The Man Worth Knowing

He left behind a trail of dust as he zoomed off on his scooter, again. He had a peculiar style of sitting on the scooter, kind of crooked, as though he’s getting off the scooter. Seeing him perched like that always makes my heart skip a beat. ‘What if’ and I stop the thought at that. After all, he’s been doing that for years, from long before I was born.

He had just returned from the market, which he had gone to earlier in the morning for no particular reason. And he left now, once again for no particular reason. Whatever he did on those two trips to the market, could very well have been combined with his trip in the evening. But no, it had to be done now. It’s as though he would be punished if he stayed in one place for too long. An additional evening visit was made solely to get us fresh, piping hot samosas from that market. Ignoring our protests, lest we stopped him, he briskly walked away saying “Yeta, yeta, rokhdo yeta”. And vroom! He was gone.

We were there to spend the day with him. But of course, all that we got were fleeting meetings between his visits to the village market and over lunch and tea. Assolna has a very laid back and relaxed feel about it. But somehow that had never rubbed off on Nanu maam. Narayan Navelkar, or Nanu as he is fondly called by all and sundry is my mama by marriage (my husband’s mama).

My first close meeting with this personality was seven years ago, when he visited us soon after I was married. For days I heard, “Nanu maam yevpacho asa”. I assumed he would be over for lunch or at least tea. Before I knew it, he had come and gone as well, leaving us with enough seafood to last at least a week if not more. He had come all the way from Assolna only to visit us, which did not last more than ten minutes and I am not exaggerating. I was quite perplexed. Why would someone drive all the way and then not even spend some time with his sister? Everyone was amused at my surprise and I was told, “tasoch toh”. Over time I have learnt ‘tasoch toh’ but every time I hope this visit will be different. Sometimes he reaches our place at lunchtime and no amount of cajoling, admonishing or protest can make him stay. He always has some urgent work (which in most likelihood is an errand for someone) to take care of and hence the fleeting visit.

Short, quiet (except when in the throes of work!), a little hunched over with age, sparkling eyes, a thin silver moustache framing his warm, endearing smile, Nanu maam is much loved, respected and a favourite of all age groups and people from all walks of life. Dressed in his signature short-sleeved bush shirt and trousers (be it at work or a formal function), this diminutive figure belongs to the entire village, or rather, the entire village authoritatively and affectionately owns him. There are enough people who have in casual conversation mentioned that Nanu maam looks after their ancestral house in Assolna, as they are settled elsewhere. He is the go-to person for any of their needs. Running errands, harvesting coconuts (paadap) or attending court cases on their behalf, he does it all. His deeply tanned skin and worn out chappals are testimony to that.

Be it the annual Shigmo festival or the village temple’s (Vetala devul) activities, or anything else that happens in the village, public or private, Nanu maam is at the forefront of things. Not just leading, but by doing. He neither waits for something to be done nor instructs, he just goes and does it. With age creeping up, everyone would prefer him to sit back and give directions for them to follow. But that’s just not in his nature. He is a doer. To him these events are extremely important and revered, hence no chances are to be taken for any tardiness. That’s probably the only times that he is brusque and closed to any kind of arguments.

You would think at least at this age (he’s only 74) his activities would be limited within the village. No, not at all. He is a regular at the temple of the family deity at Khandola (Khanolya), volunteering and serving in every way possible. No matter whose event it is – a wedding, an engagement, a thread ceremony… – he takes charge and works wholeheartedly to organise and execute things. Recently at a family function, we watched haplessly as he carried heavy boxes of bottled drinking water, snatched huge trays of food items from the waiter and himself served, directed the caterer in setting up the buffet table… He wasn’t in one place for over a minute. He had to be forced to sit down and have lunch as he resisted saying, “Magir, magir; itle begin kityak”. Mind you, he was neither obligated nor responsible for doing anything. You see, he plays the host even at functions that he’s invited to!

At another function, he stood watching with folded arms, alert and ready to act at the slightest need. Everything was taken care of and he had nothing to do, yet he spent his entire time on his feet, observing minutely. Now and then as a thought struck him about an upcoming requirement, he would ask my husband about it, which of course was already taken care of. Yet, no amount of cajoling made him sit and enjoy with his relatives.

