Goodbye 2013 - And Thank You for all that You Taught Me!

I write this from my living room in Mumbai just a few days before the year winds down to its midnight hour. It is early evening and as the afterglow of daylight recedes from my window, I know that this will be my last blog of the year. I strive to give it some meaning, but reflection only draws me into a mental space that I have been trying to put behind me.

 

This year (actually a bit more than a year) will go down as probably one of the rougher one for us, both mentally and emotionally. For numerous reasons, some events planned and some unplanned, our lives took a few tortuous paths to twist in directions that we could not have foreseen.

 

But that is life is it not? It is always something from left field that hits you hardest. Your 'known' fears are never as fearsome when they are actually encountered - it is unknown waters that leave you scrabbling frantically for a buoy, trying desperately to get your bearings again.

 

All of this has of course meant a lot of change, and though there are many management books on how change is great - it is always good when it is driven by you and is happening to someone else. So our lives underwent quite a makeover – along the way forcing us to cross a few (mental) boundaries which in the past we would have at best skirted. What was vastly more difficult was to go through those times with equanimity and good cheer. To not let our day to day life get affected, nor let the disruptions pollute or stain our attitude and well-being, and most importantly affect the peace of mind of our extended families.

 

But this year has also been a good teacher! This year taught me that:-

 

A man is never too old to make mistakes (even the same ones).

I would have thought that my experience and exposure, age and maturity would mean that I would not make basic mistakes. But I learned that that is not true - we can still commit errors in judgment and in the reading of situations that can have dire consequences, if not managed properly.

 

The parable about the frog in hot water is ‘very’ true

We get comfortable and as the environment starts getting gradually more uncomfortable, we just adjust and adapt, instead of bailing out. We let inertia dictate our decisions, and when inertia is mixed with insecurity and fear, it becomes a potent Molotov cocktail for our self-confidence.

 

New fears often replace old ones.

Some of our fears are like old friends - they have been at our side since we can remember. And just like friends they can move or relocate. But then new ones come along to replace them. We all need a bit of insecurity and paranoia to keep us alive, to keep us sharp - but when fear walks in, it brings along its companions - paralysis and catatonia.

 

We have surprising powers of resilience

Despite all the slings and arrows that fate decides to cast in our direction, we somehow prevail. We always underestimate ours and our children's ability to cope and overcome.

 

Hope is definitely a stronger force than fear

Through the darkest hours it is our hope that keeps us going. We look forward to the clouds dispersing and the sun coming out again. We try and get some sense of scale and distance to the issues of the moment, acquire a different perspective - and in that process we thrust out our chins, straighten our shoulders to face what’s coming next. And as each person’s hope becomes the next person’s truth, the virtuous cycle of regeneration and revival is instigated.

 

Our Mental models are not permanent - they change

Just like our views, our likes and our dislikes, our paradigms keep changing. What held true last year does not seem as true in this, and what we felt extremely strongly about in the past seems rather mundane in the present.

 

Patience is a virtue precisely because it is rare

It is easy to ask someone to be patient. In most things I have felt that I am quite patient - I like taking the long term view. In fact, I almost always take the longer term outlook! But patience is a rapidly diminishing resource, when it is drawn upon day after day, hour after hour. And what at some point seemed like an infinite aquifer, in the cold light of day appears to be just a mirage, a shallow pool, a single draught from which would leave but a rapidly evaporating puddle.

 

There 'is' something as too much humility.

It is good to be humble - but only to an extent. Beyond a point you risk coloring yours and everyone else's view of yourself – more often than not to your detriment. We were given an ego for a reason - and that reason, I am sure was not to allow others to walk all over it. It is important in almost every sphere of life to learn to stand up and be counted, to let your voice be heard.

I have yet to fully grasp, that a lack of humility does not automatically mean an excess of arrogance!

 

And lastly:

 

We must learn to drum our own drums, lest they get lost in the din created by others.

I so often come across people who seem to be blowing their own proverbial trumpet. It is a practice that ensures that people’s perceptions of oneself are crafted by the individual to suit his own image, rather than leave it to the vagaries of reality. Whether it is to do with the quality of their cooking, their sporting prowess, or the capriciousness of fate to have left the world’s problems onto their shoulders, such people project an embellished sense of achievement, heroism or martyrdom. Our drums have been muted and muffled for so long that the cadence is lost and the metronome of our life has taken on the consistency of an athlete’s heartbeat at rest. We need to take them out of the attic and start banging on them, to relearn the art of pounding an exciting beat to our lives.

