Word That Powered

It isn’t unusual for the staff to cut corners when their managers are not around, especially when it is in the night shift or those in the early morning shifts where the top management is yet to come.

I decided this morning to do a random inspection by undertaking a house-tour during early morning hours when in normal case no one will expect me around. Among the few areas and standards I was doing a random check, I engaged with one of our associates.

And that’s what I want to share with you. The power of word that powered Uhood!

I engaged her - Uhood - over the phone, disguised as a customer, and she was spot on in meeting all the standards that we would love to see our associates delivering in that position. Eventually, as in the rules of providing feedback – reinforcing a behavior, or coaching – I revealed to her who I am, and why I was calling, and what did I feel about her performance, and congratulated her for ‘delivering our promises’ genuinely sounding in my voice the feeling of delight and consciously choosing enabling and reinforcing words that would strengthen her commitment to sustain that good act of performance.

It all took perhaps less than a minute and half.

But later today I realized how powered and encouraged she had become, from the feedback I got through a few other associates who experienced the radiation of her joy and excitement of receiving an appreciation for something she did right.

What she did was in fact a duty she is bound to perform. However, what made her feel delightful was the fact that her performance was noticed, it was appreciated, and it was recognized. Nida, my Training Coordinator later told me in the evening that she was giving ‘flying kiss’ to her female colleagues as she went home after her shift – an act so unusual of her!

What is the simple lesson? It’s simple as this. Associates are hungry for recognition. They are starving for someone to say a kind word for the right thing they do. And if we really look at it, even those in the senior positions are craving for that little word to come from those who they report to, and it does make a big difference.

Why we don’t do this then? The reason is simple too. We SEE many things but we fail to NOTICE. We see things because we are around by virtue of our positions. However we fail to notice because we are less awake and less conscious. Moreover, we wait for a ‘big’ thing to happen so that we can recognize and celebrate; we wait for a monument of ‘great service’ to be delivered, not realizing the fact that the monument we are waiting to see as built are built with these little bricks of basic things done right.
We can’t look for associates putting off fire every day; we can’t look for associates who performed resuscitation and recovered an injured guest every day. What we can is to ‘catch them do things right’ even if that means it’s their duty to do things right, let alone go extra mile.

Those that are done right, no matter how small they are in size, when recognized and appreciated genuinely, it powers the person to move mountains.

Today, Uhood radiated positive energy, cheerfulness, and warmth to those around her, because of the word that powered her; I am sure that energy would have permeated to those at her home too. Should I say how conscious she will be to deliver more tomorrow as she will come to work, wanting to do more good things. Should I say how she – and many others like her who must be craving for recognition and appreciations, not necessarily ‘rewards – would be transformed as a brand ambassador should such acts be delivered on them by the leaders in a consistent manner?

I am delighted I could make a difference in a day of my associate’s performance. And I wish I will have more opportunities to make others feel delighted, empowered and enabled to deliver greater results.

The Word That Powered, made a difference to her, and to me.

Shahir

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Liberation and Control

A liberated mind is lighter than the mind seeking control.

The other day, I travelled by bus and got down at LIC , Mount Road, walked a few meters ahead to cross the road and reach the Spencers Shopping Centre, and by that time I was profusely sweating. It naturally frustrates. It becomes a cause of irritation. Then I realized, “Hei, what is there to be frustrating and irritating!?” It’s summer. It’s supposed to be hot. In hot season as this, you don’t freeze, you sweat. and that too in Chennai (Madras).

And then on, I realized I felt better as I walked through the pavement, perhaps less irritated from the weather, and began to enjoy the people and sights and sounds around me; for the first time went straight looking for the washroom to wash my hands and face before I get on with the remaining things I wanted to do.

In liberating my mind from the friction of wanting to be cool in a hot summer day, I ‘designed’ as a conscious choice a reasonable comfort through ‘acceptance’, comparing to the amount of frustration and irritation I would have subjected myself to by clinging on to my fight against the law of nature.

