'Asante Sana' Nairobi

First part of the month started with a trip to Nairobi, Kenya. Though arriving at Nairobi brought back pleasant memories of my last trip many years ago, the taste didn’t last for long as I discovered that I had lost my luggage! First few moments were of hope to get the luggage and move out fast; the moments that followed added a bit anxiety, thinking why is it so late to come! All those who were waiting had collected theirs and gone, leaving a lot of space around the conveyor-belt and equally an empty space in my mind! What will I do with all my clothes and documents in it! It finally got traced as left behind in Dubai and I left with a promise that I will get them the next day evening!

On the day one of interviews, I had quite a good number of candidates who had come from far and near. The second day was relatively less, but at the same time I was also trying to observe the staff in the hotel I was staying and tried to find the best ones with a wonderful attitude and approached them; managed to sign a few of them, and a few others had their own reasons to continue in Nairobi!

It was wonderful weather during my trip; at times it was drizzling, but all the time it was nice and pleasantly cold weather. I felt the country has changed a lot since my last visit, especially the place where I was staying which was relatively unheard of. A lot of infrastructure development is taking place, and yet, I was touched when I had to listen to some of the issues the candidates had to share with me from their personal lives, the struggle they face to make the ends meet, and my helplessness to match their experience with my requirements, the internal struggle to say ‘no’ to them and the friction within to find a way to help them! How can I do it when what I am therefore is with a business objective!

There were some good examples of people fighting their way to reach where they want to reach; at a very young age, some of them has experienced life perhaps in some countries people double their age are yet to ! Though as a bye-product of their pursuit of worldly pleasure, a paradox I also had to adjust with and tune my questions were on the fact that I could meet many ‘bachelors’ having a child or two from an earlier relationship, growing with the children’s grand parents ! On the other side, there were others whose immediate answer to my question of whether they drink was “No, Sir, I am a Christian!”

A society of two extremes!

I will remember the pianist in the hotel’s lobby café who played for me Leonel Richie’s ‘Hello’ and Steve Wonder’s ‘I just called to say I love you!’, and gave me a few tips on what makes a real pianist – one who could pour the passion of heart to the key board through the tips of fingers !

Shahir

Mission Recruitment: Namaste Mumbai

Last time I visited Mumbai was when the Bombay riots were just breaking out; I narrowly escaped without getting caught in between; it was on the second day of the riot when I was booked to fly, and somehow the taxi driver

took pocket roads and alleys to take us to airport in the very early morning hours of that night!

A decade later when I landed there, she had changed her clothes from a khadi-Bombay to a more contemporary silk-Mumbai ! Or is it the reverse?

I seem to be having a streak of bad luck with my luggage ! I lost my luggage in Mumbai too; it just can’t be any more disappointing than this especially when in the next morning you are scheduled to conduct interviews and you are left with nothing

but the dress you are wearing ! After chasing pillars, post and a few staff at a chaotically organized counter in Mumbai airport to file claims on lost baggage, I had to resign to the fact that it will come only when it will come ! I never liked to see my suitcase as much I longed to see it when it was finally waiting at the concierge of the hotel I was staying !

The hotel ignited in me memories of the days Mumbai was attacked by the terrorists. (In the inset is the picture of Mumbai as seen from my room on the 33rd floor). Sidhu was almost in tears when I engaged him in a conversation; one of the many staff who were shot dead was one of his close friends; if he was not going to his village and therefore if he was not on day shift, I wouldn’t have been talking to Sidhu either ! When I watch the tides in Marine Drive, I felt anger and sadness in me, and a fearful image of how they infiltrated to the city! Did they swim through these waters? Did they walk as normal as how I am walking through the entrance doors? Did they know to smile too? Did they see these smiling staff, holding their hands together greeting traditional ‘namaste,’ only to feel the hot metal pierce their hearts as they pulled the triggers?

The staff at the Hotel Trident at Marine Drive are outstanding. The team at the reception – whether they are experienced or trainees – the young or old staff in Housekeeping, the staff in the restaurant, I simply wished to bring them all with me to my hotel and make it a Luxury Hotel That Everyone Loves ! They were outstanding, not because they were articulate in how they greeted or met the guests; they stood out from their genuine care, their ability to anticipate guests needs – truly, and their readiness and natural way of engaging guests ! It wasn’t merely a trained staff, but in their approach reflected the true hospitality, and in that natural reflection was the beauty of service. I didn’t want them to use artificial words – which is what I heard mostly in the cabin crew of Jet Airways as I flew from Mumbai to Chennai and later from Chennai to Colombo; in their lips were the words they were taught in Aviation Academy, but their hearts were distant from their lips, in contrast to the words and actions that came from the hearts in the interaction of these boys and girls at Trident. I loved them. It was to me a benchmark of hospitality.

The team at Soundlines and their attitude was truly the reflection of its leadership. Very professional, and absolutely experienced in what they are doing. Julie, Rameeza and Abdullah went extra mile in making sure that my objectives are met. They reflected the attitude and professionalism of their leader. However, my result of interviews were not encouraging – at least in numbers, especially on the second day.