For Nanu maam, money and wealth are meant for giving away and providing to all and sundry. Coconuts, fresh fish (Assolna is famous for its river fish), dried fish, coconut oil, mangoes… his parcels are always on the move. Not just for his brother, sisters and cousins, but distant relatives, friends and acquaintances. The ‘who’ does not matter to him. Though born to a business family and in business most of his life, he is not a ‘business’ man at all. Whether he was able to run his business profitably will always remain a mystery. There is no calculation or even the slightest expectation of returns. If at any time, it is pointed out that someone has not behaved right with him, he’ll brush it off without even listening fully, “Sod, sod, te asuni. Amchoch nhai toh.” For Nanu maam, life is only about caring, nurturing, giving… unconditionally.

The other day I was reading Baakibab Borkar’s poem ‘जीवन त्यांना कळले हो’ (Jeevan tyana kalale ho) and the only person I could relate it to was Nanu maam. There isn’t another person I know who comes even close to the attributes described in the poem.

Indeed, I can truly say, नानू माम, जीवन तुम्हाला कळले हो (Nanu maam, jeevan tumhala kalale ho).

 

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

-      बा. भ. बोरकर

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

मीपण ज्यांचे पक्‍व फळापरी

सहजपणाने गळले हो

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

 

जळापरी मन निर्मळ ज्यांचे,

गेले तेथे मिळले हो

चराचरांचे हो‍उनि जीवन

स्‍नेहासम पाजळले हो

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

 

सिंधूसम हृदयांत जयांच्या

रस सगळे आकळले हो

आपत्काली अन्‌ दीनांवर

घन हो‍उनि जे वळले हो

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

 

दूरित जयांच्या दर्शनमात्रे

मोहित हो‍ऊन जळले हो

पुण्य जयांच्या उजवाडाने

फुलले अन्‌ परिमळले हो

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो

 

आत्मदळाने नक्षत्रांचे वैभव

ज्यांनी तुळिले हो

सायासाविण ब्रह्म सनातन

उरींच ज्यां आढळले हो

जीवन त्यांना कळले हो.

 

 

Nurturing Confident Children – Part 2

Below are a few behaviours, some of which are inter-connected and overlap. If your child displays any of these behaviours, it may be a warning sign for cosseting. Wake up and act before it’s too late.

1) Inability to take a decision. If the child always asks before taking even the simplest of decision, or looks around for approval from an adult before taking a decision, it may be a sign that things are always decided for him.

2) If the child feels lost in the absence of parents, in spite of being with familiar people and other family members, it’s probably because he has no clue of what to do with regard to anything. That may be because things are always done for him, and provided on a platter. 

3) If the child is fearful, it may be because the parents are overprotective and often, fearful themselves. Anxious parents lead to anxious children. 

4) Inability to take a joke. If the child withdraws into a shell or cries on being teased a little, it might be that the child lacks in self-confidence. We’re not talking of mean behaviour or bullying, just simple, harmless humour. 

5) If the child resists helping out or doing simple chores for others, it could be that the child has been spoiled, and has never shouldered any responsibility. 

6) If the child controls the parents, the child is certainly pampered. The threat of a tantrum in a public place, pretending to throw up when asked to finish his food, bargaining with the parent to do as told are a few examples. 

7) Fear of failure is another sign of cosseting. Such children have been sheltered from failures, as they have never been left to fend for themselves or sort out their problems. It’s always Daddy/Mummy who sorts things out for them, often even before something happens. 

8) The inability to share is again a sign of over-indulgence – always getting what they want, and more so, having it to themselves. While this may be more common in case of single children, it is not uncommon in children with siblings.

While it’s good to start at a young age, it’s never too late. If you find yourself in the sinking sands of over-parenting, bail yourself and your child out now!

‘Where parents do too much for their children, the children will not do much for themselves.’ — Elbert Hubbard

Nurturing Confident Children – Part 1

‘In the end, it is not what we do for our children, but what we have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings’, said the columnist Ann Launders, and rightly so. That’s also what will determine whether the adult child is grateful and thankful to the parents or detests them for having messed them up with their overbearing love.