How does this apply in other spheres of our life, relationship, management etc?

What is it that I am fighting with, internally? What is it that I am holding on to, that if I liberate it from my clutches of thoughts, it could bring for me better results than what I yield by holding on to it? What am I not doing from fear or anger or sadness or anxiety or frustration, that if I do with the curiosity of a child, could bring for me results that will make feel ‘aha!’ with delight?

When I begin to complain about the loudness around me, can I liberate that anger by reframing my thoughts of that loudness as the ‘sound’ of the dynamic life around me and begin to enjoy the sound– loudness transformed to sound through the process of that liberation? When I begin to get frustrated about the crowded street, can I liberate that frustration by reframing my thought of that crowdedness as ‘tolerance’ of bullock-carts and cars and cattle fitting together to form the eco-system of the community I am living in? When I am concerned about getting drenched in rain, is it not possible to liberate that concern by looking at that as an opportunity to play by making myself accept that it’s OK to play in the rain and it’s OK for the clothes to be wet? Can I develop to hold my ‘emotion’ in seeing a broken vase and my daughter beside, and ‘accept’ that the vase is breakable and it would have broken one or other way now or later, and therefore ‘liberate’ the emotion of ‘anger’ that would otherwise dominate my action?

There are many unnecessary and unproductive ‘locks’ that we lock our minds with, which if we liberate or unlock, I realized, will bring us a better and relaxing feeling of what we otherwise thought as a trouble. The key to unlock is with us: what we tell our selves about what is happening with us, within us and around us. And when what we tell us is affirmative, in acceptance, it becomes easier to partner with it than to fight and conquer.

I just thought I want to write about it, perhaps to bring clarity to my thoughts on ‘liberating the thoughts that has potential to lock our performance’, or to simply write what I feel to write now.

Shahir

In A Glass Box!

Many are standing in different corners, most of them with their heads bowed and eyes fixed on a point on the floor or gazing at nowhere; those who came earlier, are slowly giving space to those who are coming still; many continue to come, everyone finding a corner or a person or a group who are familiar to them, and begins a discussion in whispers about how all that happened, and with their heads nodding in response to the explanations they hear of how it all happened, and how everything changed for a few and how they will need to rewrite the script of their life with the new change!

I just returned from a funeral of someone in my neighborhood who died yesterday as a result of a tragic road accident in a place near Bangalore. Shaji – as he is called by his friends, is of my age, and a dynamic person with a good and wide network of people. The long winding rows of vehicles of people who had come to see his body is an indication of how connected he is with people of Pandikkad (the town I live) and the neighbouring towns and villages. Young and old, men and women, boys and girls, they all stood in silence, in groups, and as reflective individuals, perhaps everyone reflecting on his character, on his little little achievements, sympathizing from distance on the family that he left behind, expressing concerns about the future of his two little children; there were waves of silent prayers in the air, to rest Shaji’s soul in peace.

On my way back, I was seeing myself in that glass box; embalmed, lying straight, neat and in eternal silence!! What if it was me in that box?

Since the time I left this town in 1991, there is hardly a handful of people who would know me, what has transpired in my life since then till now, what I do now and what I have accomplished and what I aspire to accomplish! Because I am not a socializer, I am hardly seen in the common places in the town where the people gather for an evening chat, my time during holidays are mostly at home, immersed in a book or two or working on a project or other with my laptop as my company. My leisure time was spent with family, especially with my mom; it’s only now since I returned to India that I began to start meeting people from in and around, that too in the context of engaging for one or other training program for organizations here.

If in that box it was me who was lying horizontal, will I be given an empty sent-off on my final journey to my ultimate destination? Who would be standing around me in the corners of the room? Will the courtyard of my house be filled with people and will they have anything to remember about my existence around them? How would they remember me? What will they know to reflect on me? What have I given them? How have I touched their lives, while being at a distance?

