40s aren't the new 20s!

Well, someone said 40s is the new 20s and like a fool I believed them! Till the oft bothering back called me to reality. 

So when the clock stuck 12 last week on the 6th of June, I completed the 4th decade of my life. 40 years! I mean, how did that happen?I feel like it was only yesterday when the dad was pulling my leg saying this could be the last bachelor birthday of my life. I was only 24 that day. The best friend and I just cut a random bun with a blade to celebrate that day. Well, bachelor days and age 24 just needed a bun and a blade with the friend. Life was that simple.

Suddenly, when life hit 40, there were the in-laws, the wife and ofcourse the two little munchkins calling me appa. Life seems a lot more complicated. 

Can the 20s ever come back? Can I go back to the days of simple, unfiltered independence? When nobody bothered about what and where I ate and how much I spent. That night, the friend and I just had a random walk down the usually buzzing chennai street at midnight looking for some cooked chicken, doing random talk about dreams, future, love and marriage. After the meaningless walk, we realised the clock had just stuck 5:00 AM and went off to play ball and then slowly back to our day jobs. The body wasn't tired. The mind never panicked. Life was lived at a different pace; it was listening to a different drummer - the heart - then had very minimal rhythms to dance to. 

But 40, sounds different. I'm sure the stress on the letter 'F' to pronounce forty is intentional. It was meant to scare people. To shake off the rust and wake up to reality. The aching back, the tiring legs, the bills to pay, the food needed to be on the table, the wife's nerves, the presentation at work and the children's tantrums. 

No, I don't wish to go back to my twenties. Twenties had their time. I loved it. It was refreshing. Dreams in the middle of the day and mindless chatter in the middle of the night were exhilarating. Independence and freedom of that age were surely the best of times. Yet, no, I don't want to go back to those days. 

Rather, I look forward! Forties aren't going to be flowery. The insufferable back can only go worse. The tantrums of children I have heard will only go worse as they grow older apparently. The parents are going to fall and break bones. They are going to be unbearable. The realities of life are more stark in the forties I suppose; and yet, I look forward to it. 

No, not for some fetish about wisdom and ageing, neither some frivolous understanding of the world. It is just the calmness of mind which comes off with the grey hair and the wider appreciation of world around and the people who come with it. The 20s can never give me the thrill of my children's effervescence or the quiet and longing conversation with the wifey. That age of dare could never replace the victories of the Mind over the aching body. Ah, the thrill of learning that my mind can overcome a hurt knee and still win a badminton match! Perhaps I was late. But only later life lessons has taught me that. The concept of Mind over matter! The concept that you fight till you win and not quit when it pains. The insecurity of the young adulthood pales in comparison to the understanding of security. The lessons of the 20s are pale compared to the life lessons of the older populace. 

Hence, I look at my parents and in-laws and my uncles and aunts with a lot more respect. I look at the world with a lot more awe. I have bigger, and yet more realistic dreams. Responsibilities don't shrink me anymore. Rather they invigorate me. So, here I come 40s. I'm ready to conquer!

No, 40s aren't the new 20s. Ain't meant to be!

 

When dreams become reality!

It is dark. The night is too far gone that the faint crescent of the waning moon hangs over the trees. The house is dimly lit, too! An old-fashioned yellow chandelier of sorts gives a more cosy feeling than the clean, energizing white light. In a corner, I am randomly looking at the screen, intensely thinking about the few months that have gone by! 

It has been two months and it is still sinking in. The little baby girl is ours. We have named her Diya, meaning Lamp. 

Oh wait, what is happening? 

Cut to the year 2002. I was in class XI. My uncle had taken me to a movie theatre. A movie called "Kannathil Muthamittal (A peck on the cheek)". Something in me broke that day. I promised myself then, that I would adopt a baby. A baby girl! Well, very foolish indeed. Perhaps, childish.Whoever makes such random promises. 

Well, 22 years later, here I am, a father again, having adopted this beautiful baby girl. Sometimes dreams become realities too, I suppose! 

She just slept on me. It all feels surreal. 

Apparently, she was abandoned. Perhaps she was thrown away. Whatever that means. For me, it just meant one thing, She is mine. Ours! 

As she slept on me and I was about to put her to bed, I whispered a prayer, a wish; that one day this young girl of mine would stand on the pulpits of the world and pull down patriarchy and casteism and every nonsense this world had thrown at her and thousands of young girls like her. 

I wish that she will one day be bold to stand for the truth and show light to the dark world, question the unquestionable, brave the high and mighty, and fight every hatred, challenge every bias, bigotry and prejudice. 

Hope one day she will question me, my own insecurities and my idiosyncrasies! The nonsense I throw at her in the name of culture and tradition. One day she will go back to the land of her birth and the land that didn't want her then, will embrace her. She will realise that one day love will overcome; hatred and evil will eventually be destroyed. 

I wish that she doesn't have to walk around dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas as Arundhati Roy puts it, but rather walk freely, over the sepulchre of the broken old world, with little luggage and heads held high to reimagine a fresh new world.

So we start another journey! It could well be the most interesting of all: parenting a girl. How different will this be from being a parent to my now 2-year-old boy? I don't know. How different can parenting an adopted child be? I'm not sure. 

The dreams I had dreamt 22 years ago had come to light. Why not the dreams of today? 

What is a better life?

"There is a crocky here", we should look out for him said 'P'. 'Crocodile' you mean, I asked him. Oh yes, there is one crocodile here, came the nonchalant reply. "Ah, we are fine. We are sitting at quite a distance from him", said he. His body gyrations suggested he wasn't bothered much about a crocodile. 