Parents often confuse love and care with indulgence and pampering. Some parents even experience guilt for not doing something for the child, or for making the child do something. The trick is in balancing the act and being aware of whether your parenting is helping the child or squashing his individuality and confidence.

Typical mollycoddling involves the following –

a) Excessive hand-holding – Taking over when the child attempts to do something.

b) Being overprotective – Some parents never let the child out of sight, they are always watched, picked up when they fall, cautioned.

c) Micro-management – There are parents who micro-manage every single facet of the child’s life, from something as simple as buttoning the 10-year-old’s shirt to buttering his bread!

d) Over directive – They just can’t stop themselves from constantly giving directions, even for things the child has been doing on his own since years.

e) Gratification of the child’s every demand – Some parents confuse love with gratification of demands. Whether instant or delayed, gratification of every single demand is detrimental to the child’s well-being and is certainly no sign of parental love.

‘Your kids require you most of all to love them for who they are, not to spend your whole time trying to correct them.’ — Bill Ayers

The Healer Beyond Compare

Up and down, in and out

Tiny stitches fill it out

Holes and tears

Rescued nimbly by the rafugar's hands.

He was sitting outside the laundry, hunched over the kurta, focused on the work at hand. His fingers moved nimbly, repairing the tears with neat, tiny stitches. Neither the noise of the traffic nor the cackle of passers-by disturbed him. He seemed to be lost in a world of his own – mending, bringing together those that were torn apart. Once he was done, he looked at his work, holding it out in the light. He seemed satisfied. Putting away the kurta, he began on the next task. The rafugar was at work, displaying the beautiful art of restoration.

Did he ever wonder what caused the hole or what tore them apart? What could have happened that marred a perfectly good outfit, a bag, or a sari. Was it a rift that caused the tear, or mere carelessness as it got caught in something sharp or plain force which turned out to be too strong for it to bear? What was the story behind the tear, did the rafugar ever wonder as he kept mending one after another?

He’s not just another man. He’s an artist, a surgeon, a healer. He heals the torn, puts them back together so that they can continue on their journey, without being thrown asunder. He breathes new life into that which was nearly done with. If not for him, its life might have ended or taken a different turn altogether. Fortunately, he’s brought in and given a free hand to mend, repair and bring back to life. Once he’s performed his magic on the victim, it begins its new innings.

Does he mend the holes in his life as skillfully? Is he able to repair and give new life to relationships that he may have unwittingly or carelessly torn apart? Is he as good a healer with his life and family as he is with the lifeless material in his hands?

At some point in our life, we are all a rafugar, some more skilled than others at the art of restoration. We mend, we bring together and make relationships whole again. Yet, the scars remain, no matter how skilled we are or how much love and care we bestow on repairing the torn. Skilled as the rafugar may be, the distortion in the material remains alive in the heart of the wearer as does the dull ache in the heart of the one who’s been hurt.

As these thoughts crossed my mind, a verse I read at another time and place came to the fore – Words and hearts should be handled with care, for words when spoken and hearts, when broken, are the hardest things to repair; for even when mended, the crack is still there.

The Man Who Says Nothing

Silence, it is said, is the language of the wise. I had heard about this and read much about saints like Ramana Maharishi who said much by saying nothing. 

To find a common man living a simple, mundane life, and waxing eloquent through silence is a surprising rarity. To most of the people around him, it is unnerving and to those closest to him, it is often most exasperating. But their frustrated outpouring is water over a duck's back. He continues unaffected, unabated, as silent as ever. Maybe even more. 

He speaks when spoken to, though not always. He'll answer to the point, yet only when he thinks it's important to say something at all. Anything that does not concern him is none of his concern. And if it does concern him, it'll be dealt with in the fewest words possible, which is usually a soft, 'Hmm'. 

We might be sitting nearby roaring with laughter, he'll continue reading his book without as much as a glance our way. His funda is simple - what he needs to know will be pointedly told or shared with him. 

We may be engaged in a serious conversation in hushed tones. He might glance up once, that's all. He's no nosy parker. Curiosity has never itched out a 'who, what, why, when' from him. 

His wife may be talking dime a dozen, sitting beside him, yet she'll have no clue whether he's listening. Until she finally asks, ' Did you hear what I said?' Only for him to glance up and say, 'Eh?'  Frankly, I'm surprised how she hasn't yet socked him!

