The last man standing

“You are an ideal mother,” I told him more than once, in a gratification of his efforts to keep us all on track!

Cook of our first meal in the US, first one to own a car that all others used to learn driving, first shout from everyone in case of any issue, first one to know when tea is light on sugar and vegetable dish is a bit too heavy on oil, first name on all our apartment leases, first one to know if any one of us was unwell in any way! And the first person I had consulted about my –then unexpressed to its recipient– love to my wife.

Four of us were sharing an apartment during our on-site stint at Denver, and Satish was from the very beginning – the provider of the house.  It was his caring attitude, culinary-skills and friendships with all the rest of us that proved to be a glue that held us all together.

Especially in the beginning of our stay in Denver, when the time was quite eventful. Starting from the struggle to know routes to matching the grocery requirements according to different colleagues who would be helping us for lifts to and fro the grocery stores. Meticulousness in payment of rent, insurance, utilities on time – and to divide all those expenses among the flatmates judiciously required close monitoring and careful execution. He did that all in starting, and then once he had known end to end – started delegating tasks to others, even after delegating – he would still keep a watchful eye over the task and ensured that everything goes smooth.

These were the tasks that could have been neglected as routine at worst - or done with a machine-like regularity at best! But Satish not only did them better than the best possible way, he did them with an emotion that was unmatched, unique and sublime. He did them in a way that our apartment started feeling like a home!! It has been over 8-12 months now, from the time we started separating from that apartment, one after the other however we carry with ourselves that feeling of home and it has never left the dynamics of our friendship ever since!

Satish was also our go-to man for any issue – be it at a household level or at a personal level. He was a sole broker of peace deals when any one of us was cross with another! Nudging someone, coaxing the other or sometimes just ordering a decision with a firm conviction – he led us through many of those complicating issues that are part of any group’s existence!

Even after we separated from single apartment to different places, as most of us moved with their families, Satish stayed a constant common factor. Be it an important event in anyone’s life, or a trouble that needs help at the stroke of a midnight – Satish was sure to be there!

As being the last one today, living in the same colony and seeing Satish move to a different apartment – I reflected on the time spent together. It feels like a beginning of a different era – one in which all of the former flat mates are now located at different places – separated by long distances.

It is an amazing joy to find unadulterated connections in one’s adult life. Satish’s friendship and the bond we built as flat-mates are constant reminders of such unadulterated connection! It has rubbed off on many other aspects of all of our lives and it would continue to serve as a wonderful reminder and inspiration of such friendships in future too!

What's in the name?

“You have got a perfect name, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Said her father reassuringly. For Aomame her name had been a constant point of botheration of her school life. Not only it always came first – as it started from A – but it also made her classmates as well as teachers burst into a fit of laughter as they tried to pronounce it.

Clearly, a name lifted from a towering Japanese author’s intriguing work of fiction 1Q84 – did not go that well for a small town girl in India. However, her father had been an iconoclast – and followed his rebel heart while naming his daughter. The fact that she lost her mother, right at her birth, also might have been one of the reasons his father could have his own way and gave her a name that she would grow to resent.

As years passed she grew more and more uncomfortable with her name. Ideas to change it several times crossed her mind but every time the effort of changing all the documents that are attached to oneself seemed too much.

“What were you thinking when you finalized my name?”  “Had you seen the movie namesake a night before I was born?”  “If mom were there, she would have never approved of such an out of place name.” Thus ran her frequent angry arguments with her dad. Her dad used to calmly reply, every time that her name was kept after the name of a heroine of a wonderful novel and that the character was very powerful. He even suggested she reads the book, however, the size of the book daunted her and she never picked it up.

Years passed, not easily for Aomame- at every juncture, every new meeting, she would feel shortchanged when introducing herself. It was as if, she was pulled back at the start of a sprint by a good few yards! Her frustration only grew with her age.

She eventually married a guy her father had chosen for her. Once during their conversation, he innocuously asked, “what does you name mean, by the way?” – She retorted harshly asking him not to repeat this question ever again. “My name is a part of my life that I don’t want to share with anyone, so please don’t ever ask my anything about it again.”

Her husband was taken aback by this vehement response, he realized that this was perhaps a result of anger accumulated over the years and needed a different treatment. He resolved that he will do something that will make her love and remember her name fondly.

Over the next few days, however, he observed she was keeping very occupied. When asked what she was busy with, she replied, “there is a lot of work at the office, and I am running on a tight deadline, so just busy with it.” He left it at that and started thinking what he can do in order to appease his wife’s long-standing grievance.