We had just found a place to talk! On the northern tip of the Australian coast, deep into the aboriginal territory of Arnhem land, in Northern Territory, Australia. I was in my usual cross-legged position till 'P' told me about the crocky. We looked around for it, and a little further down in the shallow sea, we did spot him. Strangely we were comforted having spotted him. "It is easier to have an eye on him if we can spot him, said 'P'". His actions did not suggest a tensed muscle. He was as calm as the surrounding ocean.

So with a crocodile as a listener, albeit at a distance, we started our conversation. 

My organisation had sent me there to listen to and if possible measure the work of  'P' in that part of the world. 

We started discussing his life, his work and its impact on the community! Aboriginals, the ancestors of the land till people from Europe came colonising the land, had lived there forever. Their population though has over the years diminished and only a remnant remains. Now there are workers like 'P' who are trying to empower these people to live better lives.  

But, what is a better life? 

How do we define a better life? Who can give one a better life? Can human beings help each other to have a better life? 

'P' is a professional pilot. From a country and a culture completely different from his current location. All his batchmates are captains in big commercial Boeings and Airbuses these days. But he chose this place. "In the middle of nowhere", as he defines the place. Among Aboriginals who the world doesn't want to live with. 

It suddenly dawned on me, that 'P' is not even facing the crocky. He had an absolutely stunning sense of calmness to him. Perhaps there is a better life. Perhaps 'P' knows it. Perhaps that is where the calmness comes from. Perhaps the 'Ps' of the world, will keep throwing us the light on our dark paths to the so-called 'better life'. 

Is there a better life? 

"P" showed us a freshwater spring right beside the sea

In the middle of nowhere

                                                      We flew this to the middle of nowhere

When an air-ambulance team went the extra mile!

Some stories are hard! Painful! The pain of the oppressed and the anger against the systemic flaws overshadows the heroism of the protagonist. 

More so, if it is not a story but reality. Life in blood and sweat and not what you watch in theatres for three hours, wipe your back, and walk out of. 

I heard one such story yesterday, rather a real-life incident, and it has been haunting me ever since. 

'V' is 15, and wants to pass himself off as a 17-year-old. Which 15-year-old doesn't? He even rode a motorcycle against the law of the land and crashed it. Survived the crash with major fractures. Sadly, his part of the world doesn't have good quality medical service. An air ambulance was called in. Perhaps he would have collapsed if there was no air ambulance service and they had to wheel him on the roads to the hospital which most of the time is at least a good five-hour drive away. 

'V' is not rich enough to afford air ambulances. Thankfully some good souls of the world subsidize air ambulances for people who could not afford them. 

Well, the story starts only now! 

The air ambulance team makes sure 'V' reaches the hospital on time and gets him admitted. 

A few days later, the air ambulance team again decides to visit 'V' in the hospital. After searching the hospital they found 'V' in a different ward, frail, more confused with the same filthy bandage, and possibly even more malnourished. The team asked the inevitable question "Why isn't he operated on yet?"; The answer came, "The doctor will only operate if there are 6 units of blood; we do not know what to do!". 

That answer hit me hard! What are doctors and nurses for, if they could not help a patient understand and get units of blood? Aren't there humble enough human beings in that hospital to ask and clarify simple questions and doubts of patients? Ah, the apathy of the learned! Wasn't education supposed to enrich lives with empathy and compassion or at least interest and enthusiasm? 

I told you, systemic flaws make us go mad! don't they? 

So the story continues...

The boy had to be operated on after the air ambulance team worked on arranging blood! Once operated on and settled down, by the time the team could visit again, 'V' was discharged, without leg support, with no assistance and an open wound. He would end up going back to his village and with no proper help in the village, the wound became worse and septic. 

By the time the air ambulance team decided to do a home visit, the legs had only enough strength to be saved from amputation. Another emergency admission and another long time in the hospital meant the legs got saved finally. 

Well, of course, the air ambulance team is a superhero. They could just have dropped the patient in the emergency and be gone doing their own lives. Their constant follow-up ensued the life, or at the least, the legs of a young 15-year-old got saved. Well, we perhaps need to celebrate real-life superheroes! 

But the story for me is about the apathy of the systems! the indifference of the upper class to the world around them. The detachment from reality. The languor of the privileged. The arrogance of the learned. 

If only the superheroes in the air ambulance team could be everywhere! If only, I could put my ears to the ground and listen to the heartbeat of reality? If only the privileged like me have enough empathy? If only I could take that extra step, just like that air ambulance team. If only! 

When the boy was dropped back home by the air ambulance team!

What does it mean to be in a PNG village?

It was a chance meeting. He had come to this small town in PNG for a week's health workers training and is ready to carry back his knowledge and some drugs, back to his small village. I was supposed to have landed in his village to listen to stories, but due to heavy cloud cover, we could not and instead landed in the nearest airstrip a few miles away from the village. 

"Can I ask you a few questions, sir", I asked him. I was intent on listening to him. "Of course, yes," he said. We both sat cross-legged on the runway. Yes, in the middle of the runway. We were both waiting for a plane to take us. Yes, you wait on the side of the runway and do not have fancy terminals to protect you from the sun. This is a different world. 

The sun was beating down and 'S' found it difficult to face the sun. My Indian skin is used to more violence from the sun I suppose. I sat down facing the sun. We started talking. 

'S' is a health worker. He lives in a very remote village in PNG and worked there as a health worker. He had come to a neighboring town for some professional training and to collect vaccines and immunization drugs. Being the only trained health worker in his community (around 7 villages, each with a population of 200-300 people) his role entails administering vaccines and referring patients who cannot be treated by him. 