When I serve him food, I watch him closely for a hint of feedback.  No, not a flicker will be visible. Rare are the days when I receive praise or constructive criticism. But when he does, he conveys it all with a single adjective, 'Utkrushtt!' Trust me, it makes my weeks and not just my day!

One day, after much persuasion, he agreed to see a neurologist. Not because he complained of anything but because we had been 'observing' a change in his gait. 

Doctor: How are you? 

He: I'm fine. They feel the need for me to see you. 

We (smiling sheepishly): Hehe.

Doctor: Do you have any difficulty in doing mundane stuff?

He: I have difficulty in writing. 

Doctor: Since when?

He: Over a year.

We (nearly falling off our chairs): Eh?!!

We cringed as the doctor threw us a glance, accusing of neglect. Sigh… Facing such embarrassing situations was something we have had to learn to take in our stride.  

One morning as he sat reading the newspaper, he was given the sad news of the death of someone he loved and revered. The news was expected. Yet, I watched him with trepidation. He looked up, confirmed the news and turned back to his newspaper, thereafter continuing with his daily routine. 

Was he untouched by the news? Certainly not. But he's not one to make a show of what's going on within.

Like the lotus in murky waters, he is in the world but not of the world. The vicissitudes of life barely brush past him.  God must have broken the cast after creating him, for he's like no other person I've heard of or seen.  No wonder my respect for him goes up yet another notch, with every new incident. The beauty of silence is what I'm learning from him. 

To speak without a word

To convey without telling

To know without asking

To limit what he takes in.

That's him. That's him.

Let Live!

It was a beautiful, wet morning. Light showers, and a bit of sunshine filtering through. The lone yellow flower blooming in the pot of office plants brought a smile to my face and wiped out all the pent up irritation that I had carried along from home. I soaked in the beauty around for a while, and then got on with my routine.

That morning the poder (traditional Goan baker) who delivers fresh bread every morning didn’t turn up at the usual time. I waited, my ears preening for the familiar honk of his horn. It was nearly 7:30 when he finally turned up. I rushed through breakfast, nicked my finger in the bargain, while cutting fruit and rushed to work, angry with the poder for making me late for work. You can imagine how the rest of my day must have been!

Whenever we end up in tears or are steamed up, 99% of the time it is not because of someone else, though we may like to believe so or rather, firmly believe so. What really gets us worked up or worn down is when things don’t go the way we would like them to, people don’t behave the way we’d like them to.

The poder (baker) turned up late this morning and threw my schedule off track. Grrr! That poder…!

She didn’t even call me back! What nerve!

He didn’t even wish me on my birthday. Sigh…

I took so much trouble to decorate the living room. They didn’t say one good word about it. Sniff…

The poder, she, he, they… are responsible for making you feel angry and upset, right? Wrong. It’s not how others respond or fail to respond, the angry or sad emotion is a result of things not happening the way would want them to. And therein lies the problem: expectations.

When I expect people to be there at a time that I want them to, when I expect my phone calls to be returned, when I expect everyone to remember my birthday and wish me, when I expect people to notice and appreciate the work I’ve put in… therein lies the recipe for disaster. The antidote to this malady is a simple mantra: Live and let live. Don’t burden people around with your expectations. Everyone has a right to live the way they want to, as much as you and I do.

So, let’s live. And let live.

Ties That Bind & Gag

What must be the searing pain,

Of a child abandoned at birth,

Maybe at the hospital, or at an orphanage,

A dustbin, the roadside, dirty gutter or worse?

For no fault of the infant,

For reasons of gender, rape, poverty

Recklessness in love.

Or whatever reason unknown to us.

That question of ‘why’

Constantly jabbing at the heart

The dull pain stinging

The tears long dried up.

The glorious fables of parents

Familial bonding and sibling love

Sharp in contrast

To what gets doled out.

Holding on tight, suffocating free thought

Or far from near, bereft of warmth

The child struggling to be

Or pining for what’s not.

Family, parents

Ties that bind and gag

Too lose or too tight,

A disconcerting noose nonetheless.

