Is the child truly the father of the man?

Life has a way of passing you by. A few years ago when my son was leaving for University, we felt the approach of that day like a storm cloud on the horizon. There was a mixture of fear and fascination, dread and excitement, sadness and serendipity!

My rampant emotions at the time and my sorry attempts at sage advice, are posted on my creatively titled blog - "To my son on leaving for University"

However, after that point, in the spate of a year or so, my wife and my daughter, both decided to pursue interests away from home in Dubai. Granted that neither left it permanently and did come back frequently. But for long periods of time the house was empty and my life had been upended without my even realizing it. I had become a typical Gulf summer bachelor - only thing was that it was not summer!

Children

Going to University is a natural transition in life and one grows into anticipating it. 

But my daughters move to Boarding school was completely unexpected. It came as swiftly as a Tsunami, and left behind an emotional detritus on a similar scale. It seemed to me, that one day we were talking about life in her school in Dubai and in the next instant, through some magic of teleportation and time travel we were talking about her life in Ooty. When did this happen? How did this happen?

When did this sprite of a girl, with a gap toothed smile and hugs that would melt my heart, grow up and take a decision to move? When did she grow from not being able to make up her mind on which candy to buy at Candelicious to being certain about moving countries to change school? How does one transition this process so easily and quickly? Maybe it is youth which provides one with such resilience and flexibility or maybe it is just innate in the individual.

I am not talking about acceptance when the choice is stripped away from you, which I think is a trait and strength that all humans have. When your decision fork is not a fork at all and is in fact a fait accompli, then it is easier! You make the decision - take the consequences on the chin and move on.

But here I am talking about making choices that have more or less have an equal gain or loss on each side! To take the call under such situations and then move on blithely, requires strength of purpose and character.

Both children have been extremely decisive about the big steps they have taken and then moved ahead with fortitude. 

Not all decisions turn out the way we anticipate nor is life always going to be very forgiving with our missteps - but that should not deter one from making decisions - or that is at least what I have always propounded.  

And to be honest, have found extremely difficult to follow!

Spouse

But if I blame the ignorance (or exuberance) of youth on my children, what about my wife? She left a safe and steady job (which she loved) to start a new life, just on a belief that her life was worth more than working behind a desk - no matter how comfortable that environment was. And she did it at an age when ones ambitions have been incinerated by the petty, but unending fires, of daily travails and well meaning but negative advice.

She bore the brunt of separation from her family and her home and moved to a City where she had no history. And all of this on a dream and a prayer. That decision for sure left me scratching my head.

Myself

I do not have a lot of clarity in my desires and hence decision making is not my cup of tea! I tend to dither and vacillate between decisions and can go to sleep thinking North and wake up the next morning wanting South. I somehow presumed that everyone is like that to some extent and so get surprised when others exhibit clarity of thought.

The problem has been that I have always compared myself to my children - in terms of values, emotional and mental maturity, desires and life plans. Unfortunately I have always under-estimated them. I have compared them to myself at a similar point in life - and have always cut them short.

In reality there is no comparison!  

Insects - those creepy crawlies

I recently heard a Radio Jockey recount his experience about creatures travelling from foreign lands. This particular RJ was returning from a trip to Sri Lanka and as he was waiting to check in, he saw this absolutely ginormous cockroach get into the bag of a passenger ahead of him. Now he was faced with a quandary as to whether to warn the passenger or to keep mum. He chose the latter (probably out of discretion) and was then voicing, the imagined shock that man would get when he opened his bag on reaching his destination. His objective was to ask us, his listeners, as to whether we had had a similar experience and what we would do in his situation.

As he was talking I realized that in Dubai we do not come much into contact with insects. Life here is much more antiseptic, as most houses are sealed from the elements for a large part of the year. We did have a recent incident with a lizard in the house, but that I will leave for another time.

Growing up however, we were surrounded by flies, bugs, roaches, grasshoppers, dragon flies, you name it, as we had a lot of greenery around. Our houses were open all through the day and night and hence would have to be deloused on regular intervals to get rid of pests. It was not uncommon to move a kitchen cabinet to find roaches skittering for cover. And hence with this proximity also came a certain familiarity, though never a sense of acceptance.

Anyway talking about insects reminded me of two seminal incidents in my life.