 

So we end the year by putting what is past behind us. We drop the bags that we have been holding and start to walk into the New Year - and as our perspective shifts their size diminishes and we wonder what all the fuss was about!

 

As always it is only important that - All's well that ends well!

Toys For Us

Sometimes the findings of a survey are funny, sometimes informative – but often times they are absurd. Like the results of one I heard on the radio a while ago, which found that a vast majority of parents think that the toys they grew up with, were better than the toys their children play with now.

 

This statement hit me like a freight train - as if someone had just published the result of a survey which found that most people believed that the world was flat! It was ludicrous and complete nonsense! Unless the respondents all grew up in a secret NASA facility with access to an advanced arsenal of toys, I cannot see how they can agree with such a statement!!

 

Being a father of two I have always envied my children their toys. Every time we bought any for them - the first thought would be my fervent wish that I had the same while growing up.

 

If your memory needs a bit of a jolt - let me list some of the toys we grew up and played with:

Heavily chipped and taped cricket bats, 

Wooden badminton rackets that would warp if not kept in their brackets,

Odd assortment of balls,

Marbles,

A table tennis paddle,

Plastic guns, and

Tops (when was the last time you saw a kid play with a top?).

 

We used to make or create our own figurines or weapons from the assortment of materials (sticks, branches, strings etc.) available, which were given life-to by only our imagination. Our eyes would scour the grounds for twigs that resembled knives, guns or slingshots, and if we chanced on one, it would be tucked into the waistband of our trousers for the next few days.

 

Most of us had never set foot on a tennis or squash court.

 

If we were lucky, and our parents could afford it, we had steel wheeled roller skates that jarred you to your bones, or an overused bicycle with a twisted handle that one had to tilt to one side if one desired to go straight. 

 

Oh, and hardly anyone I knew had 'all' of the above. Most of these were shared by friends, as and when needed - which meant that any disagreement resulted in a ban from accessing these precious resources.

 

And we have the gumption to compare those to skateboards, geared mountain bikes, PS3's and Xboxes? What a laugh! Even professional sportspeople of our day were not kitted out the way an average middle class kid is kitted out now. See the way a five year old comes to the football pitch on their very first day - branded t-shirt, matching shorts, and football shoes with shin pads thrown in. See the same kid on a bicycle and you would think they were training for the Olympics - with helmet, elbow and knee pads, on a bicycle that has more features than a car.

 

Come on! Let us give credit where it is due.

 

The toys our children grew up with are so much better than the ones we had, that any comparison is not only unfair, but insulting. Any of us would have given our left arm and a leg for a small fraction of the toys that kids now have and take for granted. Forget that - we would probably have fought to the death for any one of their discards.

 

If you are however talking about the amount of 'fun' we had - then we have an argument. If you feel that the adventures of climbing and falling off trees with friends was more fun than killing your friends' avatar in an online gaming portal – that then is a thought we can debate about.

 

If you believe that hanging out with friends on the roof of a dilapidated building waiting for your clothes to dry after a sudden squall, is better than exchanging Selfies on Snap-Chat - then you have me nodding in agreement.

 

If you vehemently feel that hanging out and laughing over shared memories with pals over tea at a roadside canteen, is better than exchanging LOL’s over BB Messenger - I absolutely agree.   

However now we are changing tack and talking about the communal interface that our toys (or actually their lack of) enabled. We are on a totally different subject altogether. We had no option but to create games that enabled social interactions and in so doing enhanced our enjoyment. The entire fabric of our childhood existence was created around this vacuum of options for individual entertainment. The only thing worse than being a wimp (or a nerd) was being alone.

 

But our TOYS being better?? Come on!!  

Generation Battles

Last week I took my daughter to see Enders Game - a sci-fi movie. Neither of us really expected much from it but it was either that or tag along with my sister who wanted to shop in the Mall. And she is a serious shopper!! The choice hence was pretty obvious!