Some hold on too long

Some let go too soon

The sweet spot of balance

Very few do choose.

The kite let loose

Goes with the wind

Dipping and rising

With no purpose or direction.

Held tight by the string

The kite pulls towards the open sky

Never having tasted freedom

It believes that’s life.

Loosen the strings

And watch from aside

Glow in the fact

That your child’s soaring high.

The child with no strings at all

The child held on too tight

Neither is better off

Unless allowed to fly free in the sky.

The Significance of Being Insignificant

Anu, my next door neighbour barged into my room, without even waiting for her knock on the door to be answered. Her face was flushed and she was ready to burst into tears. Plopping herself on my bed she waited for me to join her. Obviously something was terribly wrong somewhere and she was hurting. Taking her hand in mine, I asked softly, 'Is everything okay, Anu?'

'No! Nothing is okay!’ she burst out.

Anu was a middle school teacher in one of the most reputed private schools in Mumbai. An extremely innovative, hardworking and much liked teacher, she was recently appointed Section Head of the middle school. I waited for her to go on.

‘I have no idea why the school has appointed Section Heads at all! I tell you, the headmistress! Oof! Not a pin can be moved without her permission! Literally! If she is going to decide everything, why should we be given the charge of Section Heads? The Management decided to appoint Section Heads in order to reduce the load of responsibilities on her shoulders. But do you think she wants to let go? No way!’

'Even for something as mundane as assigning teachers for substitution, we have to take her permission! Can you beat that? Why should two people work on the same minor tasks? She might as well handle it herself and I can focus on my teaching instead of wasting my time and energy on job duplication.'

'My friend Shreya, who’s the Section Head of the senior school, was so upset today. The HM gave directions entirely contrary to what Shreya had assigned to the peons just yesterday. Imagine Shreya’s frustration. All her careful planning gone for a toss! Besides, the peons will not take her word seriously anymore. They know now that no matter what Shreya says, she’s not the final authority. How is Shreya supposed to function? How is any of us supposed to function?'

Be it in a business house, where the father does not let go of the reins for the children long after they have joined him in business, or the mother holding on to the house and kitchen long after her children have grown up and started their own families; be it heads of institutions who want to be the one taking even minor decisions, or project heads and directors who will keep every decision in their hands. That’s not all, we find even student representatives in colleges, team leaders, Heads of Departments, principals, class monitors in schools... just about in every position of authority and importance that the one in the hot seat, does not want to let go. Yes, kissa kursi ka takes place not only in politics, but in every nook of life. Age, gender, community and nationality are no bar.

The irony is, that the ‘oppressed’ in time take over to become the oppressor, forgetting completely what it felt like to be the one oppressed. In some cases, it is not forgotten, and the tenure becomes a time to get back. Alas, the one bearing the brunt now, is often not the one who caused the suffering to begin with. So who are we really taking revenge on? Often this ‘holding on’ is the cause of strife, stress and bitterness in what could otherwise have been healthy, happy relationships.

What exactly is the psychology behind this holding on and wanting to retain control? Fear of being insignificant? Fear of being forgotten? Lack of self-confidence? Greed? Selfishness? Attachment? The possibilities and explanations are many. The important thing is to be alert enough not to fall into that trap ourselves. Madonna’s song ‘to have and not to hold’ is a lovely reminder to begin every day with!

The only thing significant about our existence is our insignificance in the universe. Once this fact is internalised, and we live in awareness of our insignificance and dispensable existence, we can live free, enjoying everything we have, without being weighed down by our strong holds, and without getting in anyone’s way or stepping on anyone’s toes. 

Going Deep & Flying High

The highlight of the concrete jungle that is the buildings in our colony, is a huge almond tree, nearly the height of our five storey building. Home to many a creature, from squirrels to exquisite birds, the tree is a wealth of lilting music in the wee hours of the morning when its feathered residents cheerily herald a new day. That certainly beats the harsh beep of the finest alarm clock! While filtering life-giving sunlight into my patio, the foliage of the large green leaves shelter my bedroom from the scorching heat of the midday sun. The robust, lush green tree is my refuge, my quiet friend whenever I feel defeated by life.