What was amusing to me, and amazing too, was when I became a tourist in my own country! Maharashtra was a different ‘country and culture’ for me who comes from down south! When walking down the streets of Kolaba or bargaining for the antique trumpet and the mechanical clocks for sale on the street sides or when driving through the sea-link, I couldn’t help but feel proud of what India is and still more to think of what her potential is.

There were good moments that I polished to make them fine. One such was the little restaurant we got down to have some fresh juice on our way to office; the restaurant was over 75 years old; it must have seen Bombay grow from a child to what she is now! In the restaurant, in a corner, sat an old lady, drinking a traditional drink – didn’t know what that was. I don’t think that lady has come there to just drink that, at that age! What would she be nurturing in her thoughts as a memory from a distant past when she would have walked down that lane with someone beloved – her dad who

would have been serving the British then, or her beloved boyfriend who was on leave from the marine – to have a cup of coffee? I just thought of that as a possibility, for a lady of that age wouldn’t simply come down to just drink a juice!!

Except for the dinner I once had in Bybylos in Lebanon, I never experienced one such traditional meal like that I had at Panchvati Gaurav restaurant – I don’t know where ! I had been invited to go to an Italian Restaurant and I thought Italian food wouldn’t be an issue when compared to seizing the opportunity to have a ‘maharashtra’n food while in Maharashtra – a dish where 12 different items are served with a purpose and offering a harmonized diet.

The restaurant and food was not just about a meals experience, but also a classic example for anyone to learn about the necessity of Job Descriptions, Empowerment and how an organization could run seamlessly when the roles are defined with clarity. Each one had specific roles, and each one were like the planets in its orbits, orbiting in its own space and pace, never colliding with the other. Each knew when their turn is coming, what to serve, how much to serve, when to come back, and when to step back. Dabbawala’s were one case the world has studied over and over for its efficiency of management, and this was no less a management lesson. I felt pity thinking of a few others who claim to be internationally professional when I looked at these boys functioning so efficiently and creating a wonderful experience for its guests!

Sometimes simplicity is the most complex thing to achieve.

From Mumbai, I travelled to Chennai and stayed with my beautiful family. Naisha and Mariam didn’t have enough time to be excited, for, before they knew I am there, they realized I am packing to leave again ! I long for that day when I will never have to leave them, and can be together and yet be growing and achieving the goals we set for all of us!

Shahir

September 10, 2011

Colombo Calling !

It’s only less than two hours to Colombo from Chennai! But for that, I am on the road from 10:00pm till 05:00pm – one whole night! When I reached the hotel, all I needed was to just sleep for a few extended hours at a stretch.

That was not to happen though as we had to meet and finalize the logistics of interviews scheduled for the next day. As we knew that the days will be occupied through out, the Managing Director of my recruiting partner took me around the city late in the night; Colombo is a beautiful city, and the climate was absolutely wonderful, with slightly drizzling now and then. The hotel I was put at resembled an old colonial house, and I simply loved the quietness of the place; it is perfectly the place I want to come back and spend some time with no agenda ! The stillness, the natural sound, the unobtrusive staff, the birds and their chirping, the rain drops that made patterns of ripples in the swimming pool; I just loved it.

The recruitment campaign wasn’t bad either; managed to find quite a good number of experienced candidates for different roles. I was very happy with the results.

The country is indeed in its path to progress especially with the defeat of the separatist group LTTE. What I was disappointed to discover was the authoritative dictatorial style of a pseudo-democratic government who is leaving no stones unturned in its pursuit to amass wealth from the countries resources, and how the process is orchestrated carefully by the heads of states and government machinery.

It never makes any sense to me when I think of why these leaders because so wise and yet idiots who are unable to learn from the lessons they see around them? Why are they blind to what happened to Saddam Hussein, Hosni Mobarak, Radovan Karadzic, Slobodan Milosevic, The Roman Empire, The Soviet Union – why do they believe that they have an eternal power and that the wealth and power they amass now will stand tall to protect them eternally?

What is the psychology behind their behaviour that blinds them from the reality that repeats before their eyes in such a fast pace?

Shahir

15 September 2011

I Wouldn't Trade It For An Empire !

Being nice, kind and compassionate always presents itself with a reward of its own; do not be disappointed by its disguised nature of offering a delayed gratification, for its value is in the karat of joy it offers as the time matures, when all on the stage has left after the curtain is down, and the only sound you hear is of the crickets in the darkness of the woods.

If in the place of heart you were left with an expensive marble rock, you would be better off with not much to be concerned about being out of the gravitation you otherwise experience in the whirlpool of emotions the life presents as you look around. It's only a nice, kind and compassionate heart who expresses a willingness to dive deep into the depth of lives of people you live with or observe as you go, and pick from that depth a hitherto unseen diamond of life and have that moment to sit together and rub and polish it to make it shine and make a difference in their lives.

That one moment spent with a heart craving for an undiluted compassion from a fellow being, do not leave you with so much of joy as you would from having a Rolce Royce or a Land Rover, instead with intense pain at the center of your heart from thinking of the struggle the other endures in the process of living - that intolerable pain of heart caused by your nature that wishes to experience a moment of the other's life. Would you trade that pain with a kingdom? Or would you absorb that pain, knowing that it's the tax you pay to be nice, kind and compassionate?