After a few days, an idea struck him – he got her name tattooed on his arm. When he came home, he told, slowly rolling up his sleeve, “I have something to show you, it has been on my mind for very long – and I wasn’t quite sure what I could do…. but here it is now. I want you to know that names in themselves have no meaning unless we give them any. And this is a small step to represent the multitudes of meaning your name carries for me.”

She looked at him in disbelief, and handed a new copy of the government issued identity card - showing her new name!

     >Concept borrowed from “Gift of Magi” by O’Henry

Meeting with Murakami

I don't think you love me anymore, my current favourite author, Haruki Murakami told me. There was no complaint in his voice, only a bit of resignation. Similar to the one that I often saw in the copy of his book, lying next to my bed - untouched for last 6 months! Guilt of not having read it, troubled me. He kept staring at the book, and said nothing. 

Just as I was about to pick the book up with a resolve to complete it cover to cover; my flatmate shouted with frustration! “When will you ever become a regular at Gym?, because of you, even I have become irregular.” His accusation had no basis - but it still hurt. Excess fat in my body was visible. Suddenly a scene from recent cricket match came in mind, when I got run out while attempting a second run. 

There was a strong urge to run, keep running, until I became fit and fast! I told him to wait for a couple of minutes while I get ready for the gym. Not more than 15 minutes on the treadmill I stopped and returned home - tired. 

First thing to come to sight was the unopened book, and the disappointment on Murakami’s face. However, I brushed them aside and moved for shower.

After shower, as I was about to start reading, calendar buzzed - reminding me of an additional assignment I had taken at work. I snoozed the reminder for 5 minutes and picked up the book - half hoping it will never let me go back! 

Since next day was a Sunday, I thought to pull an all-nighter in order to finish the book. However, there was just one thing that I was equally resolved to do that day; it was to talk to my parents at length. Routine leaves with little time at hand and candid conversations can hardly take place - so for such personal conversations weekends are more suited. After an hour long , deeply satisfying conversation - I finally turned my mind to the book again. Shortly after, phone again buzzed - this time with an email , it was a third reminder for paying the electricity bill for the month. If I don't pay it now, it will get further delayed, I thought, and opened the computer again to make the payment.

While I was making the payment, my favourite film actress appeared and told me about her newly launched TV series being shot in US! It was exciting, so I thought to watch an episode of the show. 

When tiredness meets temptation, it is very difficult to resist. One after another, episodes kept streaming and before long, it was one hour past midnight. I finally turned the computer off. 

For the next 15 minutes, I struggled between the book and sleep - finally sleep survived.  

He waited till two of clock, then finally, walked off in anger from my room with his book! I ran behind him, asking him to forgive me and return the book.

“I just need one day, I just need one day” - I was shouting, but he disappeared! Perhaps he knew that the one day I needed might never come!

Suddenly I woke up with perspiration! This is how Murakami met me in a dream. 

Tuesdays With Morrie - By Mitch Albom

Have you ever shivered a little before making any phone call? Ever put off a phone call or getting in touch with someone for many days, months or even years? That confrontation which we so dread, is often the confrontation we all most need. 

This confrontation may be in different forms, sometimes it is with people you fear you have let down, sometimes its with ideas, sometimes its with self reconciliation. In this book, author takes us through his journey of confronting series of such ideas that we normally put off during day-to-day life. His teacher, Morrie, who is dying of ALS becomes his guide through the journey and helps him see things with a refreshingly different perspective.

Mitch is fairly successful professional, a self made sports journalist who has everything that takes to win in the world, skills, understanding, connections and hunger for even more success. He has a lady love in life too, whom he intends to marry sometime. He considers himself happy and when asked “Are you happy?”  usually his reply would be, “I guess, I cannot complaint.” Though successful he struggles with finding meaning of life, purpose of existence and shies away from thoughts of death, sympathy, empathy and compassion. Until he met Morrie once more. 

Morrie cuts through Mitch’s defenses with deft of an old lover, one after the other and helps Mitch face some of the bigger questions of life which he had been putting off until now in guise of getting more work, more money, more success. The fact that Morrie is suffering from ALS and is diagnosed to die in a few months, makes their journey even more poignant and inspiring.

Morrie reinforces some of the timeless truths which we all know but only some apply. He crusades against following advertised values, cautions against expecting that material things will yield us any solace, advises to keep close with family members and friends. However it is not so much what he says, but how beautifully he exemplifies all that he says makes this story wonderful. For example, when during a football match, when everyone in stadium was shouting - we are number-1 , we are number-1 - he got up and asked a rhetorical question to the crowd, “What’s wrong in being number-2?”  Or his insistence on holding a living funeral for himself, because he wanted to hear the good things people had to say of him while he was alive and not after his death. 

