup; it depends who enjoys the sip and who tumbles it over".<br />
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"I will fill your cup again", she smiled. "Ain't I your tea pot"?<br />
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Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-13197298393553082732012-07-08T16:13:00.001+08:002012-07-09T07:38:46.663+08:00Ancient Evenings and Distant Music..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em>(Section 6 : </em><a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/06/impressionist.html" target="_blank"><em>Impressionist</em></a><em>)</em><br />
<br />
On an early morning of June 2004, we were crossing Rishikesh, the pilgrimage city near Dehradun, known for Lakshman Jhoola and Ram Jhoola and historically known as the place where Lord <em>Rama</em> and <em>Lakshman</em> came for penance after Lanka war. <br />
<br />
We were going to Kedarnath Dham. My parents had, for the first time, planned a trip among high mountains. And <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/rajpiyush" target="_blank">Sonu</a> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/amrita.sinha.37669" target="_blank">Rishi</a> too had joined the group.<br />
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“It’s going to rain”, Papa said slowly, looking up at the dense dark clouds.<br />
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“That’s how it’s going to be throughout”, I smiled back as we moved ahead. The Garhwal range of Himalayas surrounded us with enthralling views of the valleys, forests, butterflies and flowers. We had got up early morning to start the trip. I dozed off.<br />
<br />
Since childhood, we wish to be somebody who we see and admire. But in the pursuit, we tend to lose ourselves. And then a point comes in life, it becomes so difficult to just be ourselves. My trip to Kedarnath Dham was to re-discover the ordinariness that we normally let go while growing up.<br />
<br />
Got up with few sprinkles on my face. It was drizzling and we had reached Dev Prayag the place of confluence of Alaknanda and Mandakini, two tributaries of River Ganges. We got down for a while and saw ourselves in a sea of mountains.<br />
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I sat on a stone bench, at the edge of the lonely road. The silence and the fragrance of the surrounding engrained my belongingness to the place. I felt I have been there for long long time. Not sure how to associate that feeling, may be something like those lazy mornings on a holiday, when we sit quiet and from the silence comes the distant sound of ringing bells or the prayers or the chirping birds. A music that makes us breath easy, a music that affirms our existence.<br />
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We had <em>bhutta</em> and <em>shikanji</em> there and re-started our journey. Our aim was to reach Gaurikund, the origin of Mandakini River, by 5 p.m.<br />
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Dipak (our driver) warned us about the weather as sometimes due to heavy rains and landslides the roads to Gaurikund get blocked. The message was clear that we had to cut down such stoppages to minimum.<br />
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I sat in front. From there started the journey among the scenic valley, breath-taking mountains and eternal waterfalls. We crossed Pipalkothi, Srinagar, and Rudraprayag and then headed towards Kedarnath. Bemused, I was again lost in thoughts again.<br />
<br />
“Come back monu. It is too late now”. This instruction was usual when we played for too long. Our games weren’t structured. We just played and chased the wind, butterflies and kites.<br />
<br />
And then we used to sit down for a while resting. Those evenings were beautiful. I always felt Mummy called us a little too early. But I liked the view of the setting sun and seeing other boys playing till dusk, laughing occasionally.<br />
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I remember how the sky would lose its color slowly. The frozen moments when the trees became a matter of debate on whether they looked like a dragon or an elephant. But there was never a need to win the point or argument. The evenings, we were just ourselves, living every moment of it.<br />
<br />
It was later afternoon when Dipak stopped the car again. We were hungry. The place was <em>'August-Muni'</em> where the river Mandakini levels the ground. We ran towards the river and sat there having snacks. Sitting on the bank of Mandakini River, I saw the canvas again. The canvas of the evenings, that I have been seeing since childhood.<br />
<br />
We resumed our journey. And reached Gaurikund aorund 5.30 p.m.<br />
<br />
It was late evening by the time we could get a place to stay. We had Aaloo parathas for dinner; and those were the tastiest parathas I had in those years. That night it rained heavily and I slept dreamless.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlroH_VBfZwMHvT6An27tpP0kS_kZbCLFRCq3xdq7DZ9mZsM_S1gGXF8vnNMH_eFJKZxbL2SEcvUzyRhi0nmFs8eNWwf-zIN_yqchWkkpTMg8aX8z1YRfDFhOL3lTUFUQY0jtR8vF3Gk/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlroH_VBfZwMHvT6An27tpP0kS_kZbCLFRCq3xdq7DZ9mZsM_S1gGXF8vnNMH_eFJKZxbL2SEcvUzyRhi0nmFs8eNWwf-zIN_yqchWkkpTMg8aX8z1YRfDFhOL3lTUFUQY0jtR8vF3Gk/s320/3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
By the next morning, rain had stopped and the shining sun greeted us a promising day. The whole atmosphere enchanted ‘“Jai Baba Bholenath”.<br />
<br />
The main temple is 14 Km from that Gaurikund, up on the steep climb. I decided to take Palki for Ma and Papa. I looked around.<br />
<br />
A boy came and asked “<em>Bhaiya, Palki karenge kya</em>”? He was around 20. With him were two more boys of around same age.<br />
<br />
I smiled. Thought there were too young to take papa on Palki on a 14 KM steep climb. “<em>Tum log kaise lay jaoge</em>”? I tried to shut them up from asking.<br />
<br />
Looking straight into my eyes unfazed, the first boy replied, “We can take both of you (me and papa) together”.<br />
<br />
I may have ridiculed them but actually I felt ashamed to see their ability or <em>necessity</em>. We (<em>except Sonu</em>) took ponies after climbing half the distance as we were climbing too slow to reach the temple in time.<br />
<br />
<em>En route</em>, I watched them. It appeared that our so-called reasoning or mindset has impeded the growth of original abilities. Climb was getting steeper. My pony stopped for water. I gave her a pat. She responded with a puff. “She likes you”, said the pony-man. <br />
<br />