The gratification comes with maturity of time, when you realize that you have lived a life touching the hearts and souls of many other !

I wouldn't trade it for an empire !

Shahir

August 28, 2011

Twenty Four Hours

I have been wanting to write about the last fortnight but am still not in a grip of the days so that I am composed to write.

First, it started with a sudden decision to travel to India that was not in my plan, and it kind of disturbed the whole work-plans for the week; travel was hectic and then the schedules at home wasn't any different as I had to make the best of it since I am already here.

What did I like more, other than the fact that I am with my family?

I visited my home in Kerala for two days. Perhaps that was the best of experience out of the ten days I am here. It's always good to travel by road, and that too what a wonderful and inspiring sight it offered when the dark charcoal screen of night-sky is slowly lifted for the saffron drapes of morning hours to be unfurled at the horizon, welcoming a new and fresh day, seen through the tiny threads of rain oscillating in front - smiling; the fresh smell of morning in the air, and the visuals of shining clean green of grass blades and shrubs along side the roads, yellow, pink purple and white flowers - I don't know their names, but what's in a name - added to the meditative beauty of the morning as our vehicle criss-crossed through the bends and turns and straight stretch of roads cleaned in previous nights rain leaving behind silver patches here and there on the way.

What was also heartening to watch was the golden shade of water in the ploughed paddy fields with silver reflections of sky, and to see from distance the thick white blankets of fog slowly uncovering the green hills and mountains as the time aged. There was a time when 'tractors' was looked at with amusement, where bullocks were used to plough the fields; raincoats were unheard of, and workers wore big round 'thoppi-kuda' (an innovation combining umbrella and a hat, the size of an umbrella that serves as a a special hat and at the same time the purpose of an umbrella, made of palm leaves - a craft of its own).

This time of the year is when you have a lot of rain that one can enjoy especially when you are coming from a place like Iraq where weather is at its peak of summer. There were plenty of it. The rivers were flowing to the brim of its banks, muddy in some places with the whirlpool of current beneath, greenish in some other places of which the reasons I am unaware of; it was a sight to behold, to see 'kunthi puzha' of Mannarghat - once a river that was flowing gracefully as a broad silver chain flowing through the silent valley with her silent whispers , for long been dry, now seen as dancing through the bed of rocks and flowing its way majestically. I remembered my schoolmate Srikumar in whose house I had spent a few nights trying to learn and understand how I can get some marks in maths good enough to pass in my board exams ! I remembered those days, getting down the bus and walking through the paddy fields and crossing a little stream and walking up the stairs leading to his house built in the middle of arecanut trees and coconut trees and tapioca plantations. I was just recently sharing that story with a friend of mine, remembering those good old days from school.

I was writing about Kunthi Puzha - the river flowing through Mannarghat; the river near my house too wasn't any different, flowing filled from both sides of the banks; I carry a lot of fond memories of this river, memories of all seasons. There are times when a few friends would take an evening stroll, and either sit on the rails of the river-bridge, and watch the river flow and the low-lying branches of trees romancing with the flowing river bending down to touch as she flow; we sit there listening to the silence of the river's flow interspersed by the sound of vehicles that pass by through the bridge - there weren't many vehicles then, compared to how it is now, or we would sit on the river-banks eating roasted nuts and sharing the big little things of life that attracted us or bothered us, singing songs that never was a song, imitating dialogues of the heroes that influenced us from the soundtracks of movies that was then famous.

We've seen that river dry, we have seen her flowing, filled to its ridges as now; it has fed the lives around it, it has taken lives, too.

When I am at home, I will hear from mom many such stories of the struggles of life of ordinary people around us. The life I live, when I hear about them, I begin to think as very cosmetic, and experienced from the peripherals of it. I don't get to hear these stories of struggles from where I live and through the angle of life I see - the stories of deaths and ailments, the stories of divisions and separations, the stories of misfortunes and miseries; there are no interactions with relatives, neighbours or society at large, and that limits my life's experience to the very basic of the daily events and the corporate goals that we struggle to achieve, in addition to the prime support one has to extend to the immediate family. And when I begin to listen to these struggles some of them go through, I find it hard to understand the proverbial 'this too shall pass' and 'everything happens for good' statements we so often hear when we go through minor struggles and reflect on them sitting in a Baskin Robbins outlet !! What explanations would justify their struggle when perhaps they had believed for years that 'this too shall pass' and it never did, or that they were told that 'everything is for good' and the definition of good was never what they thought it is !

In between all that, there was one thing that made this trip a pleasant one. What riches in this world can substitute the warmth of one's mother's presence !! I spent two days with her. She raced against time to prepare the kind of food that she knows I love. From as simple as chilled buttermilk to all the other different food that one can have in the waking hours in between that two days, all flavoured with love that is one that made all what she made so special in this world. Every mother in this world is perhaps sharing this one quality of how they express their love for their children - the keenness to make for them what they love to eat, perhaps from the conscious attempt to feed them from the day one she knew she has conceived.