Because I am their neighbour, the neighbours would know the silent me; because I am their relative, a few of my relatives would know the distant me and even though they do not know me well, they would still be around on that day. Who are my friends? I have hardly any who are ‘real’ friends! They are mostly virtual! Loic or Eric wouldn’t see me on Skype, and gradually the memory of their experience with Shahir would fade in time. Marcelle might send a few emails and live on. Santosh might call after a period of silence. Bander? Somali Ma’m and Shyleshwari and Anil Behal and Murali Nair – they will resign to the thought that I have absconded from the engagements with Orgdyne! Victoria and Violetta and Caroyn and Joseph and Dany – they might feel nostalgic of the few good postings in my blog, and might once or twice wonder the reasons behind the absence!

J.K? Because I wouldn’t be ‘expressing’ anything for days in a row while in the coffin and while being six feet under, and because I am not important and significant in her life anymore professionally or personally, perhaps for a few days she wouldn’t bother to know where I am and what I do; a few days later, she might send a few messages, perhaps sarcastic, on my eternal silence…and when there won’t be a response, she would move on!

I see around me seated, a frail lady with two little girls on her lap – my wife and two daughters. More than the nobility of my character, the agility of her endurance and tolerance is what stood against the test of time. With her is my mother who has seen several ups and downs in her own personal life and witnessed my long journey towards success and the final lap of setbacks. My sister and brothers, and a few friends of my brothers who know me through them…

How eerily silent would that be, that final silent retreat of mine!!

I think I will have to recalculate the mathematics of my life; begin to do a few things I am not comfortable doing but are essential in building a meaningful life! I must seek ways to integrate me more with the community I live in…; there are things I must do…sooner than later.

Imagine if that’s you in that box!!

Shahir.



(Note: If this sounded as "Oh! poor me!", it truly is not the intention. It's a hypothetical analysis of what might be, in reflection of what is in the now.)

Joy of Hope

In between her lines of what keeps her excited these days, Victoria Rose asked me the other day what is keeping me joyous these days.

What’s keeping me joyous these days!

There are times when we hardly realize that there are reasons to be joyous still, in spite of the speed breakers that must be slowing us down from our pursuit of happiness! The question from distance that Victoria threw at me was something that made me ponder, something that made me wonder…

What’s keeping me joyous these days!

One feeling that dominates my thoughts for an answer is the feeling of ‘hope’.

Is it a hope for an unseen future that’s now being modeled from a heap of experience between my fingers as a potter would with his clay?

When the going gets tough and the gaze is fixed on the ceiling attempting to have a peek at the future, ‘hope’ whispers to the ears of our mind the verses of better days to come. When life goes merry-go-round with petals of flowers purple white and red is sprinkled over you from up above, ‘hope’ comes closer to sing for us the jingles and make us crave to live a Sunday more.

In ‘hope’ is the energy; in ‘hope’ is the momentum. It is in it the joy; it is in it the relief. It is the source, and it is the cause.

The joy is springing from a hope that my children will grow to be better than me; the joy is in a hope that the time will bring me back the hearts and minds of those who misinterpreted my language of words and therefore the meaning of my life; the joy is in a hope that the recipe for prosperity is in application of my wisdom; the joy is in remembering the best things I possessed and shared, the best people whose hands I held, and derive from it the energy to make more best and better moments in life.

The joy is in the vibrating nostalgia I carry of the past; the joy is in the dynamic choices I make in the present; the joy is in “who” I am left with than “what” I have in my walk to the future.

The joy is in Living, Loving and Learning.

Shahir

Beauty - A Situational Perception!

Is beauty a concept of contrasting colours distributed in a certain pattern?

The sky is beautiful when the clouds form in a mix of shades; a rainbow adds colour to that very sky and projects yet a distinct beauty. The saffron sunset is a beauty that captivates the heart of even the heart-less, the golden yellow of dawn has its own palette of colours that exudes beauty.