I looked around. Those Palki boys, dozens of ponies climbing, I saw how difficult was for those boys to step up, and then the main temple from a distance. It was difficult to tell who the true worshippers are. We pretenders learn some techniques, set some mindsets, declare ourselves logical, and throughout the life live like a parasite. Our prayers remain self-centered, our laughs practiced, our methods parasitical and still we act <em>'honest' </em>or<em> 'devoted'</em>.<br />
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<br />
We reached the temple. I don’t remember what I prayed for. God did communicate to me all the way as I'd understood that like the times of <em>those ancient evenings</em> and <em>distant music</em>,<strong> </strong>I have to just be myself. No more setting conditions or standards of <em>shoulds and coulds.</em><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3odYEmbv49rySpZvG-xcoCh8Pmev5nRZMiGV7JcfaRMkVJeX6IND2hPQGGAAquHqpeSD8UMCJWxDQsKrAY0lPIjLi514UETeLZ4wE-hx24YdmjsJK_wdEh2vR5VuJcwfMy3Dgny96awM/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3odYEmbv49rySpZvG-xcoCh8Pmev5nRZMiGV7JcfaRMkVJeX6IND2hPQGGAAquHqpeSD8UMCJWxDQsKrAY0lPIjLi514UETeLZ4wE-hx24YdmjsJK_wdEh2vR5VuJcwfMy3Dgny96awM/s320/7.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic by <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/rajpiyush" target="_blank">Piyush</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Evening fell among the mountains. On the way back on my pony, I heard the enchanting bhajans slowly getting imperceptible as we came down. <em>That evening and that music is eternal</em>, deep inside as I see the canvas and hear the music very often, from who has <em>always answered</em> my prayers.<br />
<br />
God bless you all.</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-47591985716389224212012-07-01T16:11:00.000+08:002012-07-01T16:15:48.264+08:00..you break it..you bought it..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScBJn1jph0R7Q7kmm385ZW0G2InlbBZ98hZgxoxIyXs7ImWM0m40TzliVkq2nhsny70PuZPdw5jp-dIljc7oaaGrwymTyTocSn_EnruxyWy5HBXsZcIWP0_R8YCRjMwAVK0vOVYOah5M/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScBJn1jph0R7Q7kmm385ZW0G2InlbBZ98hZgxoxIyXs7ImWM0m40TzliVkq2nhsny70PuZPdw5jp-dIljc7oaaGrwymTyTocSn_EnruxyWy5HBXsZcIWP0_R8YCRjMwAVK0vOVYOah5M/s320/3.jpg" vca="true" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
“How do I look”, I wore a dark blue t-shirt and looked <em>into</em> the mirror. We were going to meet <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/nidhi.goel.73" target="_blank">Nidhi</a> and rest of our friends yesterday evening.<br />
<br />
Kuhoo did not respond. It was difficult to understand whether that silence was deliberate or she meant ‘<em>how does that matter</em>’? <br />
<br />
I tried again. “Do you think this t-shirt looks good”?<br />
<br />
“Yes”. Kuhoo gave a half-a-second look and resumed with her work.<br />
<br />
It was too short a response. I was expecting more. “I think black will look better”.<br />
<br />
“Wear black then”, and this time she didn't even look at me.<br />
<br />
Normally I keep quiet after that. But good sense did not prevail. And yesterday like one of those rare in year days, I attempted to tease her.<br />
<br />
"You know there are lots of girls there".<br />
<br />
"Yes. <em><strong>Bhaiya</strong></em>". She smiled.<br />
<br />
I retaliated,“They call me <em>bhaiya</em> to show their affection, don't you see that"?<br />
<br />
“I do”. But sometimes even her affirmative words sound like <em>'don't fool yourself'</em>.<br />
<br />
Indeed the problem is, most of the girls call me <em>bhaiya</em>. Don't I look <em>'dangerous' </em>enough? The bigger problem is they are not like those <em>'behan ji'</em> type girls; so my treating them as <em>behan </em>will also be so incorrect. But for some strange reasons Kuhoo doesn’t see any threat, and that makes it, my biggest problem.<br />
<br />
We came out of our flat talking.<br />
<br />
“OK. Leave those girls. They are lots of Korean, Chinese and Iranian girls in this apartment those give me that <em>long look</em>”.<br />
<br />
“So haven’t they asked you to join them at the swimming pool yet”? This insult was deliberate. And she knows I am bit uncomfortable bathing in public and then I can’t swim. <br />
<br />
The issue is, the longer I continue the fight <em>the more miserably I lose</em>. As we entered into the lift, we saw a Chinese (<em>or may be Korean</em>) girl. And I continued to my peril. “See that girl ? She smiles whenever she sees me”.<br />
<br />
Hardly had I completed, the girl actually smiled and said hello.<br />
<br />
I shrugged my neck as if I am used to of such greetings. Gosh she sounded friendly, <em>but to me</em>, she appeared lovelier than ever before.<br />
<br />
Then I made an extra effort to show acquaintance, “We are going to meet our friends”. She smiled again as we came out of the lift.<br />
<br />
The girl walked ahead of us, stopped and then turned back, “Have a lovely evening, <strong><em>uncle</em></strong>”.</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-72934784477233602622012-06-17T21:08:00.000+08:002012-06-23T20:14:58.525+08:00The show must go on..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em> (Section 5 : </em><a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/06/impressionist.html" target="_blank"><em>Impressionist</em></a><em>)</em><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qbDxjEhGS_Ix_gwUuM3cKvOEKg9H8IRQlchBAJ0bzt4CGJlCQF2HukCJUh6rppTRzXI9BT4wzCMDUNKSTGi3Hvr-PuAljpQAOHaLY1pR00Hok5ee385ohkxBxIU9iQWKTQ_aDbARu0s/s1600/The+show+must+go+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qbDxjEhGS_Ix_gwUuM3cKvOEKg9H8IRQlchBAJ0bzt4CGJlCQF2HukCJUh6rppTRzXI9BT4wzCMDUNKSTGi3Hvr-PuAljpQAOHaLY1pR00Hok5ee385ohkxBxIU9iQWKTQ_aDbARu0s/s320/The+show+must+go+on.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1834382816936.2106926.1161394793&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=10150867669633663&set=a.10150867669228663.397645.603898662&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Piyush</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The pain of loss or failure is felt only to those who can succeed.<br />
<br />
But this is story of a person who continues to live trying something, knowing that he won’t be able to succeed. Does he live every moment of his life with the pain of loss? Since the time I’ve known him, I have been thinking <em>what</em> drives him. <br />
<br />
I guess some of us know.<em> I wish all of us could know.</em><br />
<br />