There was plenty of rain throughout the day, making it pleasantly cool compared to the weather of Chennai, to have enough inspiration to dislike everything else and love and live in those moments; I wanted to spend hours and hours perhaps days and months, reading and writing, and do nothing else but that. It was such a short trip, that I was too tired to stay focused, and the other matters that needed my attention didn't give the luxury of time either; yet, there were moments when I sat down looking a the rain that has always given enough of inspiration flavoured with some nostalgic memories, and the leaves that was falling in plenty from the trees that surrounds my home. May be because they didn't notice my presence in the verandah, there were many birds too outside in the courtyard, different types of them; where did I read once what we must learn from birds, that it's only them who will be off their nests searching for their food - their goal for the day - regardless of whether it is shining or raining.

When I was bedridden for a few months following my surgeries, there was this rain, and the birds, and the books and my pens, and the fog and the green grass and the dews on them, and all what is inspiring me now; but then, I longed to walk, and be out in the midst of the world. I sometimes do not know what to wish for.

And sometimes I realize that the goals I set are meaningless; though at times they are inspiring, as in the moments when I listen to Sir Ken Robinson or the people of wisdom as him or work hand in hand with leaders who inspire, when I am pulled to walk through the rough patches of life being experienced by the real ordinary people around me whom I hardly see except in such occasional visits, I question the goals I set, and the purpose it serves, and the alternatives on offer !

I have the answers, if only I was not depended upon.

Shahir

July 27, 2011

What you said is not what I heard !

Do you want to join me in this exercise?

When you read these words, answer yourself what it means to you, i.e, does it sound 'positive' or 'negative?'

1. Lotus

2. Go back to 1, if you didn't think of whether Lotus is sounding positive or negative, and do it, if you mean to do the exercise

3. Now, what about 'Crayons'?

4. Is 'Water' sounding 'positive' or 'negative'?

5. 'Cow-dung'

6. Doormat.

7. Attitude.

In a very inspiring conversation I had this morning, a friend of mine asked me 'Shahir, isn't 'attitude' a negative word'?

For her, it sounded a 'negative' word, whereas it clearly had a 'positive' tone for me.

Is it her fault that it sounded 'negative'? Not really ! But could she be in control, and transform it into positive. Of course!

Words and its meanings are directly related to our life and its experience, I thought! There are many among us who grew up listening to others saying about a third person 'he has an attitude problem', or statements that reflected a meaning with negativity in it. You don't want to be associated with someone who has an 'attitude' problem do you?

That, or similar experience which perhaps she is unaware of but deeply engraved in her subconscious mind, the mind created an 'internal representation' of this word meaning into a set of frames that plays a negative movie in her head in response to the visual or auditory stimulation of this word - thus prompting her brains to tick that as a 'negative' word.

I then expanded the list of words from one as in 'attitude' to six more, and presented it to Santhosh - my colleague and friend, and asked him to identify the 'charge' of each words - whether they are negatively charged or positively charged.

'Lotus', for him was positive. 'Crayon's was positive. 'Water' - what was it for you? For Santhosh it was 'negative', and my assumptions was that he had registered a negative incident associating with water; that was indeed the case, that he associated water with disasters - such as the tsunami and other such events that eventually erased the 'positive qualities' of water to overwrite its disastrous nature attributing to it a negative charge. The word 'cow-dung' was positive for him, understandably owing to the various religious and other believes associated to it. The word 'doormat' was positive for him because it keeps the 'inside of the house' clean, whereas it carried 'negative charge' for me as I associated it with how a doormat is attributed to women who are subjected to abuses by their men. And 'Attitude' for Santhosh was again 'negative' for almost the similar reasons I explained above, and for me, it was absolutely positive, for exactly the opposite reason (the commonly used statement using 'attitude' for me is perhaps 'that guy has a great attitude and we want him in our team, or, 'that's the attitude I am looking for that role).

'Attitude' for me was a benchmark rise above, and 'attitude' for them was a cliff that we must avoid from falling!!

What does it all mean?

Nothing that you didn't know before, really.

All I wanted to do by writing this down is to reflect on the whole concept of how our live's experiences - the ones that we consciously experience or unconsciously witness - are all influencing our understanding and interpretations of life - life that embodies in the words that we hear - surrounding us, and therefore the meaning we give to life!

The meaning we give to the other !

Think of it!

In the end, what you said is not what I heard !

Shahir

12 July 2011

Are You Smelling Coffee?

That's what she gave me to smell in a little bowl that resembled Moroccan antique and before I write about it there are a few other reflections that I do not want to miss writing about, influenced by the powerful lesson I took from her as I walked back home.

This week was emotionally enriching , and at the same time tremendously draining too; it was the head and tail of the same coin; all for the same reasons!