During stormy monsoon weather, the tree sways menacingly, its leaves rustling and hustling, sending a shiver down my spine. Heavens forbid, if it falls, it will land straight on our building! In spite of the shadow of fear lurking, I love to watch the sight – the howling wind winding its way between the branches, tickling and shaking every leaf and fruit. It is as though the tree and the wind are deeply engrossed in an intelligent conversation on weighty topics of universal importance. I listen in, losing myself in the hushed sounds. Thoughts cease and time stands still. Effortless meditation is what is experienced.

One fine morning I woke up to the sound of hacking and falling of branches. Looking out of the window, my heart ached and I shed silent tears, for the once lustrous tree now stood bare, fruitless, leafless, stripped off its beauty.

My morning ritual of watching the tree and its various residents had ended. I just didn’t have the heart to open the windows in the mornings, because the sight of the sad, barren tree was heart wrenching... no chirping birds, no screeching squirrels…just solemn silence.

When I returned from vacation a week later, I dreaded looking out of the window at the thought of finding a miserable looking, barren tree trunk. But I was in for a pleasant surprise. Tiny green shoots were sprouting from a number of spots on the tree trunk. The splashes of bright green of the new tender leaves promised a new start, a new life.

I watched in wonder, smiling at the hope it signalled. Though it was stripped bare, denuded off every leaf and branch, it had come around and started afresh – because it was firmly, deeply rooted. Had its roots not gone deep, it would have given way and probably withered to death.

While it gave me renewed hope that I too could start afresh, it reminded me of the necessity of being rooted in one’s core values. That alone would help me withstand the crazy, unexpected storms of life and get back to my feet every time life served a hard blow. No wonder the Beatles sang, ‘The deeper you go, the higher you fly.’

Shine On Silver Girl

NOTE: Nothing in this blog is intended to represent anyone, alive or dead, and there is no offence meant to anyone. 

When I got to know that my cousin’s daughter had delivered a bonny baby, absolutely delighted I called her up. ‘Congratulations grandma!’

‘Eeeeks!’ she shrill, nearly making me deaf.

‘Don’t call me grandma! I am still young!’

‘Eh? But you have become a grandmother and that’s what the baby is eventually going to call you, right?’

‘No, no….she will call me tai (sister), like everyone else.’

‘But why?! Aaji (grandmother) is such an endearing term! I certainly want to be called aaji.’

‘No way! You are too young to be called aaji!’

‘For heaven’s sake, being called aaji is not going to change my age or yours!’

‘Still… aaji feels old’.

I gave up. How can being called something, change the reality of my age?

The other aversion is to being called uncle, aunt, or grandfather. All these are irrevocably considered synonymous with being old! No matter the age, there are those who still want to be called didi and tai (sister) or dada and bhaiyya (brother)!

I became a maushi (aunt) and was called the same at five, when my cousin delivered a baby. That same baby grew up and became a mother recently, making me a grandmother at 30. And what a joy it is to be called aaji (grandmother)! You have to experience it to know what I’m talking about.

Old and older are relative terms. For my 83 year old father, his 60 plus nieces and nephews are ‘girls and boys’, ‘children’. To me these same girls and boys, being my cousins, are young people. Of course, I am aware of their receding hairlines, grey hair and lined skin, yet, I perceive them as young.

It really doesn’t matter, whether we consider ourselves old or not. We definitely know what our age is. I watch the youthful exuberance and energetic chatter of my nieces and nephews, aged between 10 to 30 and it’s obvious I don’t belong to that age group.

Mention your age and pat comes the clichéd phrase meant to lighten the imagined burden of being old, ‘Age is in the mind! Don’t worry, you still look so young!’

We grow right from day one, beginning as a mono cellular organism; and grow in leaps and bounds in the first year of our life. There is no looking back ever, till our very last day on earth. Growing is a continuous, mandatory truth of life. Yet, we shy from accepting this brazen fact. From dyeing black the few hair on top of the bald pate, keeping long the only line of hair at the back of the otherwise bald head (which looks horrendous as the hair grows and the line of dyed hair moves down creating a line of black and silver)! Laser treatments and Botox injections to smoothen out the wrinkles, wearing youthful clothes that look out of sync with our very obviously ageing or aged body.  Seriously, who are we kidding? What is it that make us want to present ourselves as what we are not? Trying to look young, in no way changes the fact – our age, the degeneration of our body. It is natural, normal and inevitable.