Anyway the movie turned out to be 'much' better than expected and I really enjoyed it. But ‘my’ enjoyment paled into insignificance compared to my daughters’. Just after the movie started I glanced towards her to see if she was enjoying it as well - and she was loving it! I could make out that she was completely enraptured in the story as it unfolded. So enthralled was she that towards the end of the movie, in her excitement, she kept squirming and edging to the front of her seat, not aware of the possible danger of falling off her seat.

As we were walking out of the theater she turned in my direction and told me - Dad this is my favorite film of all time! I replied - Really ? Just a while ago you said that “Now You See Me’ was your favorite. And she said – Yes Dad! At the time it was, but now it is definitely "Enders Game".

I laughed and thought how typical this was of her and her age! Every new song she hears is the 'best ever'. She is tripping and falling into 'crushes' every week - and gushes with enthusiasm for every one of them. If asked she will have a definite answer for her favorite - song, book, movie, actor, author, singer, food, TV series, etc. All of these will change the very next day (as a new one comes along) but at "that" particular point in time it is so definitely the one.

The problem occurs however when she asks me in turn, to name 'my' favorites! I find it difficult, as there are none or in actuality - just too many! I would tell her that. I would tell her I have too many to name and then when she presses me I would reel out a few names. But even when I do answer - it would be something or someone from my time (which is eons ago in her timeline) and with a lack of enthusiasm that is evident. She just cannot understand how I could be so off-hand about my favorite things. Her entire reason for existence is her favorite things! When she talks of those, her eyes light up, her face beams and her entire body gets animated.   

Don't you find it strange (and also endearing) that youngsters love every new thing - be it movies, songs, fashion or idols - while we look backwards? If pressed, I would name artists and authors from the Eighties and I am sure that my father, if asked, would say his favorite artist is Johann Strauss and author is Shakespeare - both of whom have been dead for the better part of a few centuries.

Youngsters truly live in the now! Everything exciting is happening 'now' and all that is past is well - passé! Every day is fresh and new and electrifying. They cannot wait to fall in love with the next new thing, get keyed-up about the next break-out artist of the future.

But as we get older we get jaded and the enthusiasm is leached out of us. We get fixated in our views! We link songs, artists and authors to critical points in our lives. The passions, tribulations and emotions associated with those times get overlaid and superimposed onto those albums, artists and books, forevermore becoming our benchmarks. As we get older those points get anchored into our timeline, eternally coloring our opinions and views. As our egos grow and calcify and we fall into a torpor of mental and emotional laziness, our likes and dislikes get frozen. Beyond this point, we pour cold water over any new influences, to submerge them in skepticism and cynicism.   

So when my daughter gushes about One Direction, I wax lyrical about the Beatles. When she talks about J K Rowling, I throw Tolkein into the mix. Instead of fanning the flames of her fervor, I douse them by contrasting her idols with luminaries from another day. And as I list for her the great artists, authors, scientists and idols of my time and go through a litany of their contribution to humanity, I see a bit of that fire in her eyes die. Since she does not have the knowledge or the ability to refute my opinion, her ardour cools. 

Why do I do this?


Maybe it is the fear of being inundated by the tidal wave of new technology and the sheer magnitude of talent that has been unleashed by it. It could also be the dread of losing 'my' generation's voice in the cacophony of superlative ability manifest in the current one. But most of all is this insidious thought in my head, telling me that if we do not battle to stake our claim with this fickle generation, there will be no one to sing our songs.   

I think that each of us wants to give meaning to our lives - if not through our own, then through our generations’ contribution to humanity’s progress. And we want to leave our stamp! We want to tell succeeding generations that our lives counted for something - that we were part of a unique tribe and that our collective roles were too substantial to be lost in a flash.


But in so doing we also risk stalling the very engine that drives our progress – the next generation’s passion and their sense of self-pride!

Talk about the cost of living in the past!!

A Tale of Two Dirhams

Well this is another one for my diary - and more in the sense of feeling quite stupid after the event. This happened a few weeks before our trip to the US and my ears still burn when I think about it.

We were in town (my favorite part of it) running our errands - one of which was to exchange a rather large sum of Dirhams to US Dollars, for our forthcoming trip. Normally I would not carry a large amount of US Dollars in cash, but since we were going to drop our son off, I was aware that there might be a requirement for Dollars in Cash to open Bank accounts, University costs, etc.