Rene's Achievement: Fresh in my mind to write about is Rene's achievement; Rene is an old friend's daughter, doing her 2nd year of Communicative English and Psychology, and has been for quite sometime my favourite as I love to read her mails; the structure and expressions and observations and narrations are all brilliantly superb and yet wierd, with a tinge of insanity that offers her the license to do what she do so well. She use to be a wierd kiddo when she was small; she would answer haphazardly, would be seen sitting on the chair with her legs folded up and chin resting on her knees, hands wrapping her legs, with an absolutely shabby hairstyle; then too, though her elder sister was more studious and disciplined, I use to sense an Arundhati Roy in her, for whatever reasons! She grew up to be disciplined enough to have Wednesdays as her Laundry day, Saturdays as vacuum-my-house day, and Sundays as empty-the-sink-and-keep-everything-annoyingly-clean-day.

She was invited to a Global Conference in Bangkok last week, to deliver a speech on 'Domestic Violence in the Middle East' to an audience including invited UN Delegates; not only did she deliver well, I was told that she was also quoted by two other delegates and secured (earned, rather) two internships with the UN. I was extremely delighted to hear that and I feel proud that I know Rene though she hasn't grown up in my mind than the little girl that she was when I last saw her - a music note that was off pitch!

A Song that inspired: Music reminded me of a particular song that I was so deeply connected that I stumbled upon last week; not only was this song beautiful for me, it also shaped a kaleidoscope of emotions, not because of its lyrics or the music, but the nuances of the tune of the song and the height of imaginations its composition offered to take me through. In listening to it, it had an image that sung to me, it offered a season that I longed for, it stimulated an inspiration and hunger, and the aching that accompanies an insanely thinking soul!!

The song also brought with its melodious voice the sad memory of the tragedy this singer went through as she lost her child who drowned in a swimming pool recently; no parent should live to see their children die, but with the love and admiration I have for the simplicity and humility of Chitra, she should have been the last if ever one should experience such a tragedy!! i wish she is recovering from the loss!!

Two women- one constructive and the other destructive: More than ones own tragedies and our ability to manage them, sometimes you are left broken when you are faced with challenges of others and the tragedies they are put through. Chote Lal's was one such story where he was diagnosed with acute leukemia and was admitted in a hospital in Delhi and Rameeta - a friend of mine for whom he worked was running around to help him survive, find him enough supply of blood units etc.

Even in that cause, there appeared a very narrow minded Indian lady from California who just couldn't see anything beyond the tip of her nose!! I simply wondered how can a woman who is capable of growing in her womb a life for nine months and deliver and grow to make a man or a woman can be so pathetic in her character!!!

Happiness is for the unthinking: With all this and more, this week pulled me more and more into the deep pits of thoughts that I love and hate to be in! A virtual-friend with whom I often engage in quite an intelligent discussion whenever we get chance was quick to quip 'happiness is for the unthinking' and that you cannot be a poet and not agonize!!! Will I trade my ability to think and express for a season full of peace? Will I trade peace and dive into the ocean of aching thoughts and derive from it experience to express? The battle of desires and logic, the conflicts of mind and heart, the rational thoughts fighting against the less powerful irrational hopes and wishes, it creates a lot of bruises all over, leaving behind a bleeding heart! The search for labels, the quest to box this to 'Box-A' and that to 'Box-B', just to justify our educated rational mind to hide and suppress the genuine emotions of our poor irrational heart, is, i realized, a comfortable mask that many of us wear.

Sometimes it hurts a lot; it hurts self, and it destroys others too. Amidst the richness of life around, it hurts to think of the emptiness I create for my own! The only metaphor I could think of that comes close to the intensity of feeling is of the agonizing experience in the dying hours of a prisoner being taken to the gallows - the infinite pain of nearing that emptiness of life, the sensation of wanting to vomit as he is escorted through the corridor before the break of dawn, the helplessness as you look inside and see your own design and the hardship you go through to redraw that design - erase the lines and dots and shapes and forms, and the fingers going numb from realizing how hard it is to redraw, in spite of how much you try!!!

Nonetheless, when facing what appears as the most agonizing experience, and when taking back a few steps through the memories searching for similar experiences, you realize that you've been through it before and survived its storm and kept your roots intact.

That's when I realized too that most of what you experience in life - joy, sorrow, anxiety, anger and so on and so forth - when reflected upon, you realize that the others have experienced of you in the past for almost the same reasons that you are experiencing it in the now. That's when you understand the wealth of joy you shared, or the depth of pain you caused to others whom you associated with.

I wish we can erase the smell of certain life experience by smelling some coffee!

The Perfume Shop: The girl at the perfume shop offered me different brands of perfumes and as I tested one by one on my wrist, I began to lose the ability to distinguish one from other; the ordinary one from the one that added inspiration with its aroma; the thick smell from the smell that brought back years of memories and decades of hopes.

All she did was to give me that bowl of coffee powder to smell, and break the pattern, and smell fresh again.

In NLP they call it breaking the state of mind!

The question is: what if I don't want to break the pattern? What if I want to dwell in the pain of the events and its experience, break open the oyster to find a little pearl of thought to express and revel!!!

It's a defining choice!

Reflection

It's been a very fast paced month, last month, juggling different priorities and progressing forward, travelling back in memory lane through music and thoughts, and many more!

What will I remember this month for? What will I forget from how I lived this month?

At Work: finding out the right talent and convincing them on why should they work with us is what I was mostly engaged in. One by one, when a position is filled and we get closer to the requirement of associates we want to have, it offered a sense of satisfaction, and a hope that our validation of their talents be true, and that it will add value to the organization we intend to build.