There is also that pressure exerted on those who don’t. With obvious shock, grey haired people are often asked, ‘You don’t dye your hair? You will look old!’  A firm, loud ‘So?’ generally gets no answer.

It really doesn’t matter how old we look; what matters is how we look at life. A change in outlook can change the look of everything around us. Nothing can make us look as old as when we are desperately trying to look younger than we are. Today is the oldest we’ve ever been and the youngest we’ll ever be again. Knowing that, does it not make more sense to make the best of today instead of trying to live in yesterday?

Let's hold our head high and stride out confidently; it’s time to let the silver streak(s) shine!

The Significance of Being Insignificant

Anu, my next door neighbour barged into my room, without even waiting for her knock on the door to be answered. Her face was flushed and she was ready to burst into tears. Plopping herself on my bed she waited for me to join her. Obviously something was terribly wrong somewhere and she was hurting. Placing my hand on her hand, I softly asked, ‘Is everything okay, Anu?’

‘No! Nothing is okay!’ she burst out.

Anu was a middle school teacher in one of the most reputed private schools in Mumbai. An extremely innovative, hardworking  and much liked teacher, she was recently appointed Section Head of the middle school. I waited for her to go on.

‘I have no idea why the school has appointed Section Heads at all! I tell you, the headmistress! Oof! Not a pin can be moved without her permission! Literally! If she is going to decide everything, why should we be given the charge of Section Heads? The Management decided to appoint Section Heads in order to reduce the load of responsibilities on her shoulders. But do you think she wants to let go? No way!’

‘Even for something as mundane as assigning teachers for substitution, we have to take her permission! Can you beat that? Why should two people work on the same minor tasks? She might as well handle it herself and I can focus on my teaching instead of wasting my time and energy on job duplication.’

‘Shreya, the Section Head of the senior school was so upset today. The HM gave directions entirely contrary to what Shreya had assigned to the peons just yesterday. Imagine Shreya’s frustration. All her careful planning gone for a toss! Besides, the peons will not take her word seriously anymore. They know now that the real authority is the HM alone. How is Shreya supposed to function? How is any of us supposed to function?’

Be it in a business, where the father does not let go of the reins for the children, or the mother holding on to the house and kitchen long after her children are married. Be it heads of institutions who want to be the one taking even minor decisions, or project heads and directors who will keep every decision in their hands. That’s not all, we find even student representatives in colleges, team leaders, Heads of Departments, principals, class monitors in schools... just about in every position of authority and importance that the one in the hot seat, does not want to let go. Yes, kissa kursi ka takes place not only in politics, but in every nook of life. Age, gender, community and nationality are no bar.

The irony is, that the ‘oppressed’ in time take over to become the oppressor, forgetting completely what it felt like to be the one oppressed. In some cases, it is not forgotten, and the tenure becomes a time to get back. Alas, the one bearing the brunt now, is often not the one who caused the suffering to begin with. So who are we really taking revenge on? Often this ‘holding on’ is the cause of strife, stress and bitterness in what could otherwise have been healthy, happy relationships.

What exactly is the psychology behind this holding on and wanting to retain control? Fear of being insignificant? Fear of being forgotten? Lack of self-confidence? Greed? Selfishness? Attachment? The possibilities and explanations are many. The important thing is to be alert enough not to fall into that trap ourselves. Madonna’s song ‘to have and not to hold’ is one worth singing to ourselves every morning!

The only thing significant about our existence is our insignificance in the universe. Once this fact is internalised, and we live in awareness of our insignificance and indispensable existence, we can live free, enjoying everything we have, without being weighed down by our strong holds.

The Essentials of Being Essential

The parking area in our office building would put any driving test arena to shame. An area meant for eight cars, somehow accommodates anything from ten to fourteen cars of all shapes and sizes. Is it magic? No. It’s Ashok.

Ashok is the security guard. Ashok does not know to drive. Yet, without him, all of us drivers are on tenterhooks. It is probably his spacial skills, or imagination, or I don’t know what, but he guides even the worst amongst us to take the vehicle out, even in reverse, without as much as a scratch. You have to see the parking lot to understand what kind of a herculean task I’m talking about. Take a look at the photograph.