First Incident

The first incident was a long time ago during my Chartered Accountancy (CA) Final Examinations. These are high pressure professional exams for which one studied and trained for months and years with a very low pass percentage. I was in the midst of these exams and on exam days I would go to bed early (as always) but get up pre-dawn to revise for that days paper. Since it would still be dark and so as not to disturb the rest of my family, I used to study on the dining table in the living room. I would get up at 04.30 am, make myself a cup of tea and then settle down with my books. This was crucial study time, as I was rested from a good nights sleep and my brain was fresh.

We had a lamp on the dining table, by the light of which I would study. The lamp's base was a statue of a lady with the bulb being held up in her hand - something like the Statue of Liberty, with a rotating on/off switch at the base of the bulb holder. That day I turned the lamp on, opened my books and sat down to read. As I was turning the pages, I thought I saw the light flicker and looked up. There were two absolutely huge grasshoppers, sitting on the lamp not six inches from my face. They were balefully looking at me, with their long antennae twitching. And as they moved their limbs slowly to change position their bodies cast flickering shadows which had drawn my attention. For what seemed like eternity I was absolutely transfixed, as my conscious mind tried to come to terms with the size and position of the hoppers.

As I recovered from the early morning shock, I slowly eased the chair back, got up and went back to bed. In that moment I realized that no more studying was possible that morning and the examination paper to follow that day be damned. These were critical exams but I would much rather test my retention skills than my ability to shoo these massive insects off that lamp. And of course there was absolutely no chance of me continuing to study there, with the two of them looking at me as if I were a stalk of grass!!

Since that day I never turned that lamp on in the dark without first ensuring that no insect was lurking on or near it.

Second Incident

The thing about insects is that even when one sees them at a distance, we somehow picture them on our skin and our mind reacts accordingly. The second incident happened on a holiday with friends some years ago. We were in the Florida Everglades which has quite a population of insects and on the first evening were half bitten to death by biting flies that come out during sunset. They came out so rapidly and in such clouds that we had no recourse but to quickly get back in our cars. The Everglades are also well known for the size and distinctive coloration of its lubber grasshoppers.

Next day we were walking along a boardwalk in the Everglades when a friend spied one of these huge multihued grasshoppers attached to two long thrushes, below the rail of the walkway. As is common with juvenile males, he decided to see how far he could pull those twigs apart before the hopper bailed out. So he took the two twigs and slowly started pulling them apart. All of us were leaning over the rails, completely intent on seeing what the hopper would do. As it kept adjusting its position, I am sure we were all thinking about how it would feel if it just suddenly jumped onto us. Unbeknownst to us one other friend had crept away and returned silently with a long twig. He bent down behind his rapt wife and stroked her open ankle with it. You can imagine what must have gone through her mind as she let out a huge scream, which very rapidly emptied the Everglades of all life. The friend who was leaning over to play with the hopper nearly fell over himself. Out initial catatonia was replaced with bellyaching laughter as we saw the grinning countenance and realized what had happened.

Insects bring out such deep rooted fears among most of us - as they are the most alien of life forms that we normally encounter. Their variety itself is mindboggling, leave alone their capacity to survive and reproduce. Even a small insect can make a huge man jump back in alarm. Depending on the size of the insect confronting us we will either skirt around it or squash it. Our instincts are to try and kill them (actually exterminate is the word most often used), but...  

"If all insects on Earth disappeared, within 50 years all life on earth would end. If all human beings disappeared from the Earth, within 50 years all forms of life would flourish." Jonas Salk (Biologist). 

Goodbye 2014

It has been difficult to start writing after such a long hiatus, but this last blog of the year has now become like a diary to reflect on the year just passed.

 

I did not want to disrupt that routine and 'maybe' regret it a few years later. So if you do read the following list of highlights in my year - please excuse the lack of flow as well as the resultant rustiness (in my writing) that will be apparent.

Career Change

The biggest change was that after 20 years my wife turned her back on Corporate life, (something that, to start with, she had never been enamored by) - to venture out on her own. It was a big decision and an extremely brave one too, as after quite a succession of rather bad experiences in various other organizations, she had settled well in Shell and loved the organization, the culture and the people she worked with. But a desk job was not her calling - had never been - and it was a now or never call that we had to make.

She qualified as a professional Image Consultant as well as a qualified Make-Up Artist. This meant a lot of travel, to learn and also to intern with prominent Make-Up artists, to pick up some actual work experience. That has of course meant sacrifices for the family, mostly in terms of time spent apart. For her, this has been compounded by feelings of guilt - guilt to leave family for extended periods of time, and also guilt of not feeling like she is working and contributing every day. We expect that this situation will continue into 2015 as well.