The nudity is a colour that becomes richer with a bright shawl carelessly thrown over its shoulders highlighting the contrast of colours and enriching its beauty! Is it true too that the measure of what we fall in love in a person is the beauty that we perceive from the contrast of colours…the texture of skin contrasting with the colour of clothing, that image contrasting with the green and ash and purple and violet of the park or the place, the very many contrast that we are unconscious about yet leaves its signature in making an impression the image of that person, a combination of contrasting colours, among the other elements?

Is that impression created by the contrast of colours any significant even when all the other parameters are uniform? A brown thin strap of a watch in her wrist makes her hands beautiful, thus signaling one that she is beautiful; is this perhaps an unconscious thinking one would have? What when the colours smudge, fade or disengage tampered by passing time? Does the old definition of beauty get redefined?

Or, is beauty a concept of space, with a certain planned positioning of things?

The nail polish on the toe nails makes her feet look so beautiful; when the same amount is applied on the tip of nose you become a laughing-stock! The bare chest of a woman is a barren sight, but how beautiful it transforms with a tiny piece of pendant! Is beauty then a concept of space and how the space is filled, or left empty? Does emptiness define beauty on some occasions, while fullness defines it on some other occasions? Beauty of a ballet is the fullness of its stage; of yoga, it is in the emptiness! In a particular staging of event someone or something appears beautiful, and when the backdrops of what created that beauty is removed, the perception of beauty is shifted, perhaps deformed. Are our impulses controlled by the comprehensive beauty of images captured with the background that doesn’t form a part of the actual, such as in an advertisement of a four wheeler that comes with the background of a beautiful mountain or splashing waters?! Does what is revealed distort the perception of beauty of what is concealed, or does how much is unveiled form the perception of what is beauty in its absolute? What then when the pieces are shuffled, space realigned, emptied and refilled with different forms and shapes occupying the vacuum or creating one, in the true wickedness of destiny? Does the old definition of beauty get redefined?

Or, is beauty a concept of sound, controlled or released in a particular manner?

Have you ever told someone “Oh! I like how you say that! It’s so sweet!” I love some words my friend speaks, love for how it sound through her; sometimes it doesn’t even have to be packaged in a word, it can just be a ‘hmm’ said in a particular way! That’s beautiful, sweet! There are moments when I love my life as I live through it with a background of a melodious song, or the sound of a flute! The meaning of feeling is defined with a different emotion when I listen to the voice of Sade sing The Smooth Operator; the meaning of existence is defined in different words when I watch Yanni perform on stage – the love for the sounds I hear become so deep and connecting. What is the role of sound in influencing a relationship – the sound of voice or instruments? Does one love a violinist because she plays violin so well – in love with the emotions her touch of bow on the violin strings produce, thus morphing that sound to be the beauty of that person? What when an instrument goes off-pitch, broken string, or a faded voice? Does the definition of beauty get redefined?

In the absurdity of these thoughts I am searching for non-hypocritical truth! And I know, I am not finished; the definitions of contrasts will continue in the mill of my thoughts…; share with me your thoughts of the unexpressed definitions of beauty.

Shahir.

A Love Letter

It is a nicer feeling to prepare, sit and write to you; in olden days, this would have been done in a nice – perhaps scented – paper, written with a beautiful black fountain-pen, seated against an open window, with a table lamp on the side, as the whole word is asleep after a day’s toil; with the curtains flapping its wings as the cool breeze from the paddy field or the woods outside would attempt to enter through windows, to eavesdrop on the whisper of thoughts within…before those thoughts are shaped into words and are carefully laid out on the paper for the eyes of the beloved to read, or feel, rather.

It all gave way to emails; the curves and curls of ‘i' and ‘m’ and ‘b’ and ‘d’ and the letters of the like, the tails and wings of ‘g’ and ‘y’ and ‘q’ and ‘p’ that we carefully draw as we write, decorating the letters and words written in cursive to match the beauty of our thoughts, are now shortened to Ctrl+B to bold or Ctrl+I to italicize, taking away my ability to express the deeper sense of love that I hold for you, by writing for you a beautiful letter, to read, love and cherish.