While it comes across as a book filled with bright spots Morrie doesn't feign positivity or happiness at all. When asked, if he laments his condition, he candidly answers that he often cries in morning for having this disease which is killing him slowly. As much as he is sad of his health, he never allows himself more than a few minutes of self-pity every morning, after that he thinks about the day ahead, all the people who he is going to meet today. Morrie’s daily quota of limited self pity is such a contrast to everyday cribbing we hear constantly from people around us about far more routine stuff than their life. 

Another very inspiring aspect of Morrie’s character is that he gives everyone his complete attention. He defers phone calls when in an in-person conversation, and maintains a very doting eye contact with his audience despite his flailing health. In an age where personal space is so intruded with gadgets his was really an amazing example of how to go about talking to people in person. 

Book is replete with such examples of everyday events that we often neglect and avoid. It also provides a new perspective towards death and shows a more welcoming, warm and friendly approach to that eternal truth of everyone’s life. 

Like all great teachers, Morrie offers a lot to learn and think - his last class was on life, it had no textbook or curriculum, there were no exams and learning from that goes on for anyone who has been touched by this book.

Javaay....

Picture: The Death of Socrates: By Jaques Louis David

Source- Google

“Javaay” was the word that would break my trance at the end of an hour long class. Such engaging was his each class, my childhood hero and one of the most loveable teachers. He used this word at the end of his class to suggest us that it was close of the day and we could go home.  Today when he is gone, away from this world to the one from whose bourn no traveller returns, the word “Javaay” seems even more pregnant with meaning, emotions and memories.  

 Hard as I struggle I could not find English word that exactly corresponds with this one, but, “Javaay”, roughly it can be understood as a permission to leave. My hand instinctively reaches out to cell phone, as it had over the last several years to call him and ask for the correct word. Disappointment dawns with the realization that it is no longer possible to talk to him in person. That his guidance to find the right English word will no longer be available is perhaps the least troubling aspect of the loss that his demise brings.  

The more significant loss comes in form of losing presence of an individual that he was. Rib tickling sense of humour and superb comedy timing were just a couple of traits that those knowing him briefly would also remember for their lifetime. A few days back, I had sent him a forward on Whatsapp that read “Every man has one thing he can do better than anyone else – and usually it’s reading his own handwriting.”  “I doubt whether doctors can” – came a snappy reply from him! And it sent me in a bout of laughter which we usually only relate to the episodes of comedy nights with Kapil these days.

While looking back, there are several such sentences from him that come to mind and make me roll in the laughter which would now invariably end in tears.

Behind his sense of humour lay a deep sense of perspective and proportion. In an age troubled with status anxiety and bloated egos; his presence and life were greatest reminders of how we should live.  How a cricket tournament should be followed, how a book should be read, how papers should be assessed, how a vegetable sizzler should be made, how a conversation should be made and so many other things, when put together make life…… he did all that impeccably well, enjoyed doing them and even taught others how to savour them.

It is this wisdom of life that is biggest loss that his demise casts upon me. In day to day life there is little that changes, but there has been a niggle somewhere between my lungs and stomach of not having him anymore, and therefore a fear that without him being there, I may not be able to emulate, even a small part of the wisdom through which he lived his life.  

He had a giant built, long arms and round structure – I was short, tiny and thin; when sat next to him I would probably not even be visible fully and when his outstretched arm came around my shoulder while correcting my mistake I would almost be buried under it. That touch was gentle, caring, protective, encouraging and guiding……. That touch is now no more. Only its memory is alive.

Just as with me, there would be several memories of his residing in conscious or subconscious of most of his students, I take consolation in the hope that they will remain deathless.

Meeting of a lost friend!!

Nearly everyone I knew was planning a trip, movie, outing, lunch, dinner or just a get together with one’s group of friends for celebration of this friendship’s day. I was a little wonderstruck about this entire euphoria; I called a few of my friends and wished them, what I considered a needless formality, “Happy Friendship Day”.

Out of envious curiosity, I also enquired about their schedules. “We all will be going out” was a reply from first, “May be a lunch or dinner followed by a film” was what I heard from second, “Visiting a farmhouse at the outskirts of the city” was the answer from third. I felt a little uneasy about being absent from all these celebrations. A strong sense of being left aside and cast away crept into my mind right from afternoon and it just kept increasing as the day went on. The thought of getting onto a busy week ahead at work was of no help in alleviating the discomfort of perceived loneliness.