I was there on a mission to listen to stories! I sat straight. He sat straight. we started talking. 

"The nearest city to our village is a seven-day walk", he said. Our work is to collect coffee and sometimes betel nuts and sell them in the nearest market, of course, the nearest market is in that city seven days' walk away. Most of that distance is dense forest, and you have to cross mountains too. He paused! Perhaps he realized I was a little lost. I was just trying to understand what it means to walk for seven days. 

Ha, isn't life difficult, I asked him? He just smiled. I think by now he understood even comprehending his life is very difficult for me. 

"But our lives have changed after MAF came in", he completed. 

Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF) is a Faith based NGO flying small planes to the remotest corners of the world. So, these pilots, who have given their lives to the service of society, fly in small planes and land in complex, remote airstrips. 

"MAF means so much to us. We never knew the outside world till MAF flew in", he continued. But then, it is really costly for everyone in the community to afford even that small fee that is being collected by MAF. So the people who could not afford, put all the cargo(coffee) onto the plane, walk the seven days, and collect the goods back in the city. MAF has them stored in their place. Sell the products in the city, buy goods(rice and food and other store goods) for the household and the village, put them back on a MAF plane, and walk back the distance.  

There was nonchalance in his speech. I sat there in a state of shock. We both continued. 

So how do you book a flight? Is there a flight every week? How do you know the flight schedule? My mind was getting curious. 

Our airstrip is surrounded by seven villages. Two of them across a river. So, every day the village leaders walk about to the airstrip to meet the MAF agent and ask about the flight. So, how long will that walk be? I asked. "Short distance only, maybe one or two hours; crossing the river may sometimes be difficult", the nonchalant act continued. Cell phones hardly work in our village. The MAF agent talks to the MAF base on a radio. Different world this! 

 "Sometimes the flight tries to land, but due to the bad weather conditions, it could not land, as the clouds may cover the runway. In such cases, we wait longer; Till MAF comes in to help". He abruptly stopped. Perhaps he realized it was becoming a little too heavy for me to take it in. 

The sun was beating down on my face. I started to imagine what will life mean to me had I been born in that village? I'm sure he would have seen the reflected glint from the small teardrop peeping out of my eye. My privileges! My blessings! I'm grateful! 

Suddenly we heard the sound of the plane. It was coming down to pick us up. The plan was to pick us up, go to his village, drop him and then go to the base where I lived. The pilot got down and said, "Sam, we can't go to the village where 'S' lived today, the cloud cover is intense and quite low"; 

I turned to look at him. That smile was no longer there. His wait to go back to his village continued. To see his wife. Administer vaccines and drugs to his people. Perhaps a week more or even two. Till MAF could take him back.  If MAF is not there, he had to walk. For a few days perhaps. But he preferred to wait, for walking through the jungles could sometimes be dangerous. 

As I hugged him goodbye, I could see the despair on his face. I boarded the flight and flew away. To my world of abundance. 

'S' with the vaccines & Drugs for his village

Some store goods ready to be carried to the village

Getting ready for take-off

The run-way where we had our conversation

The walking path

Sometimes through a mountain

                                            

Sometimes through dense forests

Can you see the runway?

Flying past the mountains, to the world of the needy!

 "Kaakurus"," Kaakurus", yelled the pilot from the flight looking out of his window. I looked around as the children standing near me started to run behind the cocks standing on the runway. Yes, you read it right, there were cocks running on the runway. 

Children running behind the kaakurus

Well, if you have seen the video, you are wondering where is the runway! Well, the green grass is what it is. An airstrip in a remote village called Sendeni, Papua New Guinea(PNG). 

"Can you see the smoke from afar", the pilot told me. I turned left to look into the mountains. We were flying 10000 feet above and the earth looked like a green blanket. "Yes, I can see some smoke", I replied. "Yea, there it is, the airstrip, that is where we are landing" the pilot told me. 

The pilot looking for the runway

Can you see the smoke & the runway?

The pilot is on a mission, to reach the unreached. With rice bags and household goods and with teachers and doctors and health care and education materials to those who are not as privileged. Every other week he flies into this village. Every other day into multiple villages. Difficult terrain, bad climate, rains, and hills do not stop him from flying in. On those days when extreme fog indeed stops him, he tries again tomorrow. Till he reaches them. The poor and the underprivileged. 

The village hadn't seen electricity! 7 villages surrounding this airstrip hadn't. They know no roads either. They can walk through the forest for days to reach the nearest town. Rains do come often here and then walking is difficult as well. 

They showed me the school. But for the children playing rugby, I would not have identified the school. For there were a few huts and nothing else. They were the classrooms apparently. I even saw a small boy cooking and it was heartbreaking. 

The school

Children playing Rugby

The home in a village

The pilot loads in a few cargoes and a few men got into the flight. It is a small 9-seater aircraft and had a few seats removed to accommodate more cargo as the villagers sell coffee in this part of the world, and the ground coffee powder had to be taken back to the towns to bring in some money. 

The kaakurus were cleared and the pilot took off again, through the bumpy runway, and off he went. He took a steep right turn to avoid the mighty mountains standing right in front of the runway and flew away.

 

Can you see the bird flying past the mountains?

As he left me, I stood there looking at the mountains, thinking about the pilot. What if he had decided to take life easy, rather than fly into this god-forsaken place? 

Perhaps, he is flying here, coz God indeed remembered the place! and someone decided 

Measuring life!