On 6th March 2011 morning, I boarded a slow local train on the harbor line to Khandeshwar (near Panvel). I was going to meet <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1834382816936.2106926.1161394793&type=3#!/nishi.kant.9406" target="_blank">Nishi</a> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1834382816936.2106926.1161394793&type=3#!/pranat.narain" target="_blank">Pranat</a>, my school friends.<br />
<br />
I’m little uncomfortable taking crowded trains but thought Sunday could be leaner than weekdays, I decided to try. <br />
<br />
When the train came, I realized I was wrong. <em>Some Mumbai locals are always crowded.</em> I hurried in; only to find myself in the vendor’s coach. And the train started.<br />
<br />
Felt a little awkward; but stood there for few minutes when a person of around 50 stood up and offered me his seat. <br />
<br />
“It’s alright”. I never imagined an old man offering seat to a ‘relatively less old man’ and that, in Mumbai.<br />
<br />
“I will get down after a few stations”, He spoke in <em>Hindi</em> with north Indian accent.<br />
<br />
“Ok. Let us both sit then”, I smiled and we sat together on half seat each. <br />
<br />
And for those minutes we talked. <br />
<br />
A nondescript personality, perhaps little unwell too; he works everyday as a transporter of slippers and shoes to a shop in Andheri. Around 20 years back he came from Baliya and has been struggling to save enough to keep sending back some money home for his mother and wife.<br />
<br />
“This must be very tiring. How much do you get? Don’t you have any other option?” I felt bit uncomfortable with his toil.<br />
<br />
Then he spoke as if he wasn’t heard for long.<br />
<br />
His father had taken a loan that he couldn’t repay in his life time. The lender had a small business in Mumbai. He continues to work for him to compensate for the loan; though he doesn’t get as much other guys in the same shop get. <br />
<br />
“You cannot continue like this for ever. How much of the loan is still to be paid?” I tried to explain about possible loans he may get from banks and other sources.<br />
<br />
But he said he wants continue to work for that lender, for he gave money in the hour of need. And then he also agreed to employ him instead of taking over his land when his father passed away. There was a sense of gratitude.<br />
<br />
He got down at Andheri but I kept thinking about him. Don’t know what will happen to him after few years. His only son is now married. But he is not willing to or is unable to keep him. He knows he has grown old; the young guys are faster and smarter. He knows, his struggle will increase as the society and his age will slowly take away his strength. <br />
<br />
Perhaps this is what people call <em>'passive euthanasia'</em>. I guess before it became <em>'legal'</em>, it has already been part of many of our lives. <br />
<br />
But he doesn't expect any support or pity. And I also received the underlying message, that unlikely anything will ever take away his belief that he can continue. He didn’t talk about <em>the options</em>; he talked about <em>what he wanted to do</em>. He keeps <em>no grudge</em> whatsoever and he knows how to spend the rest of his life.<br />
<br />
<em>The <strong>certainty</strong> about how he wants to spend his life drives him, even when he knows his fate.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRcXthdgMt2qOCY008vnstgzsEEhAQVHtBOi2F_gufe0ZQKmLw6jBO1bDON2KjTZc2ST-YYZKQEEIl87bzuCDvN7YnJ9kGFZAaGYYT_w6TPubv9A_I9G6N6cDuPSSZRqw5ZGI1Y703OE/s1600/The+show+must+go+on+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRcXthdgMt2qOCY008vnstgzsEEhAQVHtBOi2F_gufe0ZQKmLw6jBO1bDON2KjTZc2ST-YYZKQEEIl87bzuCDvN7YnJ9kGFZAaGYYT_w6TPubv9A_I9G6N6cDuPSSZRqw5ZGI1Y703OE/s320/The+show+must+go+on+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1834382816936.2106926.1161394793&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=432214201342&set=a.364148221342.197608.672261342&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Ajay Sudhanshu</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I had heard about such certainties. They say it comes to only few of us. And that too very rarely in our lives, no matter how many life times we live. Wish someday I will experience it. And till then, I have decided to let all the grudges go; <em>the show goes on</em>...</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-11073223202181860202012-06-07T23:35:00.002+08:002012-06-09T23:26:10.958+08:00Catch another butterfly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>(Section 8: <a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/06/impressionist.html">Impressionist</a>)</i><br />
<br />
It was a thursday evening, during the early weeks of November, 2008. I was on my way back to Bangalore after a week long trip to Raigarh.<br />
<br />
I had to catch the night train from Raigarh. And in hurry, I had reached station bit early and the train was running late.<br />
<br />
My ticket was done by hotel’s travel desk. It was wait-listed but those guys had assured that it would be confirmed.<br />
<br />
I sat on platform number 2 waiting. Though it wasn't too late in night but the platform was almost empty. Vignettes of tea-stalls, vendors, book-shop, went through as I breathed slowly after a long tiring day. It was getting cold as well. I wore my jacket and cuddled up with my laptop bag. Time slowed down as I tried hard not to sleep.<br />
<br />
Since childhood, I have waited. I have waited to grow old, waited to become self-dependent; I have waited for the people who’ll love me, waited for the ever elusive happiness, waited to connect to and listen to those I've grown up with, and to express my feelings. I have waited for every little respite, the work stress didn't allow. The wait continues.<br />
<br />
Train reached almost an hour late. There were no charts, no other person traveling with me from that station. I got into the train thinking my ticket would have been confirmed and I would get the berth number from the TT onboard.<br />
<br />
It was late night by then and curtains were drawn. Almost everyone was fast asleep. I decided not to disturb them and I waited for the TT outside, near the wash basin area in the coach.<br />
<br />
No one came for long. It was getting colder. I sat on my bag and closed my eyes.<br />
<br />
I got up with the sound of water flowing. I saw a girl washing her face. She gave a corner eye and went inside. I saw the dislike in her eyes as she banged the door while going inside.<br />
<br />
She might have thought I was traveling without ticket. I felt bad and cursed the TT for not showing up. Since I had to catch the morning flight to Mumbai from Raipur and in the evening another one to Bangalore, it was too costly to get down and cancel and re-book the flights.<br />