We lost the joy of writing the words of our love, for us to feel the paper, , knowing that through those lines had moved the fingers that wrote those words of love, fingers that carried the thoughts of the heart that owned them. What an immeasurable joy was it to look at the smudged ink on the corner of a line or in the middle of the paper, where we conveniently imagined that smudge to be from the drop of tear from the thought of missing each other or smudged by the sweat through the lines of your palm from holding the pen as you sit fathoming the depth of love, jogging through the memory of path we walked together!

And the wait for the postmaster! There wasn’t a man in the whole of universe as important as the man in that khaki shirt and brown bag made of cloth; there wasn’t a sound more harmonious and longed for than the ringing of the bell of his bicycle; there wasn’t a wait longer than the wait for that sight and sound of the person who carried in his bag a little envelop that contained pieces of thoughts from heart beating my name miles away. The joy of receiving a letter quickly sink from the realization of the wait for the next one, and then it is a mission to read the letter, then the paragraphs, then the sentences, then the words, then the letters, then the punctuations, then the space in between…; they become your image, they carry your sound, they radiate your light; they reduces the distance of time and space; or so I believed, every time I read you.

It became easier, as time passed, to tell you that I am remembering you, by simply picking up a rose or a teddy bear from the ocean of world-wide-web, designed by someone in the Bahamas or Brazil; what is its beauty, O love, when compared to the beautiful leaf or a special flower that we plucked as we walked through the woods that we then stored with care and passion in between the pages of our books. The pages faded in time, the pigments of leaf and flower were all lost in time, yet how we retained the fragrance of that love we so well cherished in that memory.

In the space of modest needs and simplest expressions, where a bunch of blue berries to eat, a tender coconut to drink, and a garland of wild flowers to gift you, would have marked a grand celebration of our love, than the euphoria for instant expressions that stole the grace and joy of loving, living and longing.

I still want to write more; I still want you to give me leaf and flowers to keep in my book; I still long for the sight of postman walking towards my gate to give me that little envelope…I long for the olden days in the light of this new age!

Love

Note: This is a fictitious letter.

In search of that thing called...

More often, the best of joy in my life has derived from the many little moments that are so warm and worthy; they didn’t unfold under the crystal chandeliers and breathtaking designs of lazer beams in the grandeur of a ball-room or with a guard-of-honour, but were the simple moments carved out of the simple events of normal days and nights.

They are the moments when I kneel down to hug my little girl as she come with her little complaints of her sister; there is an inexpressible joy in listening to her broken sentences attempting to express the series of events that apparently made her little life miserable!

They are moments like when I watch my daughters sleep… Huh! Have you experienced the feeling as you watch your little ones go through a dream in their sleep! Watch them sleep; looking at their face that you may have not looked so close for weeks or months! Often times I wish to enter their minds to see why they smiled, or to see who they are playing with, the gestures of their eyebrows or fingers indicating some conversation!

These are the simple inexpensive but priceless moments through which I often felt the ultimate joy of living, and often feel nostalgic when I look back..through the path travelled.

I regret the nights when I stayed back in the office or remained busy with trivia’s that then appeared as significant– the one or two additional hours that didn’t change the world - and missed the chance of reading them a story, or putting them to sleep…or simply to be beside them and run my fingers on their forehead while listening to them tell me their stories of the day, as they slowly slip to the warm embrace of sleep…

Simple joy, I realize, is in the presence of, and our contribution to, an unabridged life of the living beings around us, whether it is about tending the plants in the garden or spending a moment to mend a broken care; it’s closer than we thought we can reach, and nearer than the distance we readied ourselves to travel!

Attaining simple joy, I realize, often doesn’t require crossing continents, or digesting libraries of Cambridge or Alexandria; it may just be at an arm’s length, standing disguised, for us to notice, and the language it requires is one that most of us are born with – the language of empathy.



Shahir.