"There was a private jet waiting for me, as I finished my lunch; Does it mean I have finally arrived in life?" I was just joking in the family group about my work trip. "It means you have arrived in the place you are meant to go and nothing else, don't talk too much, berated my dad". I apologized. I was just playing anyways. 

As I lay down last night after the grueling 24-hour journey, tired as I was, the thought never went away! What does it mean to arrive in life? How do we measure life? 

Are success and failures good enough indicators to measure life? In that case, what defines success and failure? 

Is money a good indicator of a successful life? or of life itself? But, money is a privilege, is a blessing, isn't it? not everyone is accorded the privilege. The more I travel, the more I'm convinced that money can never be an indicator of success in life. 

Last week I was in Singapore! The modern-day epitome of wealth and success. Clean roads. Swanky malls. Fancy cars galore. From there I entered the country I'm now in. You can see poverty and hopelessness on the faces of people here. Does it mean they have failed lives here and Singaporeans have done life right? No, there is so much left to chance if we measure life like that. 

Then can life be measured based on the influence one has on society? Like, if I'm a doctor and I save lives, can I be called successful? Then, does it mean, people who work hard in the fields fending for themselves and their children alone haven't had a life? 

Can life's meaning be measured by the amount of travel one has made?  If I travel to ten countries every year, can I be called successful? 

Leaving aside all these, can life be measured based on happiness? The happiest having done life right. 

Ah, the complexities of it all! 

Last week, a few friends met together after 20 years. As dreamy-eyed young boys and girls, we parted ways. Life took each of us in its own way. Not one of us followed the same path as the other. Each of us lived our own lives. The way we were taught to/provided to live. 

So why do I have to measure life in the first place? 

I live mine, and you live yours. I respect yours, and you respect mine! 

The wonder on his face!

The crying stops abruptly. The eyes come out of its socket like it was never meant to be there. The never to be seen neck carrying the heavy head keeps turning 180' in both directions. Karun, my 6-month-old is seeing the world! No, not for the first time. Every time, when we step out of the house. Every single time. 'Wonder' written on his face. 

So I decided to get into his brain and see the wonder the world is, through his eyes! 

So where do I start? 

Step out and see the huge tree. The leaves are green and beautiful. But does his brain comprehend colour and size? I mean, how will he know the difference between green and yellow? What will big and small mean? Are the plants big? Are trees big? Is an elephant big? Or is the goat big? 

When something moves, his eyes widen! How does the brain understand movement? For example, one day I saw a small skink (பாம்பு ராணி ) move around in my backyard. My adult brain immediately said, skinks aren't harmful; It is just going from one hiding place to another. I just ensured it doesn't enter the home. Now, how does a skink moving around register in Karuns' brain? I'm sure the first time he sees one, there will just be the sense of wonder! But why exactly does it appear wonderful? Isn't it just an object moving? Can sheer movement inspire wonder? 

The other day, there was a peacock at my home. As beautiful as a peacock dance, it sings horribly! The sound was piercing my irritated ears. Yet for Karun, the sound meant something. It meant something he hadn't heard before! He doesn't know it is the peacock. But every time the peacock sings, or tries to imitate the cuckoo as my brother puts it, Karun gets excited. The wonder on his face comes back! 

Ah, the wonderful world! Where did I lose the wonder of it all? Does monotony stain the brain so much that it has started to rust? Is boredom a by-product of the loss of wonder? Can I remove the rust off my wonder genes and make my life more interesting? 

The questions my brain throws at me on a Friday night! 

Friendships and influences!

In a lonely room, in a corner of the world that didn't exist in my vocabulary till the last year, I sit and ponder on 'friendship'; Well, today being friendship day, I guess there aren't many better topics to contemplate and muse about. 

The wifey once said this to me, and I have often thought about it; "You have the remarkable ability to talk to different people differently"; Was it a compliment? Perhaps, a left-handed one! but I seriously think it has to do with growing up with multiple friends and trying and learning to live from each of them. 

So I decided to do an exercise and write the names of all the friends who at various points in time have been an influence on you. Did friends influence me? Well, here is an example! 

One rainy day in Delhi, 'M' and I decided to do dinner together. I don't remember whether I came late or how this topic 'time' came about in our conversation. She took a class on how it is important to respect time! That day I promised myself to respect time, mine, and everybody else's. This was just one example to show that most of our lives have been influenced by different people. Of course, this is such a trivial thing; and surely my parents have insisted on the importance of time at various points in life but this blog is to talk about friendships and influences. 

As I started to think, the list became bigger! Innumerable people; Numerous friends. Some crossed by life. A few ran the mile. Some still juggle along. Every one of them has been an influence on life. At that point in time, something I did had their mark on me. 

I think about all of them today! Those who stayed long, and those who left the course. 

As the wifey said, I have learnt from all of them. To live and to talk and to walk and to love and more importantly to adapt. My life would have been a lot less worth living but for them, the friends. 

Do you have friends who influenced you? Has your life changed for the better because of friendships? Think about them today! thank god for them. Say a prayer of blessing on them. 

Happy friendship day!

To be happy or to be perfect?

Jonathan Liew wrote this about Shane 'the wizard' Warne

                    "I love that he wasn't perfect and most of all I love that he never tried to be"

This got me thinking about the eternal pursuit of mankind, 'happiness' and does it indeed come in-between perfection? 

I'm the happiest when I have parotta's and mutton chukka for breakfast (Yes, we get parotta's early morning in my hometown😅), beef biriyani for lunch, and Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. What a life would that be! I'm drooling now, typing this. Phew, how I wish I can do that every day? Can I afford that sort of extreme happiness? Is that the pinnacle of happiness in the first place? I'm not sure. 