<br />
Train picked up speed as I sat outside in the cold. I remembered when I was studying, my travels were mostly unplanned. I had to travel waitlisted several times. I traveled sometimes during holidays, sometimes after exams. I never really cared whether I will get a berth. My ‘Weekender’ jacket was enough to keep me warm. I slept careless of the world. But that night it was difficult to sleep. I was worried about my image before the so called world.<br />
<br />
Finally TT came; he could offer me a berth. But I did not sleep because the train had to reach Raipur at 2.20 AM in the night. I reached Raipur, took morning flight to Mumbai. Completed my work in Mumbai, and boarded the evening flight to Bangalore.<br />
<br />
Bangalore flight was quite crowded like most of the fridays. Anyway I had decided to sleep through out. Hardly had I buckled up when a crew member informed I was upgraded to business class. Thought it was even better place to sleep. I came ahead, kept my bag and slept.<br />
<br />
“Towel for you sir”. <br />
<br />
I got up. I saw the air-hostess. I saw the same girl. I almost smiled.<br />
<br />
"How are you sir?" she smiled.<br />
<br />
"Tired", and then I slept.<br />
<br />
She came later, told that she actually wanted to offer me the seat next to her because she was not sleeping and had to get down at Raipur. But she did not do so because I could have been misunderstood her.<br />
<br />
I came back home. Adi had to tell me a dozen stories of the week gone by. He talked about his friends, all girls !! and his plans to go to water-park with them. Then he showed me all the cards, stone colors, and drawings they had made together.<br />
<br />
He never has to think about what others will think about him; he doesn't get bothered if anyone may misunderstand him. He is as clean as he does whatever he feels like.<br />
<br />
He does not know the inhibitions and restrictions an adult life comes with. And I have decided I will teach him the basic minimum. I will let him enjoy the clear heart. I will tell him to wait; before he gets into adulthood; before he gets impacted by others; I will tell him to go catch another butterfly.<br />
<br /></div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-78915000414563778862012-06-03T12:46:00.003+08:002012-06-16T08:59:12.761+08:00The Bee Farmer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> (Section 4: <a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2012/06/impressionist.html">Impressionist</a>)</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1BjRW46vJTjZgIT87v_E3-5bCurrtnxroEqDUEozvlUxZDQwDZ1WpahZs5TNEf5UGNnQ9k_7DROZnNNpIYqQCtkCyXpPCcGcD5so20lvDJ9hdv_0P9Wd2WvSeATOVGeJ0wz9_PqENaU/s1600/Bee+Farmer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1BjRW46vJTjZgIT87v_E3-5bCurrtnxroEqDUEozvlUxZDQwDZ1WpahZs5TNEf5UGNnQ9k_7DROZnNNpIYqQCtkCyXpPCcGcD5so20lvDJ9hdv_0P9Wd2WvSeATOVGeJ0wz9_PqENaU/s320/Bee+Farmer.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
On 10th October 2008, early morning I walked alone on the beach of Pondicherry near Aurobindo Ashram. That morning I met a person named Mr Selvan who runs a small business in Chennai.<br />
<br />
Our meeting was unexpected. Actually I got a bit annoyed initially with his sudden show of interest to talk. I almost avoided him at the beach; but later at the breakfast table we met again and there we talked. <br />
<br />
I introduced myself. <br />
<br />
He said “Good morning Manish. Who are you?” <br />
<br />
He kept repeating this question even after I spelt almost my biography and then I gave up. <br />
<br />
“What do you see?” I asked finally.<br />
<br />
“I see a bee”.<br />
<br />
“A bee?”<br />
<br />
I admit he had something in his personality that made me listen to him. He spoke, "In the valleys of Himalayas, there are lakhs of bee colonies. Northern states in India like J&K, Punjab, and Uttaranchal etc are abode of millions of bees. There, each bee lives a life like we do. Together they work, grow and die”.<br />
<br />
“You mean they live a purposeless life?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“No. I think there is a purpose in each of the bee’s life. Worker bees produce honey; the queen bee has to reproduce. There is no one without a purpose”.<br />
<br />
“So what is the message?”<br />
<br />
“The message is they do it together. I want to tell you that your identity is ‘how you contribute’ to the society that mandates togetherness”<br />
<br />
“Mr Selvan, I understand your point. But I feel lost in crowd at times. Don’t you think my contribution must make an impression or shall I say difference? Don’t you think a progressive society requires some kind of innovation?”<br />
<br />
“Indeed it does. But difference must not mean isolation; it should not come at the cost of togetherness. The day such arrogance or isolation takes over you, there is every possibility that you will lose your purpose (<i>contribution</i>) and hence your identity (<i>who are you</i>)”<br />
<br />
I realized he must have seen me walking alone early morning in my own world. He may have felt the loneliness I never intended.<br />
<br />
“I have lots of friends Mr Selvan”, I smiled.<br />
<br />
“I am happy to hear that. This is how it should be. Without your friends, you are no one”, he smiled too.<br />
<br />
“But there are many lonely and isolated souls in this world. Will you be worried about that Mr Selvan?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Manish, I am a member of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auroville">Auroville</a>. Indeed such isolation may break the balance we seek in our society”. Then I saw he was getting into a kind of abstraction. <br />
<br />
“Manish, I have always felt there is a ‘bee-farmer’ watching us. Is he the God? I don’t know. I also do not know whether he is as merciful as we think. I am not sure whether he creates the earthquakes and tsunamis.”<br />
<br />
I kept listening.<br />
<br />
“What if all, this world is one of those thousand experiments a bee-farmer does with multiple combinations of bees to set up a productive bee-hive. A bee may never know the overall purpose of the bee-farmer but the bee-hive will be destroyed if the bees are unable to stay together.”<br />
<br />
He continued, “Immaterial to the purpose of an individual life, we must acknowledge the purpose of overall human life, else this experiment will fail. Our future lies in our ability to stay together and that should be the purpose of our life, and our identity”.<br />
<br />