The discussions with potential candidates offered a wealth of learning and experience. I wouldn't want to call it 'recruitment' though that may be the case. The different type of people you meet over the phone, some of them as genuine as one can be, and some of them as wolves in sheep skin, sometimes their desperate plea to give them a hand to come out of their pit and to trust in their ability to deliver than what is seen on their credentials, sometimes the tricks they engage and the baits they throw hoping for a big fish to bite, all of them offered a wonderful experience mainly in understanding people and lives!

There were a couple of candidates who stood out in the process. There were a few whom I hired purely for their attitude than their skills. And there were a couple of them who disappointed me for the tricks they engaged and threw away their opportunities!

Music : Last month also had moments where I took a trip down the memory lane, spending some time listening to a few of my favourite songs! There were some excellent compositions I was listening to, and of all, I just can't let go the energy and excitement I feel when I listen to this piece from Yanni's concert! The Storm of Yanni, a fabulous composition of Vidyasagar in Malayalam, and a nostalgic composition in Tamil from movie Varanum Aayirum were the ones that accompanied me in my walks! Most of all, the bhajan of Mahatma Gandhi, sung by Late Bhimsen Joshi to the music composed by Maestro Ilayaraja was one that anchored my spirits to its roots and helped me be sane!

People: Did I meet anyone so significant whom I will remember for a long time? I happened to connect with someone a few weeks ago who was to me personally a symbol of academic achievements! There was an instant admiration and a lasting impression I had of this lady whose examples of hard work and commitment towards scaling greater heights was phenomenal, that it dwarfed - if not engulfed - many like the lady whom I met at MMA in 2009 who had a list of high ambitions but none pursued. Here was an example of real concrete actions aligned to a clear set of goals versus an ambiguous set of wish lists displayed to gain attention and publicity!!

Literature : I did have moments where I felt very inspired to write a few verses, but I knew there was an utter silence locked in the middle of my chest every time I am at home back from work!! After a very long time, I had a little flirting with Malayalam and wrote a few verses; I loved it actually; I felt it was so sincere and simple. What was most touching for me is when for a few straight days words were escaping my thoughts and I desperately wanted to write something but couldn't! But one day, a few lines came into my mind from no where, and I wrote them down; it brought me some good comments from my friends on social network, through mails and feedback on the posts. It was once again that moment where you feel that writing doesn't come through a conscious attempt to create a masterpiece, but it has to evolve from within; it has occurred to me more than once that when I really want to sit and write, the words would never come to me, and when least expected a set of words would appear as a chain of thought that will then become a reflection of my heart!!! Those posts can be read on my WORDSChamber on Facebook, including "A Dichotomy", "The Walk", "The Road" and other snippets of thoughts.

Disappointments : I missed hugging my children. I may be a brother, I may be a colleague, I may be a friend, I may be a coach or a manager; I may be all that and more, but there is nothing that's as gratifying as being a father, and by that, there is nothing as marvelous as having your kids to look into your eyes and tell you the stories of the day with the seriousness that would dwarf the seriousness you saw in the eyes of the presidents signing Oslo Accord that meant nothing!!

Through days and months, life is growing!!!

A Kaleidoscope, or a Potpourri?

A conversation of two ordinary passengers I overheard in a public transport I took today in Chennai was typical of the daily concerns of an average family in India. There was one who had to share his concern on spending over a 1000 rupees (USD 22) on his son who was running high fever for last three days. As if it would comfort him, the other topped it up with his concern of spending around 20000 Rupees (USD 445) for his daughter's education. The thickness of their emotions got encrypted into two simple lines in this blog, but I understand well the conversations that must have taken place at their homes in the dim lights at night as all the members settle after their days activities!

I am undoubtedly in love with India. Chennai where I live is a place where you cannot travel more than a hundred meters without passing by the sound of hymns or chanting from a road-side temple or a community hall that will have a loudspeaker playing the latest beats - celebrating anything from coming-of-age of ones daughter to a graduation ceremony and wedding, or a kiosk selling beautiful garlands weaved and sold fresh, to merrily welcome a guest or to express condolences to the family of the bereaved!

I am growing a fear when travelling in India, a fear that some may scoff at, and some others may sympathize with. While it may become a great photo opportunity for a visiting traveler to India, I am growing an intense dislike and a strong fear when I listen to the sound of the dangling bells of a bullock-cart pulled by the exhausted bullocks with froth in their mouth, silenced by the sound of horn from the Mercedes behind, and a Piaggio share-auto-rickshaws stuffed with men and women seated in layers of seats symbolizing Indian innovation, with empty tiffin-carrier in one hand and a bag full of vegetables in the other, fighting for space and racing against time, desperate to reach home ; the school children queuing for their buses or dangerously hanging on the foot-boards, the crowd dodging between the different vehicles, animals and buildings, drunken men - rick-shaw drivers to office-workers - lying on the pavements and the thought of their wives and children waiting for them at home for whom a bunch of grapes would have been a delicious treat instead of the bottles of liquor their parents spent their savings on - I am scared of the India I see around me, how much so ever I try to be proud of the India that's projected as Incredible outside of our borders.