But I'm sure it also makes me happy when the weighing scale does not cry when I'm on it; But for that happiness, parotta's and my biriyani's cannot do. 

When the former Indian captain Virat Kohli spoke about fitness and diet and how he has managed his body, I dreamt! I dreamt of becoming one such. Obsessed with fitness, perfect in the diet; Does achieving dreams lead to happiness? I think so. Can and should I sacrifice my parotta's and biriyani's in the pursuit of that happiness? 

Why should I sacrifice day-to-day happiness at the altar of perfection? In the pursuit of the illusory 'happiness' again? I mean, am I not already happy?

Ah, such a complex question. Perhaps life isn't all about happiness. Perhaps there is more to it than what meets the eye. Or is it? 

I guess, to each his own! 

For now, the weighing scales are crying as the parottas and the biriyanis are keeping me happy! Some day, one day, I will try to be perfect though😉

The Love will last the world!

A few days back as I went to sleep, this thought kept coming back to my mind again and again. By the end of it all, when the dust settles down and the bones rot, the air will still smell of love. 

When one of my friends told me yesterday, "I'm so proud of you", I got reminded of that thought again.

I had not achieved anything big, was just trying to put together my reading habit again. I was never the voracious reader but never was I a non-reader. Books had always been a part of my life. Till suddenly the social media bug bit me. The world of small sentences and images and videos had spoilt my hunger for books. Suddenly the mind settled for the low-hanging fruits of the twitters and the Facebooks. 

After many failed attempts at resuscitating the dead reading habit, this year I have finally gone back to the days of the youth! Ah, the smell of a new book. I set weekly targets and have achieved most of what was aimed for and it is already the 6th month. The inner human in me was flaunting this achievement to the dear friend. The human need for validation is immense I suppose. I'm proud of you da, she said then!

The brain lit a spark. The human heart aches for is pure unsolicited love not necessarily the pat on the back after a victory or achievement. Knowing me, I would have still flaunted myself for keeping such targets to read books, even if I had been a miserable failure and had not read a single book. And the friend would have still been proud, for there is love beneath that pat on the back. Pride is just the afterthought, an addendum of sorts, to the underlying love! 

Two people in my life have shown me what it means to love. 

The wifey is the epitome of it. For she could muster love through the most difficult of circumstances. When life sucks, when I'm at my worst behavior, through all the non-sense our families threw at her, she could carve out love, earnest, and sincere. 

Then my Mom. Her name spelled love. Dust on my mom's life has settled down. Her bones I'm sure are rotten. Life is so normal, that I sometimes find it difficult to imagine, how it would have been to have her around. Yet, all that remains of her was the love she showered on everyone around. Love pure and love pristine. Memories of the hugs and the kisses. The pats on the backs. The hugs. The smiles. And through it all, the love. 

Love shall last the world! For the human aching for love is real.  

Food, bloody food!

I brought back food home from school in the evening! Perhaps I ate from the friend's tiffin box. It was made early in the morning. When my dad found out my tiffin box was full, it was already late in the night. The food smelt bad. Has it started to rot? The dad started giving me the food by his hands. It tasted bad. There was something definitely wrong with that. I resisted. Resisting my dad is stupid. No way he is backing away. He gave me the food and I ate it. Simple! 

He called me aside! You are not throwing food in the waste bin. There is no wastage of food in this house. I heard him well. The dad and his principles. My first lesson on food!

We were moving to a new place. The man guarding our office had a sad smile; His friends are moving. 'Saapiteengala na,(You had food?)' I asked him. 'Illa sir (Not yet)', came the reply. My friend and I were planning to buy the famous Ambur Biriyani for lunch. 'Ungalukku vaangava (Shall we buy for you also?)', we asked him randomly. Okay, sir, he smiled sheepishly. We bought him a biriyani and went on our merry way. I met him again in an hour, perhaps on the last trip transporting office things. 'Saapiteengala na(You had food?)' I asked again! Tamilian way of greeting, you see. He replied in the negative. I was a little taken aback. What happened to the biriyani? Why didn't you eat it, I asked him." I have kept it for my children, for they have not had Ambur biriyani before". 

Biriyani, the very same biriyani I eat every other day was way out of reach of the lower-middle-class security guard. 

Lockdown had just happened. The migrant crisis was hitting the roof. A group of like-minded people were trying to help the migrants by giving them food. Scores of people were made to stand in a queue and food packets were delivered. Everyday many after standing in big queues went back without food. A young boy, in jeans and a T-shirt with nice sneakers came along the side after finishing his first packet and asked, "Sir, aur yek packet hain kya, Mujhe bhuk lagen hain (Is there another packet sir, I'm hungry)"; The image of a bright young man begging for food is still fresh in my mind. 

Then that incident happened! I could never take this out of my system. Never! 'P', who works as a rescue worker and a childhood hero of mine pinged. "Sam, I need someone to be admitted in a hospital; Need doctors opinion" said she! I called my doc brother and together we went to check on this boy. 'D', the boy had not had food for a few days; 'Many', will be a better adjective. For the boy looked sick. Lockdown, parental problems and his own sickness made him dislike food. The photo speaks for itself. Let words not shadow the image.

On the day when the minister of state in parliament proclaimed that even stray dogs in India don't go to bed hungry, I'm learning a lesson. A big one at that. 

Food, bloody food, something which I take for granted is a privilege. Food, that which has given 'the foodie' in me so much joy, is grace. For I don't deserve it.