I nodded. I visited Auroville that day.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hOxLTkIB8q2w1M2eQRpgiCVe6PDYN4Ru11_7qolrFACVcEPDHTVOHY1O69f8zYINncAR7uZY_XyZpWK1XMNuxyC2YjbPVPis6-FPHSGtI3IP436RK50xvPMRuZ7nZsU1GuzMcDUjJWw/s1600/Auroville.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hOxLTkIB8q2w1M2eQRpgiCVe6PDYN4Ru11_7qolrFACVcEPDHTVOHY1O69f8zYINncAR7uZY_XyZpWK1XMNuxyC2YjbPVPis6-FPHSGtI3IP436RK50xvPMRuZ7nZsU1GuzMcDUjJWw/s320/Auroville.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
The Bee Farmer expects us to go ahead and make as many friends as possible. The companionship will let us know our contribution and the answer to ‘who we are’.</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-86277865920430435082012-06-02T15:02:00.001+08:002012-06-02T15:12:38.540+08:00Impressionist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiti2CTiOfapaZWQ6I_xR9a_RccQKQFCr4f5CLao8BjtDkJdjRPhyphenhyphenXfc_UsiUGcOYneOJOnxiwQ9CX18ZxFeeA-ZNCwsnLSLQyR7qxpLsF2sFehRTBk_i8NVoMA7LAXsH4c9C7L6LS9MRM/s1600/Impressionist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiti2CTiOfapaZWQ6I_xR9a_RccQKQFCr4f5CLao8BjtDkJdjRPhyphenhyphenXfc_UsiUGcOYneOJOnxiwQ9CX18ZxFeeA-ZNCwsnLSLQyR7qxpLsF2sFehRTBk_i8NVoMA7LAXsH4c9C7L6LS9MRM/s320/Impressionist.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<em>I do live, with those moments rewind..</em></div>
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<em></em></div>
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<em>there is little bit for you..still left inside..</em></div>
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<em>as memories unfold...to the distance far..</em></div>
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<em>you walk down the strings to my heart..</em></div>
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<em>the song comes out…and the music through</em></div>
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<em>a pain rekindled..I sing for you..</em></div>
<br />
It’s been some time since my close friends have been asking but not until last winter could I really give any serious thought to it. I have been into some kind of trance in which the daily life kept passing by, with several subtle hints that the time has arrived, to write it or at least attempt it.<br />
<br />
Impressionist is not my story. This is story of some of my near and dear ones, and of those events that have made an impact on my way of seeing things. This is also the story of all those who brave the inner loneliness while living a worthwhile life; of those who love someone knowing it will never come back; ever forgiven someone and know that it remains the final form of love.<br />
<br />
<em>(This story will have 18 sections and I will try to complete all in a year or year and half; don’t intend to rush it as I must honor my other responsibilities.</em><br />
<br />
<em>I will write all the sections first as posts in my blogsite (aforgottenpage.blogspot.com). After receiving responses to the post, I will further prune the section and will take out/ change the names of characters, wherever necessary.)</em></div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-58587346092064604382012-05-19T12:05:00.001+08:002012-05-19T12:05:39.991+08:00Calcutta training chronicles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sharing herewith what my friend <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1161394793&ref=tn_tnmn#!/anu.lall">Anu Lall</a> wrote as 'Calcutta training chronicles' in 2003. <br />
<br />
<em>Anu, Vijay and I had gone to Kolkata to impart SAP HCM Training. She was at it again, pulling my leg, but indeed it's such a treasure having such friends like her around. </em><br />
<br />
******<br />
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<strong>Calcutta training chronicles</strong></div>
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As the 21 day training at Calcutta draws to a close, time to write a feedback/ report on the highs and lows, the crests and troughs…the boring and the few interesting aspects that kept us going…</div>
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When the trio, Vijay, Manish and I started the training on day one, with Chadhaji and Ms Swarup there, little did I expect such a training.…After intros were over, Manish started on the oh so very important exercise – how to log on.. And that took the entire day. Manish made a presentation on “Put Client = 350, Username is USER##, the number of ur machine and password is new.” These three entries had one day gone. I was beginign t o worry… 299 pages ka manual kab shuru hoga aur kaise khatam hoga???</div>
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Man! I felt like it’s the beginning of a never ending fruitless journey.</div>
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The entire set of trainees nearly cried- some quite audile during the tea breaks, and some slightly heard and some in their own silent ways- jaani na, cholbe na, hobbe na – that’s in Bengali, that it just cant happen, cant be done.</div>
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These guys were going to take ages to do anything on the system. Anyway.. life went on from that day, we were there to do our job and today finally we got over with it.</div>
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Being an epitome of patience Manish just went on and on….and ofcourse the other two of us aswell. And like any other event … there were few of those ah!! so interesting statements that I think deserve mention here… and it is evident now… all this being a tribute to manish, the patience personified. </div>
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Nah! Dude don’t kill me for doing this, but seriously u deserve all the accolades. All said and done, all praise done,…now getting to to interesting taang kheenche waala stuff.. there are certain funda waala statements of his that deserve to be preserved…no offence meant .. they are indelible from our minds. Arre taang kheenche ke liye bhi to kuch karana chahiye. So for the benefit of the rest of the group … here it goes…I elaborate the situation and give the classy manish waala / or us se related statement therein… ENJOY!!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Situation 1:</u></b> Classroom session. Manish giving a demo and lecture on the process. </div>
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A User, a typical one,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not paying any attention to what was said by manish in the entire demo asks some silly question …“but saar, cant you go to infotype 9930 phraam paphorty (pa40)?” manish, very patiently, explains the difference between pa30 and pa40… and concept of infotypes…. </div>