The Dirham has been pegged to the US Dollar for ages and hence I was not expecting the rate differential between exchange houses to be much. However, considering the amount I wanted to exchange, I felt logically, that even a slight variation could add up to a reasonable amount.

I also wanted to show my financial savvy and prove a point to my wife about the value of money. As you can see this value for money is a 'big' thing for me! Anyway that day I made her roam around with me from one exchange house to the other, to compare the rates being offered. Mind you this was at midday in August - the hottest month of the year and soon her temper and patience were fraying at the edges. After having gone to three of these shops I think that she had had enough. But I persevered, and told her that there was ‘one’ more I wanted to go to. A friend used this particular exchange house frequently for money transfers and claimed that it offered the best rate.

It was a very small shop and there were no other customers when we entered. So when I enquired about the rate, all four staff behind the counters latched into our conversation. To my surprise the rate was higher than what we had been offered, so we turned to leave. As we were about to exit, the manager walked across and asked why we were leaving. I told him I was not getting the rate I wanted, and he asked me as to how many US Dollars I wanted to buy. On hearing the amount he asked his staff what rate they had offered me and immediately gave me a better rate. However that still did not match the best that I had been quoted.  

On telling him that - he asked me what rate I was expecting, and when I told him - in the blink of an eye, literally in the blink of an eye, he replied - "But sir that only makes a difference of Two Dirhams. We want your business sir and the two dirhams should not make a huge difference to you". 

Now my calculation skills were obviously no match for his, (remember that we are talking about numbers going into four digits after the decimal) so to stall for time as my rusty brain tried to figure out how much this two dirham difference would actually amount to, I replied rather pompously that 'it makes a difference to me'. He could not believe his ears and "in retrospect' I am sure all the staff were as surprised at this comment from rather well-heeled customers.  

"But sir, it is only two Dirhams" - was his response.

When I countered (rather sanctimoniously) that I was happier with the rate I was getting at the other place, he just shook his head and told us that he had offered the best he could and it was our wish what we wanted to do.

So we walked out (me in a huff) and I turned to my wife and said "Babes let us go back to the place that gave us the best rate. I know it is quite a walk in this heat but when we total up this difference over the entire amount we want to exchange - I am sure we will be able to buy a pair of shoes or something".  I thought the difference of two dirhams was per Hundred Dirhams or Dollars or something, and that overall it would add up to a decent amount. She grudgingly agreed to the traipse back - on financial issues my wife puts a lot of faith in me.

 

To show her my savvy, while on the street and in the sun, I asked her to take out her iPhone and calculate the amount that we had saved. I started to dictate to her the numbers so that she would calculate the amount for herself and forever be in awe of my prudence. As she finished inputting the numbers, I asked her - "So what does the difference amount to? She was gazing into the iPhone and with a frown on her face replied - "Two dirhams"! I naturally thought that she had made a mistake in feeding in the numbers but despite repeated efforts to recalculate (the last one by myself) - this magic number did not change.

Seeing the sheepish look on my face my wife could contain herself no longer and burst out into peels of laughter, rubbing salt into my wounds. She insisted that we go back to that shop and exchange our currency, but my bruised man ego could not consider that. In retrospect I think it was the speed of response that threw me off - I just could not believe that, in this age of computers and calculators someone or anyone actually, could calculate that fast mentally. Yes - it was his fault - had he taken his time to respond I might have actually transacted with him.  

Anyway abashed and cowed down we plodded back to the shop with the best offer and saved ........... TWO DIRHAMS. Forget new shoes - I could not even get my shoes shined in that amount. And so I drowned my embarrassment in a cup of saada chai (roadside tea) - blowing up half my savings in the bargain! 

To my Son on leaving for University

My Dear Son,

 

So the day has finally come!

 

For more than two years now we have spoken about you leaving for University – deliberated, discussed and argued about it. We have talked about education’s value, where you should go and how you should go. In all those talks I sought to test your resolve, manage your expectations, as well as push you to work hard for what you wanted. Well – you did it! You made up your mind and you achieved what you wanted.   

 

In my heart of hearts I always hoped that this day would be slow in its dawning. However I blinked; years streaked by; and now the day is upon us - and so here we are with our bags packed, our thoughts a flutter and our emotions scattered.