In our society it is still a little hard for people to understand and accept that women can step out on their own. It is difficult, in this era of helicopter parenting, to take such decisions that mean time spent away from loved ones, especially children. If a man does it to further his career, it is understandable as he is doing it, to well further his career!

Anyway in the last few months she has experienced a tremendous amount, met amazing people and had some incredible experiences. Her passion, energy and enthusiasm for what she does, and the miles she is willing to walk (literally sometimes) to do it, are a huge contrast to her reticence and unwillingness in the past, to do any more than was expected in her "job".

All the best sweetheart for 2015 and beyond!!

Bachelor life

Of course these prolonged absences resulted in me spending quite a bit of time on my own. The Gulf is known for its "summer bachelors", men who spend the three months of summer holidays working, while families are back home. I got to experience it for the first time.

 

I used that time to get some physical and dietary discipline back into my life. I had become lazy and had started to put an inordinate importance on food, resulting in putting on quite a bit of weight. Since August, having started a more intensive exercise regime and also (literally) counting calories that I ingest daily, I have managed to shed almost 5 kilos. The target was 6 kilos by the end of the year, which will now be increased to 10 kilos, by Quarter 1 of 2015.  Having done this a few times in my life before, I hope that this marks a watershed moment in my life and results in a lifestyle change, rather than just a short term project.

This holiday season just passed was a litmus test of my resolve and I must say that I passed it (just about). I have put a kilo back on. But I am optimistic of shedding it (and more) in the months to come.

Phuket trip

Another high during the year was a Boys-only trip with my childhood buddies, to celebrate all (well most) of us reaching a half century. We were 10 guys who grew up in a small colony in South Mumbai. Since we were all from the same community, ethnic group, religion and culture, bonds were easily made and then maintained, despite the span of time and distance.

This was the first trip of its kind since I remember and definitely the only one in over 25 years.

 

And the trip turned out to be everything that I would have wanted it to be. Over the years I had forgotten what it is like to be on a boys-only holiday. There were very few demands on ones time, and space was given to each to do what one felt comfortable with. There was no one to put fears into you, nor hold you back, which meant that without exception we indulged in a few high thrill activities, to try and recreate some of the thrills of boyhood. Some of us even forgot that our bodies had aged more than our minds - in our unsuccessful attempts to replicate the physical dexterity of our youths.

 

Each meal was an occasion to dredge back memories or indulge in banter that only childhood friends can revel in. Every meeting was an excuse to laugh, to poke fun and bask in the comfort of kindred spirits.  

 

There was no one who felt the need to think for you, nor did anyone try and cajole you into doing something that you did not want to. There was just the pleasure of being in each others company and for picking up the threads of childhood friendships.

I sincerely hope this will be not be the last such trip!

 

Touching 50 and self questioning

Another big milestone this year was my having touched 50 in the last few weeks of December. A half century on this Earth is an excellent reason for some more introspection! Honestly I do not feel any older, but do question life's purpose and meaning. I truly wish I was more spiritual, as that could provide some illusion of understanding - but my mind is rooted in logic, reason and rationality, which means that some metaphysical dimensions just do not resonate.

Passion has been sorely lacking in my life - a passion that drives you out of bed every morning and makes you look forward to the day ahead with bated breath. I cannot reconcile myself to the fact that each day's meaning is garnered from what I eat, how I exercise and my work schedule. Weeks and weekends have blurred into a meaningless opacity, with nothing to differentiate one from the other, other than the inexorable passage of time. I do not quite know 'when' my life became a turgid river, flowing through an endless vista of unchanging scrubland, but I do realize that I need to change its course towards a more varied landscape.

Maybe 2015 will provide me with some ideas or gently nudge me in a new direction that will reveal a bit more of what I am truly meant to do. I honestly do not have too much optimism about this - but we all live in hope.

So Happy New Year to you - Dear Reader - and I do hope that 2015 holds (at least some of) the answers that you might be seeking in your own life.  

Breaking Bad

We have just finished watching Breaking Bad (an American TV series) and are still reeling from its conclusion. Despite reading and hearing rave reviews about this series, I somehow did not feel that the plot would appeal to me and hence had refrained from starting it earlier. 