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Then yet again there is another similar question… “but saar, there is one problem, the system allows me to take the designation of chairman. Now you tell me how is that possible. Your system is phaulty”. This time manish loses some of the patience and says “Aap meri baat sunte nahin hain. Aise lagta hain jaise ki sun rahe hain.. par nahin… aankh khuli rakh ke koi kaise so sakta hai? Arre aankh to band honi chhiye sone ke liye. Jaagete hain aur sunte nahin hain…. (LONG SILENCE. EVERYONE FEELING VERY GUILTY AND NOW ALL ATTENTIVE…WAITING FOR MANISH TO<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>COMPLETE…)………….Who ek kahawat hai na… ki kai log to naak se sunte hain…Sir, aap kyon nahin dhayaan dete hain?? Suniye main kya keh raha hoon.”</div>
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Vijay and I have a tough time controlling ourselves from bursting out laughing. Bhai Manish naak se kaise sunte hain zara hume bhi to batana?</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Situation 2</u></b>: Manish explaining the concept of back up data while running HBA seniority list. The fact that its very important, connectivity loss while doing the freeze on the list… then the system stores the back up. this is how he explained…</div>
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“Maan lijiye, aap senority run kar rahe hain aur power cut ho gaya..Ab aap kya karenge? ya phir chup chaap se connectivity chali jaati hai..…Mr Debnath aap sun rahe hain na?” </div>
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Mr Debnath: (Chewing paan, relocating it in the mouth making way for words…never thot speaking required so much effort for a person) “Ji Saar. Holiday home.”</div>
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Manish:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Arre main HBA ki baat kar raha hoon, aap holiday home mein atke hue hain”</div>
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Khair jaane deejiye…. Maaniye aap ne seniority run kiya, aur sher aa gaya. (can u believe that, aache khaase ONGC office mein, lion kahan se aaya?????? Anyway that’s Manish and his examples…). Arre maan leejiye, bus soochiye ki sher aa gaya….. Arre hus rahe hain?? Aacha chhoodiye, sher ko chhodiye…. Maan lijiye veena maam ka phone aa jaata hain…aap ko jaana padta hai”</div>
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Man what a connection!!!! Sher and Veena!!! Kya baat hai! Dil se nikali aawaz. Vijay and I are in splits again. And by this time we have already started jotting down these mahaan one liners for later reproductions…</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Situation 3</u></b>: Training ka aakhri din. ONGC guys have organized a big bash for us. Party-sharty, gift-shift, daaru- shaaru and loads of NON BHHEGG food (that’s non veg in Bengali English for the uninitiated). </div>
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Our dear Mr Debnath gets a bit tipsy on the drinks… and catches hold of the three of us….. “Aap logon ne humare liye kitna kuch kiya… bahut accaha training conduct kiya. Maine to compuutar ko kabhi haath bhi nahian lagaya… saab aap ne bahut sikhaya.” “Bahut sikhaya….” HE GETS A BIT LOST IN THOT…AND STARTS TALKING ABOUT HIS LIFE AND STRUGGLES…</div>
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Meanwhile, The rest of the crowd giggling away as they saw us being caught by this 55 year old who loves to talk about his life and struggles and to add to the flavor is quite drunk…</div>
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Then Mr. Debnath looks at me and vijay and says ….“Aap jaanta nahin hai… monish saab to saagar hain, bahut vishaal hai…. Bahut patient hain… bahut bada dil hai… manish saab to saagar hain. Hume bahut seekhaya hai”</div>
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Okie there we go.. thanks mr debnath… in all your good intentions, you have made life nearly miserable for Monish saab… now vijay and I call him Mr. Saagar.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Situation 4:</u></b> Now the smaller versions…</div>
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In the evenings after the training, we used to spend sometime at coffee places…or shop for our significant others. I remember how much of effort manish took in buying a dress for his fiancé. Vijay sir, spent time looking for stuff for his daughter…and I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>indulged in shopping for myself.</div>
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On one such evening, after a round of the bazaars of Calcutta, we were sitting in a mall close to Park Street…having coffee. All three of us silent after a day long of work.</div>
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After observing many women around the place..Manish said these profound words…that I can possibly never forget..</div>
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He looked at me, very seriously, had a sip of coffee..and said very philosophically, “You know Anu, A beautiful girl is an accident of nature…But a Beautiful woman is a work of Art”.</div>
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Wah! Wah! </div>
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************<br />
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</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-8791236184511702232012-02-26T14:58:00.011+08:002012-02-27T19:49:31.075+08:00Return of Magic..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
It’s been more than two months since we shifted to KL. <br />
<br />
We still find ourselves rapt with nostalgia; and with multitude of emotions that creeps in, quietly and more frequently than we can ignore. Perhaps we haven’t yet found the connection, with the land and with people here; makes us value all we had in India.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>November 2011..</strong></em><br />
<br />
Last few weeks in India were difficult. My beloved aunt passed away, within an hour, when we met after a number of years. Adi had to say good bye to friends he has grown up with. Kuhoo had to leave the place that she had set up so fondly. I distracted myself into work, once again, to bury my feelings.<br />
<br />
“Papa, those toys aren't broken !”, Adi sounded bit whining as I continued packing.<br />
<br />
“Beta, we should give the ones they can play with. Stop me for those you don’t want to give.” I smiled.<br />
<br />
Adi stood thinking for few moments, and finally nodded. <br />
<br />