Are Social media friendships for real?

Friendships are fascinating; Ain't it? 

Who was your first friend? Do you remember your first friend? When you were still learning the art of walking and talking. Are you still in touch with them? I'm one of the lucky few for whom the first friendships have stayed on. 'S' was a friend even before I knew it. We were 2 then. She is the big doc now; But for me, she is still the 'S' I know. For more than 30 years. 

'J', was the first friend I made in the real world; The world outside the campus we lived in. Who was yours? Do you remember your early conversations? 'J' stuck on too! After so many years, we still talk nonsense, as only friends can.

When did you talk last to your primary school bestie? Sadly 'Be' my BF from school lost touch! Life happened I presume! The senior school besties 'B' and 'T' stick on. Few fell along the way though. College and work? But for few, not many has stuck on. Friendships are such I suppose.  

Through the growth process, we call life, people come in and go. Circumstances bring us together to a few; 'S'  would never have been friends with me, if her dad not chose to live next door. 'J' went to the same church. 'B' studied with me in the same school and 'T' played on the basketball team as I did. 'Circumstances'; That is the word; The word which brought as together. Someone else was deciding my acquaintances, rather friends. Providence. Luck. Parents. Work & Study place. Whatever. 

Then social media happened. By preference, Twitter happened. 

Suddenly the person I talk to on Twitter does not know me. Neither the fact that I'm fat and ugly. They know my views. Just my ideas, beliefs and principles. And we become friends. Not by circumstance. But by choice. I get to pick and choose people who speak my language; who has my belief system; who could understand my principles and ideologies. 

Isn't that a paradigm shift in relating to people? 

Suddenly, I realized my friends on SM have more variety to life than those I had known forever. There is a CA, a banker, a bird watcher and an IT professional. Circumstance did not take me through any of these. 

I'm still a beginner in SM friendships. I cannot confidently say I have found friends for life on Twitter. A few may become Best friends for life. I don't know. But I'm sure I have seen and talked to a few who have found real joy in friendships online. 

Are ideologically similar relationships better? Can friendships be beyond ideologies and principles of life in the first place? 

I'm not giving up the 'S' and 'J' and every other beautiful people which life threw at me. I'm sure life's circumstance will flip a few more along the way. I still find it difficult to relate to people who I could never see; I'm sure there are a few wonderful friends out there, who I will make. I'm learning; I'm learning. But the shift is for real. 

Friendships on SM is here to stay and from what I know, is beautiful in its own way.

The curse of the girl child!

Scene 1:

The doctor picked up the baby. The pink limbs stretching itself, the baby crying; A life on earth is born. Another! The first cry can be heard outside. 

The man was waiting with bated breath. It was his child. He could hear the cry. His heart missed a beat. The granny next to her had a tear. Even before the tear dropped by, the nurse brought the baby to them. 

Baby boy! hurray, you can hear the man shout. The baffled nurse said, "sir, it is a girl". "No, it cannot be. I cannot have a girl. I know it is a boy; I know it is a boy. You are cheating". The man's elation turned to bereavement. 

Scene 2:

An IUD! Intra-Uterine Death. The baby born was not crying. Stillborn, they called it. The life that was supposed to have never happened. News spread. You could see the wailing outside. It was painful. The air was thick. You could feel the tension in the air. As the babies relatives came over to gather the lifeless body, the crying hit the roof. And then the eyes fell on the beautiful one. Still, yet lovely. 

The wailing stopped abruptly. Oh, a girl? They all stopped suddenly. Looked at each other. Just walked out. The pain they had felt is gone. It was just a girl they had lost. Not worth crying over. 

Two separate incidents. One week. Two different hospitals. 

After listening to the wife tell the first story and my sister the second one, I died within. My wife and my sister. Two women, who are beautiful in their own ways. Both doctors. Brilliant minds. Sculpted in the image of the creator. Much better people than I can ever aspire to be. What makes them lesser human beings in the minds of these vile offenders in the stories just coz they are women?  

Men, oh men, when will you step aside and let the women live. Let them be. Just be. 

The year of the unseen!

Finally, finally, we have come to the end. End of what is the most difficult year the world has faced in almost a century. All of us had had bad years, individually! But as a collective, the world would have been a much better place if 2020 not happened. 

There was a non-human living thing which brought the earth to its knees. Strangely, the thing was invisible. It was everywhere. We all caught it. A few, it killed too! Yet it was not seen. 

I realized this year was the year of the unseen. 

Our eyes had never seen the scores of migrants living around us. I had never seen, people who had jobs one day, going to bed without food the very next day.  The world never saw and knew the insanely complex problems a pandemic can bring to the world, And truly we never saw a world stopping on its path! 

As I reflected on the last year, I realized I had never seen my privilege as clearly as 2020 showed me. The privilege of having food on the table, the privilege of having a job through it all, the privilege of living with families, and even the privilege of social distancing. 

I look forward to a new year. New resolutions, new beginnings, newer friends and a lot of new learnings. Things that I like and see and enjoy. Yet, I also want to learn to look at the unseen now. To widen my horizon and see through the prisms of life I had never done before. To look at the innate quality of life in every human being, to learn and understand their pain, things unseen! 

I'm dropping the last year into the unseen limbo of the past. Let it go, for it was imperfect and unclear, and thank god that it can go! Goodbye, 2020! Hope to never see-through anything like it. 

To 2021 and to learn to look at the unseen. To a safer and more peaceful and a more clear world. A world where we can not only see the seen but also learn to see through the unseen. 

Happy, happy, new year!

What if she had said no?