‘Cut marke…left se….haan haan…ab seedha…seedha…right se cut mariye….thoda…bas bas….ab seedha….’ and you are out safe and sound. When Ashok guides, the rear view mirrors become redundant. In fact, I would do it with my eyes closed. Except that I need to see the guiding gestures that Ashok makes. When driving under his directions, I keep my brain in ‘Follow Ashok’s Instructions’ mode, with no thinking of my own. That’s the kind of faith I have in his non-driving driving skills. Believe me, that’s what we all do.

But life is such that sometimes there are catastrophes – Ashok goes on long leave! A whole month without Ashok? I nearly give up driving and certainly give up driving in reverse out of the parking lot!

A simple man doing a regular security guards job which mainly involves opening and closing the gate. Yet, Ashok has mastered the skill of guiding drivers and making maximum use of the parking lot. This simple skill makes him essential, makes him wanted and indispensable for the smooth functioning of the parking lot and our peace of mind (no driving around in circles looking for parking). There are so many other guards who come and go as per their shift, but only Ashok has made an indelible mark in our minds and made himself essential to our daily survival.

How essential am I in this world? Which skill(s) have I mastered? Would it make a difference to anyone’s life if I disappeared on long leave? How many would be aghast at my absence? How many would miss me? Eh…I think I’d rather not have answers to these questions! Ignorance is bliss!

The Smell of Good Times

 

Ah! The whiff of freshly brewed coffee while lazing in bed.

Hmm…the aroma of oven fresh cake.

Oof! The stink of garbage as you cross the garbage dump.

Oh no! The odour of leaking gas!

The olfactory sense is not one that gets much attention. It may not even be considered an important one, in comparison to the rest. Yet, think about it…lack of the smelling sense could take the fragrance out of our lives, literally!

We can learn a lot by the smell of things, probably more than by the visual or textural experience. Smells allow us an experience – both pleasant and otherwise, before it becomes concrete and tangible. For e.g., a red-coloured powder could be anything. But a single sniff will warn you that it’s chilli powder, without having to suffer its sting on your tongue. Colourless toxic gases that have a smell can be sniffed out even by a layman, in the absence of scientific tools. It’s not uncommon to have people smell something burning, much before they spot the source.

Often, we are led by our nose to sniff out danger before we see or feel it. What a catastrophe it would be, if we couldn’t smell the gas leaking in our kitchen! Or the bread burning in the oven! Or… (eeew!) the queer smell of food gone bad before we take a bite! Recent research studies show that fear reactions can occur at the sensory level, even before the brain has had the opportunity to interpret that the odour could mean trouble. No wonder that the English language has an idiom, ‘to smell out danger’.

Let’s think of our childhood. Most of our memories are accompanied by a particular smell. My first thoughts are full of the light floral fragrance of my mum’s Yardley talcum powder as I rested my head on her shoulder, the Old Spice cologne when I snuggled up with my Dad, the peculiar comforting smell of my nanny, the smell of earth as we entered my mother’s village… Sigh… the sweet scent of memories. On the flip side, smells can bring back painful, fearful memories too! For instance, the smell of diesel fumes for a soldier or the smell of smoke for a burns victim. Would memories be as intense, in the absence of smells?

Kumar chetta, the cook at Chinmaya Heritage Centre in Chennai, knows just by the aroma, whether the coffee has enough sugar or not! Unbelievable but true! My favourite Aunt Rekha, was such a skilled cook, she could rattle out the ingredients of a dish with just a sniff. Knowing whether a dish is ready by the aroma is one thing, but to guess all the ingredients? Mind-blowing!

Observe shoppers in the marketplace. Many will sniff a fruit to know whether it is ready for consumption. My Dad knows the variety of a mango and its ripeness with a whiff. Now that’s one skill I have kind of developed by sniffing around with him! Does that mean this is a skill that can be refined with practice? Certainly. In the movie ‘The Hundred-Foot Journey’, it is interesting to watch how the protagonist’s mother trains him to cook, with much focus on the olfactory sense, more than any other.