 

And as you stand poised to step over the threshold of our door, I think back on those discussions and hope that they remain with you always. You have endured many lectures and heard many things that were probably distasteful, but true. All those talks had one and only one purpose, and that was to prepare you for your life henceforth. My fervent desire has always been for them and the values that they expounded, to be my true legacy. To serve as a moral compass as and when you face the various quandaries that lie ahead.

 

Your mother and I have been preparing for this day (mentally and emotionally) for months, though the scars left by its passing will take years to heal. It is difficult for us to grasp how the infant boy that we brought into our house just yesterday, could be leaving it as a man today.  

 

Your life is now going to accelerate, just as ours is slipping more into cruise control. Our day has seen the sun pass its zenith, just as you see it rising over your horizon. I do not say this with sorrow or regret, because I believe that it is futile to rail against the natural order of life. It is as it should be! In this great journey called life, the baton is passed by each generation to the next to take forward. But as you stand here today preparing to leave home, I keep wondering whether I have armed you with all the knowledge, tools and skills that you will require, to not only survive, but prosper in your life.

 

And I worry that I have failed in that task - that you have yet a lot left to be learned.

 

I worry that you will leave without being adequately prepared to face what lies ahead. I worry about you being too young and too inexperienced. I stress about the fact that I might have been too soft and made you dependent, until I worry that I may have been too hard and dented your self- confidence. But on further thought, I realize that no amount of preparation, discussion or time will ever be enough in my eyes.

 

Forgive my constant obsession with what you do and how you do it. As you would (rightly) have noticed that has only increased as the day dawns near. You see my son - a father is a father forever, and your age, wisdom and maturity has no relationship to my feelings of responsibility. The hatchling may leave the nest but for a parent, their love and responsibility is perennial.

 

I have persevered to have you face the world with clear eyes and a spring in your step. I absolutely desire that you make a huge success of it, but at the same time hope that you remain grounded with the values ingrained. I want you to experience life in its entirety, and though I absolutely wish that no ill befalls you, I also know that life's journey will entail its (occasional) presence. It is important that you maintain your decency and character at those times. You will learn from that experience, but more importantly will learn a heck of a lot about yourself.

 

Remember that your greatest asset is your mind. Keep it sharp! To keep it sharp however you will need to exercise it. There is only one way to do that - and that is by developing a discipline of probing curiosity and a habit of questioning everything. Begin with your own motives, desires and objectives. Acceptance without debate, without due process will only make the mind dull. Surround yourself with friends whose values are aligned - though their views, passions and opinions may vary vastly with yours. Avoid ignorance, dogma and stupidity. 

 

Even if, it seems to you that, all around you have lost their way, stay true on the road to knowledge and enlightenment. Keep reading – that is the single best way I have known to have intimate conversations with great minds.

 

Even if at times you feel you are the only candle in a darkening world, let your flame persist.

 

 

Take care of your body. It is the only vehicle that truly matters - all others can be bought, discarded and upgraded.

 

Distance and time will insert its insidious presence between us, and we will retract more and more into the shadows of your life. But that does not mean that our support or pride will falter. We ‘will’ use the excuse of our love, to either transgress into areas that you might want to keep private, or influence and change views that you might want to retain. This line between acceptability and non-acceptability will be drawn, erased and redrawn many times. But it is for 'you' to draw this line where it fits best for 'you', try as we may to transgress the same. Remember that to draw this line is your right, but never forget to forgive us our foolishness in trying to cross it.

 

I wanted to leave you with a few thoughts picked up along my own journey:

 

 

Education is what remains when all you have learnt is forgotten.

Enriching your character is more important than enriching yourself.

A positive mindset attracts a positive life.

Pursuit of wealth is good, but pursuit of happiness is better.

Live your life debt free as far as possible and do not live off the obligations of others.

(Some debts just get too heavy to ever repay.)

Do not let too many be your judge, nor stand on judgment yourself.

Start saving early and avoid the trap of consumerism.

Stay true to your values and principles, do not piggy back on others’.

Learn to manage your Ego - if not controlled it will become your worst enemy.

Remember that you will be the sum total of your experiences - not the sum total of your Bank accounts.

 

And know that we love you. Even with the physical distance between us - our love and support is just a footstep behind you.