I love counterfactuals! The 'What ifs' of life. 

In the 19th century Thomas Carlyle, the great Scottish historian spoke of the Great man theory of history. According to him, history can be largely explained by the impact of great people who are highly influential. I had often asked myself this question; Is attributing historical decisions to individuals the right thing? Or are people just products of social environment? 

Okay, I will declutter the cobwebs. According to Thomas Carlyle's theory if there had not been a Hitler there would not have been a world war 2. Had there not been a Gandhi, India might have not taken the route of non-violence to independence. Had Martin Luther not fought reformation might not have happened. If Dhoni had not been the captain, India might not have won the 2011 world cup. Are these statements you go with? Or even if Hitler had not been there, there would have someone else in his place who would have started the world war 2? If Gandhi had not been there, another 'X' would have led India on the path of Non-violence. You get the drift right? What is your opinion? 

Yesterday is the 150th birthday of my hero. Aunt Ida, the founder of CMC Vellore. I was quietly listening to the virtual celebrations happening, reminiscing on my stint in the hallowed lanes of the college, when the wicked brain threw up this question. What if Aunt Ida had said 'No', on that fateful night? 

Aunt Ida saw three young women die during childbirth for want of women doctors and went onto become one. She came back from the US to build a small dispensary which had gone onto become this magnificent monument now. So, what if Aunt Ida did not answer the call to come back that night in the affirmative? What if she had just stayed back in the US and had just practised medicine there? Would there be a CMC now? Where would I be, since my grandmother is from that place? What would have happened to all the women who were empowered by her single-handedly? 

Of course, counterfactuals are just lies. Aunt Ida responded to the needs of my nation positively, and truly grateful that she did. But counterfactual helped me understand perspectives. For one nod of the head in the opposite direction by one random lady many thousand miles from my place, could have just prevented me from entering the world. Life! 

The ball does not show the dirt

The very month I was born, a man was ruling the imaginations of many young people around the globe with his ability to dance with a ball in his legs. Maradona, the name spelt wonder! I have seen my dad go 'awww' as he spoke about the man's ability to dumbfound defenders with scintillating football moves. There is a moment, which youtube has shown us millions of times when he immortalised life with 11 secs of sheer brilliance. An 11-sec hymn! There was something about his football that made the world stop and look at him. Something! 

Yet, that man was a flawed human. His addiction to alcohol and drugs is well-documented history. He was banned for doping and investigated for alleged involvement with criminal gangs. In fact, he was sent off a world cup for drug usage. Accused of racism, abusing journalists and worse was even jailed for using an air rifle. Fighting court battles to disprove parenthood are not gracious acts. 

I'm fighting within my inner demons of separating the art from the artist. How do you celebrate a man, who has caused so much pain and anxiety to his near and dear ones, says the logical brain. Ah, look at his dazzling skills; how could you not laud the sheer magic of his dancing feet with a football? The heart rebukes the brain. 

When the #metoo movement happened and many of esteemed artists like singer karthik and the lyricists vairamtuhu were accused of misusing women, the brain did create a flutter. How on earth did I enjoy Karthik's singing of all people? Why, oh why Vairamuthu? Why did you let me down? was a constant chant of my head. Yet, the heart's ability to look at the art, apart from the artist often held the fort. 

Where do we draw the line? Can we celebrate art for the sake of it? Or should we expect higher moral responsibility on artists, just coz they inevitably become role models for the world around?

On the day Maradona bid adieu to football, apparently his voice cracked and he sobbed and said "La pelota no se mancha"  The ball does not show the dirt! 

The fallible human should never be forgotten, no not even with time. But no matter how hollow the humanness was, it should never be allowed to cast a shadow over the glow the art begot. "La pelota no se mancha"  The ball does not show the dirt! 

Lessons from the last six months

It is a surreal feeling! When suddenly you realize that you are leading a team of superstars, yet ordinary mortals. 

I had been part of great teams. In fact, I had even written about one here before. I had had some brilliant bosses, and have worked with happy and highly productive teams before. But this is different! Completely different. 

Six months ago, this was a different team! There were trust deficiencies. A boss had failed us. It surely was not a happy team. I, myself, had started looking for a different place. Our jobs didn't look secure either. Gossips started floating around. Everyone looked hurt. Confused would be a better word. 

Today morning when we gathered around for our morning huddle, it just dawned on me, it has been six months and we have never been a happier team! We survived the job crisis as well, and in fact, have never performed this well in the last two years. What did we do right as a team? I'm looking back and learning 

I learn life lessons through sport, and so, I'm bringing in sports here as well. 

1) Look for the small lights at the end of the tunnel: The master of the chase, MSD in his heydays, always did that. He will poke and prod for a single. The small victories amidst the glooming loss. He will concentrate only on those ones and twos, never on the nervous atmosphere around. It helped him stay afloat. My team did the same. We wrote a proposal; wrote it again and again and concentrated only on that! Till it got approved, our focus never wavered away from that small beacon of light, amidst the darkness! The light in our case was the chance to give the proposal, one more time. 

2) Regularise routines: When the going is very tough Rafael Nadal always goes back to the basics. Just plain basics. No unforced errors. No fancy backhands. And never the big booming serves. This is what we did. we regularised our catchups, which were missing. Calendarised our morning huddles. Suddenly as a team we felt like we were doing something right. 