On that last sunday of November, early morning, we left for Rakum, a school for the blind and the orphans in Bangalore, to give all we couldn’t pack or didn’t need anymore. During the drive Adi asked, “Papa, do you believe in Magic”? <br />
<br />
“Yes”.<br />
<br />
Kuhoo was a bit surprised, “Aren’t all magicians do a trick?”<br />
<br />
Adi looked at her, unconvinced but didn’t speak further.<br />
<br />
I looked at Kuhoo, “Magic is not what a magician does”.<br />
<br />
“So what is it?” Kuhoo smiled.<br />
<br />
“Magic is what makes me see that defies explanation”.<br />
<br />
“You mean…”<br />
<br />
“There is an element of God in magic; that inspires us, humbles us. If you believe in God, magic stays in your life”<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Yesterday..</em></strong><br />
<br />
Last evening, we sat in the balcony, with reflective thoughts. Life may not appear easier here, but we surely have grown stronger. Adi joined us. “You remember polar express”?<br />
<br />
“Yes. Don’t remember the exact story though”.<br />
<br />
“I remember polar express”, his eyes shined. <br />
<br />
Adi sounds abrupt at times; it takes a while to get to what he actually wants to say. I tried to remember. <strong><em>“..the thing about trains, it doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on…</em>”. </strong><br />
<br />
There were several times in my past life when things didn’t work out the way I wanted to, but I am happy I tried. I followed my heart every time I could and am happy that Adi promises the same believe and optimism.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ifUmYIEF_9hwCVRFqWljFd6BAO2Puru4NwcjJJtx6A8utErK-smmPzRpZtjRIQrSC2gXmJdT0qoRjtv7aaqflHA-ZVQx4PTZD32LCIiJD_ftMBr4_XjrEZ7Ir094CwQmhFcedTRTuHM/s1600/Bhavani.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ifUmYIEF_9hwCVRFqWljFd6BAO2Puru4NwcjJJtx6A8utErK-smmPzRpZtjRIQrSC2gXmJdT0qoRjtv7aaqflHA-ZVQx4PTZD32LCIiJD_ftMBr4_XjrEZ7Ir094CwQmhFcedTRTuHM/s320/Bhavani.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?fbid=10150359247340124&set=a.10150359183895124.356147.641620123&type=3&theater">Pic by Dabs</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The faith stays...the magic will return...</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-83736652650754952592011-11-20T15:44:00.017+08:002011-11-20T20:32:00.111+08:00..a kiss to build story on...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><em>(On 15th November evening, I had a small discussion with my colleagues in office on what next after business solutions on mobile.)</em><br />
<br />
I tossed the idea of:<br />
<br />
<em>Stage 1:</em><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>If mobile can answer the sound waves with an inbuilt sensor, we may possibly have a sensor built to catch the neuro/ brain waves as well. I am sure we will be able to get there because brain waves/ nervous system do instruct all the body organs;</li>
<li>If aforesaid is achieved, such sensors can be implanted in human brain itself. (I mean chips those may receive brain/ neuro waves/ instructions);</li>
<li>If aforesaid is achieved, we don’t need a mobile, just by thinking about someone, with the brain waves we will be able to send and receive information like telepathy between one person to another through chips implanted in our brain.<em> (Exact recognition options can be designed as a human mind identifies people with several parameters...and not just with name and/or number);</em></li>
<li>If aforesaid is achieved, and we may be able to develop applications for not only business but also for each and every person for his/ her day to day work. The whole population (not just those using a mobile phone) in the world could be our potential market. (<em>Desktops > Laptops > Mobile > Brain Chips)</em></li>
</ul><br />
<em>Stage 2:</em><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Later we may manage to build an interceptor to receive brain waves (with a database of all recognition options in point 3 above) which are not necessary directed to us;</li>
<li>If aforesaid is achieved, we may be able to catch the thought process of any person in future.</li>
<li>If aforesaid is achieved, we will know who all are our potential customers.</li>
</ul>I know friends, aforesaid appears crazy. But landing on moon was equally crazy to those who fought the first war of <em>Panipat</em>.<br />
<br />
<strong>But my own idea scared me last night.</strong> <br />
<br />
If this technology was available as of yesterday <strong>(</strong><em>on my 8th anniversary</em><strong>),</strong> Kuhoo might have known everything that went through my mind <em><strong>(written in italics</strong></em> with my each response during conversations yesterday<em><strong>)</strong></em> <br />
<br />
Sometime in morning.<br />
<br />
K : “Happy Anniversary”. <br />
M: “Oh dear, I was going to say that..and you spoke”. <em><strong>(...God I forgot my anniversary again…how does she remember this always..when she forgets her ATM pin, Adi’s bus number etc…)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “I Love you”<br />
M : “..me too. More than anyone else in the world”<em> <strong>(Shit..I could have said this at least before she did)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “You remember our first anniversary?”<br />
M : “Off course” <em><strong>(Off course not)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “I sat near the river early morning. That second <em>arghya</em> day of <em>Chatth Puja</em>”.<br />
M : “Yes...and I stood in the river watching you”<em> <strong>(...was that second arghya day of Chatth ? so inhuman, how could you remember all that ?)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “So what’s the plan?”<br />
M : “Not now..wait..you'll love it..”<em><strong> (Which plan ? I just want to sleep please...)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “OK. I bring tea for you”<br />
M : “Thank You. I will go to Adi’s school after that. Be ready by that time.”<br />
<br />
I went to Adi’s school to apply for his School Leaving Certificate etc. I came back around 11 AM. Mummy too wanted to give something to her <em>ladli Bahu</em>. To my scare both of them were ready by the time I returned.<br />
<br />
K : “We are going to Chemmanur”. She was unable to hold back the grin.<br />
M : I smiled. “Even I wanted to go there”. <em><strong>(...get poorer by 25K at least..)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “Really?”. Her eyes shining…she was sure of two gifts now…one each from mummy and me.<br />