 

At the end of it all a father can only wish! And hence I wish for you a great life, I wish that you are surrounded by friends who love you, that every dream of yours gets fulfilled and every desire granted. I wish that music continues to play as big a part in your life as it has done so far, and that happiness dogs your footsteps till the end of time.

 

But most of all I wish for you an abundance of health and happiness and for your life to be blessed with a wife and children like mine!

 

 

Dad

 

 

 

P.S. Remember - The future you see is the future you get. (Robert Allen) 

HBR, The Economist and other such Rags

I was clearing up old office files last week when I chanced upon one which I had titled "Interesting Articles". Inside were photocopied articles from the 1990's with the first being from an old issue of HBR. If you do not know what that stands for - do not worry - it is an acronym for Harvard Business Review. A must read publication for any executive worth his salt!

Skimming through the articles (and the handwritten notes in the margins) brought back memories of my early career and the hoops I had to jump through to fit in. I saw articles that harked from the pre-internet era, when my employers used to subscribe to magazines. My desk used to be adorned by HBR, The Economist, and Fortune, with a few company brochures thrown in for good measure. It made me look and feel learned and important. Someone to be taken seriously! (A Finance guy needs to be taken seriously).

As a member of the Indian Institute of Chartered Accountants I used to get "The Chartered Accountant" as well. That particular publication used to be relegated to the dustbin immediately, along with spam mail and other bills. One earned no kudos for being seen with an issue of that journal on one’s desk. Being an Indian publication it held nothing of interest for any of the Western Expatriate Managers.

Anyway, I used to find most of them as desiccated as the Empty Quarter and as interesting as watching paint dry.

In the days before the Internet explosion "brownnosers" were required to photocopy "interesting" articles and circulate them to bosses and colleagues. At the same time one was not expected to be seen reading them at one's desk - thereby creating quite a conundrum for me at least. I would rather die than have these as bedside reading. So I used to pick up magazines at random, glance through them for some arcane article and photocopy it. I would then proceed within 5 minutes to highlight the most technical paragraphs with comments and annotations like - "can we do this?"; "very useful"; or "interesting take on conventional doctrine" and then forward for circulation, with my regards.

If my initials were mentioned in any such circulation by a colleague, I would be required to read it and I would then avenge myself by taking the most obscure and dry article I could find and circulate it with a comment like - AVG (initials of that colleague) what do you think? or AVG should try and implement. Then it would be his turn to read the article, understand its implications and then refute its applicability. I used to get quite a buzz if my boss happened to like an article that I had circulated (unread) and forward it onwards and upwards. It was free credit and made my day (I know - quite sad!!).  

Of course I was not at liberty (at that time) to state my real views on this practice, and like many other such games, I continued to play ball till it died a natural death.

Talking about magazine articles, one time we had a CEO whose abiding passion was IT and Computer Technology. He used to diligently go through every PC magazine available. In those days the Corporate IT Manager used to sit next to me, in an open plan office, and his passion for the subject was obviously much less. The CEO used to make it a habit first thing in the morning, to walk across and discuss the complexities and possible applications of what he had read the previous night. I think that used to be the highlight of his otherwise arduous day!

Clearly he expected the IT Manager to have read the same and be more informed, if not equally enraptured, entranced and excited. I would shamelessly turn my chair around to listen in and once in a while add my two bits to the gobbledygook. It used to be fun seeing the IT Manager squirm and try desperately to deflect questions without appearing a complete ignoramus. When this became too much, I started to give him a heads-up whenever I saw the CEO walking over - he could then scoot away to the pantry or the toilet. This changed once he had a EUREKA moment and learned the trick of sequestering the magazines 'before' they hit the CEO's desk.

Glancing through some of those old articles I realized how dated they read and how incorrect even experts could get (e.g. one article listed twenty companies to invest in over the next 10 years of which three went bankrupt and were liquidated years ago).

I remembered how proudly I used to drop names of Fortune 500 Companies and their CEO’s, how adept I was at remembering Revenues and Compensation - and I just laugh at my immaturity. With what passion I used to discuss and debate their strategies, approach and successes. How confidently I used to be able to predict the future of Corporations and their share prices based on past performance - till the year 2008 when all predictions, the Sages as well as mine, were blown into the wind.    