On one side is the wrinkles and sunburns of poverty staring at onlookers, in their never ending struggle to make the ends meet, and on the other side are the opportunities that we dream of the country and the power that we are gradually becoming in the world of nations!

I am no stranger to the difficulties and struggles of making the ends meet. Memories of burnt fingers aren't a story of a distant past, and the struggles of being swung from the comfort of being safe and secure with a perfect job and its perks to the dark pit of uncertainty causing cracks on my dreams of a future is as fresh as yesterday. The bitter taste of biting that hard pill is perhaps what highlights to my conscience the shaded side of the life around me. The stories I hear of the people, the colours and wrinkles on their faces, the torn edges of their collars and the stitched straps of their handbags, the raw and rugged life that I see around as a contrast to the clean, organized and structured life that I now have the privilege of enjoying undermines its joy and destabilizes my ability to live in the moment.

The brightness of the moment in the now is eclipsed by the possibility of a reality in the future!

I do not desire this state of mind.

It is nonetheless a state I am traversing through.

It is not about me. It's the unsettling whirlpool of feeling that I am drowned in when I see the life around, one that makes me overcautious and overly conscious of what I have and what I am, making me wonder my eligibility to live my life and have peace with it!!!

What is enough to be sufficient?

Shahir

April 15, 2011

What Naisha Told Me That I Didn't Hear?

It’s not about what she didn’t tell us; it’s about what we didn’t hear her saying. It’s about how we discounted her concerns because it didn’t scale up to our measurement of a ‘real problem’ and therefore it wasn’t given the attention it deserved while we measured it on a yardstick of our experience than with a scale of her size of life!

Naisha is in 2^nd grade; she is our darling girl at home, and a darling child at school too, for her friends and teachers. A compassionate little girl.

She’d been telling us how she dislike going to the same school she is now when the school re-opens. And the reason is, that she had formed an image of her maths teacher as one who will beat, less friendly and compassionate compared to her teachers now. She is not one who would mind someone being strict on homework and discipline etc., for, she has always been one who always met the standards of that sort, and also was good in maths. Her concern was in that teacher not being friendly, and that she’s at times caning the students!

Natural for any child of that age.

What we didn’t hear was the loudness of that concern. A week ago, she brought that up again in one of our conversations, and we tried to make her understand that her concerns are out of place, and that she will begin to enjoy her class etc.

That was the end of our conversation on that subject.

But it was only a beginning of her debate in her mind to find a solution that her parents couldn’t convincingly find!

She might have thought of different strategies; she might have drafted and erased in her mind different plans that would work or not work. And perhaps one morning she would have woke up with a decision, and that decision was to go and handle it by herself.

Little though it might seem to the eyes of us as grown up, that would have been a major decision for her little mind. She decided to go and ask her own maths teacher about what will it be like in the 3^rd grade? She asked “ Sujata miss, who will be our maths teacher in 3^rd Standard?” Sujatha miss – her maths teacher would have felt the concern in that little heart, and bent down , hugged her, and jokingly said “it will be Gayatri miss, and she will give you all nicely!!” and she added “darling, it could be either this teacher or there is another teacher, but both of them are good teachers and you don’t worry about it”

Naisha came back home, and hugged her mother and told her how happy she is and explained what happened with Sujata miss.

The incident disturbed me a lot. It made me reflect on what we are not listening but are just hearing. I heard Naisha’s concerns, but perhaps failed to listen to her feelings beneath. And then, we as parents were oblivious of her little mind working out plans to solve that concern. What would she have experienced with this thought of what to do in 3^rd Grade maths class nagging in her mind? When would she have thought about the different possibilities, and what would have been her experience of that thinking process? Why didn’t we see them; were they not leaked through sighs? Were she watching television in front of us, but her eyes seeing in her mind the images of her interaction with that maths teacher she dreaded to be with? Were she not sleeping, or behind her closed eyes were the flashes of thoughts on how to relieve of this concern?

It appeared to me that it would have been really causing her discomfort which is why she decided to find her own solution the other day.

The whole thing for me is an example of how she faced a situation – big for her size of life – that caused disturbance in her, how our support as parents was not enough and convincing for what she was facing though we thought otherwise, and how she formed a strategy to find another resource to solve her problem.

I wished I knew what she was going through.

I realize more that our children are telling us their life’s experiences, through their silence and through their words. Not everything do we decipher in the midst of our busy life – a busy life that is initially meant for the welfare of these very children. It is for me as a parent to think why she is sleeping early – for it’s not sleeping, but an escape to think of her strategies, mull on her possibilities. It’s for me as a parent to look deeper on why she is not eating her food – for it’s not lack of hunger, but the fullness of concern in her little mind.

It’s not what we see. It’s beyond.

It’s not what we hear. It’s even beyond their words.

It’s about having that ability to hear what they didn’t tell us, to see what they didn’t show us, and be there for them, in their little struggles of facing the challenges of losing a penciil sharpener or sitting in the class of a particular teacher, the ability to see them in the same size and dimension as they see, than as how it appear to us.