The series 'is' eminently watchable - but this blog is not about how great the series was. It is more about a side of story-telling that had been lost (on me) for a while. Each episode in this series dwells on the quotidian routines of a family that is struggling to keep up normalcy in quite abnormal times.

Having invested well over 50 hours into the Series, what struck me the most as I watched this drama unfold, was its pace! Unlike other Movies and TV Series, that over the years we have become used to - this one did not take off like a booster rocket, nor did every episode feel like it was on a testosterone high. Each episode, and the entire story itself, had a stillness - a quiet - that I did not realize was missing in modern day entertainment, until I rediscovered it in this series. The episodes were littered with scenes where the characters were caught deep in thought, or reflecting on what has just transpired.

 

The series was replete with facial close-ups capturing micro-expressions. At each and every turn in the main characters’ fate, we could literally sense the intense thought process going on, as he tried to fit another piece of the puzzle and in so doing extricate himself from that situation. Sometimes it felt like the cameraman had taken a coffee break behind the lens - so intent and fixed was the focus on the actors face and expressions. So still was the camera that we could see the entire gamut of emotions, revealing the turbulence of passions and conflicting desires as they flitted across his face. The nuances of expression were caught so stunningly, that one was almost led to believe that one could read the characters thoughts.

The entire experience harked back to the times when we had the patience to let a good story develop! To a time when giving up the first 20 minutes of a movie (to let it build momentum), or the first hundred pages of a good book (to develop its plot and characters), was not seen as a waste of time. The Director or the Writer did not feel compelled to immerse the audience into the deep end within a minute of the tale starting, or risk losing the audience altogether.

If one had told me all of this before I started the series, I would have never started it at all. I would never have thought I would have the patience to sit through the quiet moments. But having started, we were completely caught up in it and felt an almost voyeuristic pleasure, as the plot twisted the characters' lives. This show has been a paradigm shifter for me, in the sense that I always thought that the best fiction was the one with the big bangs, rather than the slow paced unraveling of a person’s life as they fight the unintended consequences of their decisions.

I think I now have a better understanding of the allure and addiction of people who are glued to Big Brother and other such Reality Shows. There is such endless fascination in the lives of others! And even though this series was not a reality show by any stretch of imagination, its pace could well have been.

When it comes to Reality Shows - I guess knowing that it is largely unscripted, adds spice that could blister even the most hardened tongue.

Hello 2014

It is a little late in the day to be welcoming 2014 but anyway I started a tradition last year and I need to keep at it....

 

I have never been one to make a lot of New Year resolutions, though last year I did try and make one! And no - I did not achieve what I wanted to and hence this year I have decided to revert to norm.

Actually, it is quite illuminating to read the resolutions that people make at the start of the year - every celebrity expounds on how they will try and change their life and the world for better during the coming year. I feel that all such annual resolutions are doomed to fail.

 

A resolution does not require that it be made at the start of a calendar year - it is a resolution after all and should be made whenever one desires to change an aspect of one's life. It is a 'bit' like celebrating Mothers Day and Fathers Day. What the heck is that? One remembers, loves, respects and celebrates their parents every day - for life!

So you can gather from the above that I have made no resolutions for this year. I know that it will be one more year of change, one more year of learning and I just hope that it is a smooth one. Sometimes the years that pass us by with nothing major to remember them by, are probably the best! I have had a few such years in the past, which dissipated with hardly a trace and just a few wispy memories to get nostalgic over. And all that they left me with, was a year older - and very often not much wiser.

I am sure a lot of people are picking up the pieces of their life having resolved to lose weight or gain a new skill or get a job or leave a bad relationship or whatever. I wish them success and the very best of luck. I am equally sure that by now most of the same resolutions made at the end of 2013, in a burst of beverage induced bravado, are already dissipating like the short winters in the Middle East.   

Just as the end of a year often brings on a reflective mood to look back, a new year is a great time to get hopeful of the future - to look forward and ahead, to better times. I just hope to live in good health, without fear - to take a few chances without inundating myself with negativity.

 

It is already looking like a year of travel - but that is now common enough to not warrant a mention. The world 'has' become a smaller place, which means that staying connected with close ones is easier.

 

I also sincerely hope that I can with my writings maintain the interest of all who venture here, as well as provide them with avenues for introspection and reflection.    

 

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!!  

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! 

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! 

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.     