So now when I see someone reading business magazines I just give a rueful smile to myself. Pre-internet the pace of change was slow - now the world and the environment are changing at an increasing pace. Most of what they are reading will be irrelevant, if not forgotten tomorrow. Add to that the fact that we remember little of what we read, due to the sheer deluge of information, and I feel even more that it justifies the case to read only for pleasure.

But it is not that easy - is it?

 

For Yuppies and career minded people, peer pressure will dictate what and when they read. If you genuinely love to read about the latest developments in "Key Performance Indicators of Supply Chain Retail" or get a buzz out of perusing "Promotional Mix of Insurance Products" go ahead - make your day. If your bread is buttered by reading about the "Art of Irrestible Emails" or in understanding 'The perils of Being a Social Media Holdout", then gorge on. If your livelihood depends on your familiarity with such works of art, then my sympathies (and understanding) are with you. But if not, then it would be quite a shame to persist would it not? It is akin to having a miracle pill that one can take to negate "all" the ill effects of gastronomic overindulgence - and still insisting on eating boiled vegetables and salads!

 

Anyway I will stick to feasting on the erudition of the Stephen King's and the Isaac Asimov's, the Ayn Rand's and the Peter Hamiltons! 

Fact or Fiction

My son after reading the draft of this month’s blogs asked me how I expected anyone to believe, that what I wrote in them actually transpired. Even the previous one with the milkshake was suspect. His tone seemed almost accusatory - as if to say that the incidents seemed fabricated. Thankfully my wife could corroborate one instance, as she was with me when it happened.

At the time I shrugged off his observation - for two reasons:

- Firstly because I could not consider that you would think that I lie, and

- Secondly because none of you would expect me to be imaginative enough to 'invent' such incidents.

However the statement still made me pause to think.

In Dubai the battle for survival is most widely fought in places like Bur Dubai, Karama and Satwa. And consequently life teems and heaves there, as opposed to the sedate and cultured pace in the swankier Hotels and Malls.

On the streets the density of people and shops, the amount of services on offer, goods on sale, the restaurants and the eateries are like rocks amongst rapids - surrounded and sometimes inundated by the eddy's and currents of life. A morning spent in these places can be quite revealing - but that is only if one is willing to stand and observe. To observe one needs to keep their eyes and ears open, be willing to ask questions and get into conversations with strangers.

However the observation powers of most people are now severely diminished. Whether it is in the gym or on the streets, alone or in company, one has gotten used to seeing people with headphones blaring music and their eyes glued to their mobile devices. Portable technology is creating a barrier between the digital and the real world and the younger generation especially, is living more in the former. With huge headphones and even bigger mobiles they have cut themselves off from the world.

The probability of seeing someone with headphones on, increases exponentially if they are alone. It is now a security blanket - a safety bubble to avoid interaction. It is extremely cool to be dressed in jeans that constantly threaten to slip down to your ankle, a hoodie, mirrored sunglasses and headphones wrapped around your ears. It indicates that you are too cool for this world and that you are just not interested in any of it!

Forget about when one is alone - how many times have we seen a gaggle of teenagers, together yet apart, typing intently into their own devices. No wonder then, that life passes them by with connectivity to neither their surroundings nor the people. The everyday sights and sounds are lost between the music and the screen.

So my answer to my son is that since I tend to gravitate more to the parts of town mentioned above 'and' I do not wear headphones outside the house 'and' I like to get into conversations with strangers - I seem to find myself tripping more into such situations.

What do you think?

Even a Friend is not this Familiar

I had read some time ago that Indians (I think we can infer Sub-Continentals here) can get extremely familiar without being friendly - and two recent incidents highlighted exactly what that meant.

The Cobbler

You know by now that I am not a DIY person and this extends to polishing my shoes as well. In the past I used Kiwi roll-on polishes, which though very convenient, ruined the leather on my shoes rather rapidly. Hence over the last few years I have started to take my leather shoes into town, to get them polished by a cobbler. They do it the old fashioned way, do it much better AND my shoes last longer as well.