M : “Indeed. I got down at Bowbazar to buy something...but couldn’t buy.” <em><strong>(well another reason of getting down there was the lovely crowd at Bowbazar. But I couldn’t buy because of the hand-rickshaw puller event written in my last </strong><a href="http://aforgottenpage.blogspot.com/2011/11/coming-back-to-life.html"><strong>post</strong></a><strong> )</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “Is this saree looking good?”<br />
M : “Yeah..very nice” <em><strong>(...does that matter ?)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “You remember this one?”<br />
M : “Yes” <em><strong>(No)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “You bought this on my birthday”<br />
M : “Yes” <em><strong>(..how am I supposed to remember..they all look the same)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “We will stop by at McD while coming back”<br />
M : “Sure”<br />
<br />
Mummy looked perplexed with the idea of lunch at McD. But Adi was happy. I didn’t want to spoil their mood. We completed shopping, had something at McD and came back home.<br />
<br />
K : “Let’s go to Hypercity”<br />
M : “Anything specific?” <em><strong>(We just came back home..no ?)</strong></em><br />
<br />
K : “General grocery stuff, fruits and vegetables”<br />
M : “ok”<br />
<br />
Then we went to Hypercity. Kuhoo started with her <em>intense</em> shopping; bought a chocolate cake. Engaging Adi is easy; just buy him a car. We could come back home by 9 PM.<br />
<br />
K : “Too late na..I was thinking, should we order Pizza ? Adi too wanted to have Pizza today”. Adi appeared like a puppy wagging its tail...as if he never had Pizza for years. And all he eats is plain garlic bread.<br />
<br />
M : “Yup. Normal or thin crust?”<em> (</em>It just came out of me...but it gave an impression of how much I care.)<br />
<br />
K : “Normal. Thin crust you order for yourself”. She smiled.<br />
<br />
I ordered a veggie supreme for myself and a chicken one for Kuhoo. Pizza came. It was around 11.00 PM by the time we could finish and go to bed.<br />
<br />
K : “Promise me. You’ll always love me like this”. <strong>And I got a kiss to build story on.</strong><br />
M : “Love you...always”. <em><strong>(..do I have an option?)</strong></em></div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-25198000818917356632011-09-26T22:32:00.008+08:002012-05-26T01:01:23.547+08:00I sing for you..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_WonTNacJfnrP3mx4C2_eLtqjztezfSbMCwspncRt32KQP7Bvblg4pUMWx_0rySLHahGtjE4IAifvQq74UvXsV3BCHOsiX_Nkc8n3zbG_hWtWG6AZpmKS6Qh3C9hGnGFfm9TkXvqoqo/s1600/Autumn+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_WonTNacJfnrP3mx4C2_eLtqjztezfSbMCwspncRt32KQP7Bvblg4pUMWx_0rySLHahGtjE4IAifvQq74UvXsV3BCHOsiX_Nkc8n3zbG_hWtWG6AZpmKS6Qh3C9hGnGFfm9TkXvqoqo/s320/Autumn+3.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
<br />
This autumn..when the old leaves fall,<br />
the flowers bloom, in the woods we strolled,<br />
the quiet moments spent by the lake..<br />
and the longing felt..soaked in rain..<br />
that nip in the air..as sun-shine grew tall<br />
miss you so much... wish you could call..<br />
<br />
I do live, with those moments rewind..<br />
there is little bit for you..still left inside..<br />
as memories unfold...to the distance far..<br />
you walk down the strings to my heart..<br />
the song comes out…and the music through<br />
a pain rekindled..I sing for you..</div>Manish Rajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00834444595623429190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4055606091042620478.post-29871340672683923582011-07-02T02:12:00.002+08:002011-07-02T03:29:14.726+08:00Search of a new God..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">There were stories of a small grass land where the morning sun shined bright, of the gulmohar trees those swaggered with the monsoon winds, of the fragrance of the soil that foretold the onset of seasons, of the far songs that heralded the days of festivals; I've heard them all as Granny used to tell those lying next to me, under those thousand stars, making me sleep.<br />
<br />
Only I could make her run; only she could make me eat <em>Dal Rice</em>. There wasn’t anyone dearer to us than each other. We shared the same world, the same sky and the same God, in and outside those stories.<br />
<br />
I was at the same place again for my brother-in-law’s marriage. It rained a lot during those few weeks. <br />
<br />
But the town did recognize me. The familiar sight, of the rhythmic rain, of the drunken trees, of dancing kids, and of waterlogged roads; and this time I also saw <em>the time</em> that has gone by since I and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1161394793#!/rajpiyush">Sonu </a>used to sit on the window and watch the rain. Spent few days dreaming as the stories were retold, places revisited, moments relived; I just wanted to make the most of it, not sure when will I be back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCrVDsF9bB7tiqmZX63Kb-COEdJWSB8jBr8MxHMl1-ATAM6VPZ-dQJ6y8019MoNYnY5Yz52OkI_nLftP6yd8gcf-7Gqccvxb8S4SUW3XP_O2hXguh9pRIoCG2FjVhHfpnSD7k-ZU6z-Y/s1600/Search.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCrVDsF9bB7tiqmZX63Kb-COEdJWSB8jBr8MxHMl1-ATAM6VPZ-dQJ6y8019MoNYnY5Yz52OkI_nLftP6yd8gcf-7Gqccvxb8S4SUW3XP_O2hXguh9pRIoCG2FjVhHfpnSD7k-ZU6z-Y/s320/Search.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Granny is very old now. When I met her this time, she hugged me and cried. Every time I meet her, I just pray that she stays alive until my next visit. This time, I wasn’t sure about my next visit; I kept silent, heart sinking.<br />
<br />
Unlike earlier days when she used to be very active, this time in the hustle of marriage, she kept quiet; blessed everyone with her filled-in eyes, slept before we stopped singing, occasionally hugged us and cried at times with joy. She said she couldn’t prepare those <em>Aloo Papad</em> because of her weakening eyesight and strength.<br />
<br />
Time has flown by. I look at myself, the wonders have become the usual, unpredictability has become unsafe, and a protectionist has replaced the cowboy. There aren’t stories anymore or I am no more part of those stories. Guess I too have changed, in not too less than the ways my Granny has. <br />
<br />
She doesn’t appear to be praying God all the time now. Perhaps she has no more wishes left.<br />
<br />
As I look ahead, I see it’s time to re-prioritize my wishes, for overall future and not just for my professional future. I have taken steps towards the change.<br />
<br />
For Granny and me, the world is changing. Our priorities and places will change, for the sake of our near and dear ones. The wishes also have changed. Perhaps the old Gods aren’t enough; the search for the new God has begun.<br />
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