3) Open conversations on expectations: Ambati Rayudu was considered a prodigy as a 16-year-old kid. Yet he was always an underperformer growing up, till he started playing for CSK under Dhoni and Stephen Fleming. He became the rock star he was destined to be only after that. Whatever changed? CSK gave Rayudu a clarity of purpose, which he missed before. His role in the team was clear. The expectations from him were written on stone. We tried that in STIR TN. Through the changing leaderships and confusing change in the role of the DL, we tried to define our roles more clearly. Our expectations were talked about more openly. We wrote them down. Even bigger responsibilities were carried, for the expectations were clearer. We do have a long way to go. But, clearer expectations led to even clearer role clarity. 

4) Learning culture: When the original dream team, the American Basketball team of 1992 Olympics was formed, it was full of superstars. They played their first practise match against a university side, and to everyone's shock, lost it. The team had huge ego's going against one another; Chuck Daly, the coach of the dream team, brought them together and helped them see an opportunity like never before to learn from one another. Here is the best chance for Michael Jordan to learn about Magic Johnson's iconic ball handling skills; How else can you become better than by being with the best themselves? In our first team meeting, when we were discussing the culture the team will abide by, someone said, it should be a learning culture. That has broken the ego's down. We are officially now a team of rockstars learning from each other, wanting to be better at every step. 

5) The friend to goto: Gary Kirsten had just taken over as the coach of the Indian cricket team. India had just lost a big world cup. They were hurting. The previous coach was the controversial Greg. Sachin was almost on his last legs then. He had seen more lows than highs. Gary went to Sachin and asked, what does Sachin want out of him. Sachin replied, 'I want a friend'! Deepening relationships had played a major role in the TN turnaround. We have developed healthy relationships. We have at various points definitely found it easier to work with the friend rather than the colleague. 

As I look back, it is worth it! Every single effort of each one of us. We started off as four, now we are six. We were working in 3 districts, now 13. We never knew data analysis, now we do pivot tables. We had bitterness. Now we sure have big and trusting shoulders of each other to trust. We were lost. Now we dream of extending the programme to the entire state. 

The last six months had been quite a ride! As I look back and thank the heavens, I also look forward. For the long narrow road ahead, filled with dreamy expectations and unanswered questions, does seem inconquerable. But for my team! The team of fallible superstars. 

Casteism and Patriarchy - Ideologies which kill

She was working in the fields along with her brother and mother. She was at a distance from the others and four to five men from supposedly upper-caste gagged her and dragged her to rape and throw her along the fields. It took the administration 4-5 days to take her to the hospital and then after her death the police, in the abode of darkness cremated her body while holding the victims family house arrested and cordoning off the entire area. 

India has seen 87 declared rapes a day in the last one year. Like this girl, most of it against the women from the lower caste. These cannot be treated off as incidents but rather should be looked at as structural crimes. What are those structures which keep perpetuating such crimes? Structures should have ideological backings! Then what are those ideological backings which conserve such practices? 

Patriarchy, that the man is higher than the woman in the ladder of social structure is one of the major ideologies backing such crimes. Casteism, that there are people born in this vile world who are beneath you and your dignity of life is the other. 

Do you ascribe to one of these? Did you and your coterie in the name of marriage adhere to the ideology called caste? Did you say, any caste but Dalit? Are you part of the group which looked for caste in your partner, yet think you are not casteist?  Yes, you, who hide your caste feelings in the garb of culture! 

Then those who subscribe to patriarchy. All of you who think that the man is the better half in a partnership! Those of you who believe that women should be in the kitchens of the world. Did you say that such things happen, coz women dress badly? Do you ascribe to violence against women behind the veils of marriage? 

Every one of you is responsible for such a crime, for you cohere to an idealogy on whose backbone the structural crimes of rape and murder of Dalit women happen. 

Every time I have used the word 'you', my computer hark back and ask me, what about you? It is time we look deep within; Look at the mirror; Ask yourself the question. Do you ascribe to casteism and patriarchy in some small form? Then you are as much a part of the murder, as those bloody rapists are! 

Till such ideologies exist, the structures backing such incidents cannot be broken! And ideologies should die in the bottom most pits of our hearts. 

Defining a new world order!

After the locks are broken and our tyres hit the road, what do I go back to? To the same old world or a redefined new world order?

Now that God has given me enough time to sit back and reflect, a sudden thought came up. What if I get an opportunity to redefine my life?  The way I live, my thoughts, relationships, moral construct, ideologies so on and so forth. Doesn't that sound fun? Well, join me in defining this new world order.

I envision a world where hatred is foolish! Where caste, religion, race, gender and community-based discriminations are never even in the dictionary. Prejudice, bias and bigotry are forgotten entities. For humankind is measured by its intricate worth, the worth of being human. Forgiveness, trust and love as the fulcrum of relationships. Where the only conflicts are those within the heart; That will be a wonderful world, won't it?

What about a world without pollution and contamination? Pure air and a crystal clear river flowing across the cities. A world where we can leave the roads and follow the trail, where we preserve and cherish the green, where our lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery, of air, mountain, mist and skies. A world where we listen to nature rather than master it. I know, I go overboard, but this is the world my wife envisions and so be it.

How do we visualize the pace of life? Where humans don't try to keep pace with fellows, but rather listen to the rhythm of their own heart or dance to the tunes of the otherworldly drummer; Where culture and tradition do not define them like defining the book by its cover; rather humankind is defined by the tattered pages of the unread inside. Letting people live at their own pace, where there is no advantage in scurrying through life. Will that world become slow? I guess not; Pace will be defined by a different paradigm, I suppose.

I close my dreams with a quote from Arundhathi Roy. Who better to talk about a new world than the woman who fought all her life for one?

"This pandemic is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world, and ready to fight for it"