I used to frequent this Afghani cobbler who was irritating and funny at the same time. If I forgot to fix the price with him before he started his work, it would land up in a haggling contest. He would insist on charging me four times the asking rate, stating that he used special polish and extra effort. I would never pay him that of course, but I would get dragged into a conversation that I would rather not get into and often resulted in me paying him more, especially if I did not have the exact change. Anyway, tired of this uncertainty I found another cobbler of similar origin but pleasanter demeanor, who I have been going to for a year or so.

That is the background on the artisan. Now the shoes!

I had bought a pair of rather expensive leather moccasins years ago - but every time I tried to wear them - I would get the most terrible chaffing on the skin near my Achilles tendon. Hence they have been lying unused and forgotten until I chanced to see them a month ago. It pains me when I cannot use something I have bought - and it dawned on me that I should take them to the cobbler and see if he could treat and soften them or something. So the next time I went to the cobber I took them along.

When I explained my problem to the cobbler, he took a look at my shoes, felt them around the area that used to chaff and then put one on his anvil and started hammering the s**t out of it. He explained that that softens the leather, though both my wife and I were aghast at the treatment being meted out to these expensive shoes. After going at it with both of them, he does something that I can't forget. He gets up, takes off his slippers, puts MY shoes on and then walks around in them. HE IS WEARING MY SHOES AND WALKING AROUND ON THE STREET!  Picture a man in a Pathan Suit walking around in black ECCO moccasins in Bur Dubai! My wife and I could only look at each other - completely horrified.

With complete insouciance, he then took them off and handed them back to me, saying that they should now be alright. He added that if for some reason they still chaffed, to bring them back to him. AS IF!!!

I have still not ventured to try them on and see if his remedy worked.

The Barber.

An even more interesting episode was with a barber that we (my son and I) had been frequenting - again in Bur Dubai. By the way, this was my way of teaching my son the value of money - going to the cheapest barbers for a haircut. The horror stories with my son's haircuts will be for another blog. No wonder that he hates a haircut as much as I do!

Anyway I was alone that time and being in the vicinity I thought I might as well get a trim. My hair was well past the time when it required one as I had been postponing the cut too long.

I entered the saloon and as my regular guy was busy, a young gun attended to me. Normally after finishing with the haircut comes the most horrendous part - when they spray your face with water and use a smelly old towel to wipe your face dry. I absolutely insist on them using tissues, but sometimes if I am not quick enough, with my eyes still closed from the sprayed water, the towel comes into play. It is whipped up and around you in such a manner that it encapsulates your face completely. My normal instinct is to hold my breath when the water is sprayed on to my face, so I am completely out of breath by the time the towel appears. That situation leaves me with no choice but to take a deep breath while still being smothered in it. The smelly residue of that experience stays in my olfactory memory long after I have left the establishment.

This time I was quick and I stopped him just before the towel made contact with my face. After dabbing me with tissues, he looked at my face and then asked gently if I would like my eyebrows trimmed. I still had the obligatory head and shoulder massage coming up, so I thought to myself - why not. This is awful nice of the guy - I told myself! My eyebrows have an independent disposition, with each hair even more free spirited. After a few months it is difficult to discipline them as they start straying in all directions. 

So I said yes and relaxed back into the seat as the massage began. Soon the thrum of the generator strapped on to his wrist lulled me and I was completely relaxed by the time it was my eyebrows' turn. In this languid state I shut my eyes as he brought the scissors up to snip away. I could feel him snipping away gently and relaxed even further back in the seat.

Suddenly I felt my nose being pushed and thrust up by his thumb and before I can even think "hold it" he has inserted a scissor up my nose and is busy snipping away in the inner recesses of my nostril. He had apparently taken a unilateral decision to prune my nose-hair as well - a treatment that was neither agreed on nor appreciated. It was a gross violation of my personal space. As I opened my eyes to see what the heck was going on, I noticed that he was using the 'same' scissors! If this was part and parcel of their customer value proposition - God alone knew where the scissor had been before it touched my hair. I was completely paralyzed with shock as he finished with one and descended into the second nostril.

That day all other errands were forgotten as I rushed home to deep cleanse my hair, my scalp and every other part of my body!

The Conclusion

I still frequent the same cobbler, though now having 'literally' walked in my shoes, he feels like we are old pals. He never forgets to ask about the well-being of my moccasins (as if they were distant relatives).

I never returned to the barber shop, though I generally wave to them when I am passing by and they happen to see me.