The Man with the Broken Pants

My fortnightly trips into town are full of “the stuff of life” and entertaining as well. Often they also beggar belief - like the conversation that transpired below! 

A couple of weeks ago I was at a tailoring shop - not the one that I wrote about last month, but a much smaller establishment located near the Dubai Creek. A two level shop, with a tailor (sitting with a sewing machine) and the Master who owns the shop at the ground level. Over time I have realized that they do not share the most cordial of relationships, though there seems to exist an uneasy truce between the two. The Master is stern of demeanor and looks quite the taskmaster! I frequent it for alterations which are done on the spot - I handover the clothes, run my errands and return to pick them up within the hour.

Anyway that particular day this routine failed, as on returning to pick up trousers I had given for length alteration, I was informed that work had not even commenced on them. I was quite miffed with this unanticipated occurrence, but the tailor aware that the Master was listening placated me and told me to wait. He assured me that my work would be done in fifteen minutes and having no option, I sat down to wait on a small bench near the entrance.

A few minutes later a bedraggled man walks in (actually saunters in), brushes by me and starts looking around. He goes to a rack of clothes and ruffles through them. The Master and the tailor continued working, both assiduously pretending to ignore him while keeping a wary eye on this intruder. From the expression on their faces it was evident that this was not entirely usual.

The man then walks across to the tailor, who by then is in the midst of altering my pants and starts feeling my trousers - as if to check the quality. The tailor gives him a stern look, tells him to stop touching the clothes and asks him what he wants in Hindi.

The following conversation takes place in Hindi, which was obviously not the man’s mother tongue. I later find out that he is Bangladeshi.

TAILOR: What do you want?

MAN: My pants are broken.

TAILOR: What?

MAN: My pants are broken.

TAILOR: Pants cannot break - they tear.

MAN: You know what I mean.

TAILOR: Ok - so what do you want from me?

MAN: Do you have a spare pair of pants for me?

Then casually picking up a leg of my trousers that are being altered.

MAN: These should fit me.

TAILOR: These belong to someone else.

MAN: OK do you have any others like this that have been left behind.

TAILOR: No

MAN: Can you repair my broken pants?

TAILOR: Yes - where are they?

MAN: I am wearing them.

TAILOR: OK - get them tomorrow and I will stitch them for you.

MAN: I need them today - I cannot work with broken pants.

TAILOR: Do you have another pair of trousers which you can wear while I work on them?

MAN: No

TAILOR: Then how do you expect me to work on yours?

MAN: I will take them out and you can do the job.

TAILOR: And what will ‘you’ be wearing while I work on them?

MAN: Nothing

TAILOR: What are you wearing beneath your pants?

MAN: Nothing

TAILOR: We do not have a changing room, so where will you wait while I work on your trousers?

MAN: Here

TAILOR: You cannot wait here with nothing on.

MAN: Why?

TAILOR: Are you mad - what if ladies come in or the police? We will be jailed!

MAN: Ok then (again, picking up a leg of 'my' trousers) - I will wear these. 

TAILOR: Stop disturbing me and go to the Master (pointing him out) and ask him.

The man is not phased at all and saunters over to the Master - all the while inspecting the various trousers hung on the racks.

MAN: My pants are broken.

MASTER: I know - I heard the conversation. What do you want?

MAN: I need a pair of pants

MASTER: Come tomorrow and I will see if I can find a discarded pair that will fit you.

MAN: My pants are broken and if people see something that they should not, I will blame you.

MASTER: I told you - come tomorrow and I will see what I can do.

MAN: Mutters something and leaves.

The Master then looks at me and shakes his head. As the man is leaving I notice an RTA logo on his shirt, so I ask the Master who the man was. It seems that he is an ABRA (small passenger boats on the Dubai creek) operator of vague acquaintance to the tailors.

On my asking what he will do if the man returns, the Master tells me that he 'will' come again and that later he will look for some old or discarded trousers to give the man. Shrugging his shoulders he declares that life is, after all, about giving and helping in any small way one can.

Coming from a guy who looked as if he would not help his own ailing mother, this statement resonated deeply with me. It reminded me of the old adage - never judge a book by its cover!    

As I left the shop with my trousers I kept picturing the man touching and feeling them and wanting to wear them, and could not help thinking that they would definitely have served a better purpose with him. As is often the case I was so enraptured by the events as they unfolded, that I did not act until it was too late. 

 So now, every time I will put those trousers on I will think of the man with the Broken Pants.