Dear Naisha, I just want to let you know that we are sorry that we didn’t hear you; I also want to let you know that I am proud that you are able to find your way; that’s the girl we wish to see you as growing.

Love

Papa

25 March 2011

A Dying Art

At least once, everyone would have experienced the anxiety of that wait for the postman to appear with that precious little thing in his hand, or for the sight of that little envelop in your post-box that has travelled a long distance, or perhaps a few lanes of the town, carrying your name, written with so much of passion at an hour when the world around must have been asleep and the shadow of pen on the paper from the lamp on the table appeared as the hands of the beloved, holding yours!

What a wait that was then!

The joy and excitement of writing a letter; the conversations that takes place in the backyard of mind as we sit down to write, part of which flows on to the paper as words and part of which evaporates into the midnight air as sighs and smiles, the aching to capture them and squeeze through the nib of pen as words and the anxiety from the inability to express in words the lava of emotions boiling within.

You then read it once, through your own eyes. You read it next through the eyes and minds of your beloved. For a moment you attribute to it the voice of your beloved; the next moment you hear your own words; the images resurrecting from the page, senses arousing as the eyes sifts through the words again, again, and again, beginning a conversation of hopes and dreams shared sitting beside, suddenly erasing all the distances of streets, lakes and hills that divided you till a moment ago!

There is a ceremony of closing that envelope, but before that a moment more spent on the page, with a loving smile at a moment in future. The carefully folded page is slide into the envelope, to be sealed with love. The only time you would have spent that long writing a name would be perhaps on the first day when the schools reopen, when the text books are all new and must carry your names, the first writing on them are written with such a care and determination; such and more is the care when the address of the beloved is written on the envelope!

What follows next is the paradoxically delightful and aching wait for the letter to reach the other end. Moments of its journey through the different post offices are calculated in mind, and the imaginations of it reaching there, the moments of it being read and the wait for its reply – adding richness to the experience of living!

On the other end, what a moment that is, to be receiving that letter! There is an urge to open it immediately, at the same time a dictation of mind to simply adore that moment of holding it and looking at your name being written with not-so-artistically-artistic curves and dots and strikes of y’s and I’s and ‘t’s; what would be the closest metaphor to compare the care in which the envelope is opened! And what a battle of mind and heart is to follow when the letter is taken out of envelope! Should I read this word, or see what the next word is? What is in the next line, or is it written in the paragraph that follows? The curiosity is at its height with every word that’s read and every sentence that’s remaining. To read them all at once is the desire on one end, and it should never end is a silent prayer on the other end.

That follows the special moments of writing a reply. Sometimes it's nice to delay, for selfish reasons though. In the space of that delay occupies the words of our conversations, the sharing of thoughts, the laughter that fill, the smiles and sighs that punctuates…. There is warmth in that space, where I know I am conversing and there is an imaginary conversation back to me too…

Anything that can represent the moment of that writing will find space in that reply, in words or in other forms; a lock of hair, a bristle of brush or teeth of comb, a piece of a shawl or a petal of rose, they are all divine forms of insanity when letters are replied to their beloved!

A beautiful letter is a string that connects hearts from distance; it’s a story you would wish to read again; it’s a piece of heart that you would love to embrace in the absence of your beloved; it’s a narration of love when expression of it is hard; it marks the milestones of the journey in love, and it represents the aching of hearts on one end and it presents itself as its cure on the other end. They are with which you wake up. They are with which you sleep. At times, they appear as your only reasons to live, when that’s the only thing you open your windows for.

A dying art that once carried the pulse of loving hearts!

Shahir

March 04, 2011

Trouble-Makers or Patriots?

I am delighted to read this note in "The Hindu" Editorial today that came as a balm to a hurt soul from watching the events unfolding in Kashmir, driven by politically coloured patriotism by a party who's desperately seeking means and methods to regain their lost position, lost primarily owing to the same methodologies they exercised earlier.

What was it, other than a provocative and insensitive agenda, to hoist a flag in the center of a region that every citizen of India know as sensitive given its history? Why rub salt on the wound, than join the nurses who are treating the wound to heal them and integrate to a society where they belong to?

Has Advani Ji lost complete sense of the destruction he caused by one 'yatra' that tore the center of an otherwise harmonious country that boasted unity in diversity? Did he not have even a little remorse for the hundreds of men and women massacred as a consequence of his "Rath Yatra? How many more lives is he and his party-men willing to see lost in his path to gaining power in parliament? Are there no other genuine causes he can fight for, than such provocative-and wickedly-motivated exercises that is again and again throwing India and Indians years behind in their growth - physically and intellectually? When will they realize the need to unite, than disintegrate the country further?

How many more hands do you like to see pleading to stop this communally polarizing politics, and work on an agenda that will improve the lives of our countrymen, and our country?

It calms my soul when I read the Editorial of The Hindu this morning, because it reassures me that there are men and women in India - of all sections of faith and believes in our society - who are willing to, and can, identify the wolves in sheep skin, herding along with the shepherds working hard to develop our nation.

Educated you all are; how illiterate you remain still!!!

Shahir

Jan 27, 2011