I visited a tea stall near my room twice, just to keep myself engaged, also did some grocery shopping for myself. Shopping felt good, but it soon faded away as I found that I had nothing to do for entire evening ahead. The next thing I took up was re-arranging my wardrobe; however this too did not last long. I realized that being alone was not particularly painful but being alone when almost all others you know are busy celebrating or partying is particularly painful to an anxious, six day working and young individual’s mind!!!

On this relieving realization, I came to know that all this while I was worrying about missing all my friends in various parts of country; I was also neglecting one particular friend of mine. In fact it was only this friend of mine who had truly been with me through all thick and thin. I took that classic collection of pages and started turning them over one after the other. The touch of the pages, sound made while scribbling a thought or two in margin, the smell of ink spread across making words and the thrilling interaction that reading provides to mind transformed me in a matter of seconds. I rediscovered a joy of finding an old friend at a really crunch time.

Schopenhauer was indeed right when he said, “I have never known any trouble that an hour’s reading cannot assuage.”

Plays end, Characters do not.....

A play seems to me one of the best analogies for the last two years of this course spent here in New Delhi. There were other options, like a nerve breaking cricket match, blockbuster movie, splendid story, picturesque painting etc. but in the end “Play” prevailed. It prevailed because of the space and scope it gives to incorporate all the episodes and characters with which some of the most precious moments of our lives relate. Just like plays, these two years have shown us all kinds of emotions, expectations, joys, disappointments, humour, honour, rage, romance, etc.

Moreover, it has also offered various forms through which our lives in this course have passed, like tragedy, comedy, thriller, and at times farce too!!!

Besides all these, the single most effective reason for choosing this analogy was the fact that in plays, various characters unfold as the time progresses. Depending on our personal psyche we may relate to some characters more than others, but we notice everyone nevertheless. No character was additional, or extra, everyone had a role to play. And through these small roles of each one of us, we made this two year long play.

While it is certain that all characters have a role, it is also true that all roles are not equally appealing, attractive or mesmerising. If you have liked more number of characters than you disliked, you are fortunate. I have been fortunate because I got many chances to see, observe and understand AWESOMENESS of many characters. Most of them left a deep impression on my mind. Among these impressions lie memories of some of the most amazing events, relaxing and refreshing trip, challenging assignments, that last minute revision with friends in minutes before exam, impromptu presentations, late night Maggie/pasta/soup etc.

Characters help us shape our attitude and outlook towards life by their clinical proficiency in whatever they do, some by their deeply poetic and philosophical understanding of life, some through their witty and sharp sense of humour, some with their gritty conduct, some through their sheer brilliance, some through their past experience, some with their simplicity and some just with their being. Our class has this whole range of such inspiring characters.

Just as we like some characters, we also dislike some characters. However in this dislike too, there are interesting things to learn. Generally the dislike stems from difference of opinion or belief system. In order to protect our beliefs we often oppose or disapprove of others’ beliefs. There is little one can do about characters that oppose our belief system, and more often than not some of them recede in to the subplot, however, remember that even subplot is an integral part of the play and many a times subplots give a completeness to the play!!

Another important aspect is that of a definitive end. Plays end - almost - always. However, just as we remember some of the most impressive, characters of history, of films, of plays. Some characters from this play too, shall continue to form an active part of my life. An end here also puts some obligation to these wonderful characters, an obligation to keep playing the role that they have played till now, with all the more care, zeal, perfection and enthusiasm, to be in memories, dreams, inspirations and guidance.

Plays end, characters do not.

LossoLogy…. Learning from losses……

The premise on which we live our life is fundamentally optimistic. We almost take it for granted that our life tomorrow will certainly be better than it is today. While this may be true for most of the economic and professional aspects but it is not entirely true for the many other personal aspects of life. Scary as it may sound, but at times life gives us jolts that break our entire intellectual, professional and ability related prowess and arrogance.

Fickle is the power that we draw from our advantageous background, schooling, upbringing and qualification when it comes to stand up to some of the unavoidable circumstances that life has to offer. Loss – of any type - is one such instance. Be is as basic as that of a child who just lost his ball, or of that mother who lost her newly born boy, loss always shakes us from within. It always leaves us brooding over questions starting from, why? How? What?

What comes to our rescue at this time is not the networking we did for climbing the career ladder, but the bonds we made through genuine care, love and kindness for others. Not the skills we developed like slaves but the strengths we developed as independent individuals. In no way the importance of skills and networking can be undermined, however we must remember the weapons in the real war called life are different. These things may be of little use when we confront life in its worst form.

Conscious effort to imbibe and inculcate, the ability to not only withstand the loss but also coming from it as a stronger individual, may help.

Once a senior mentor of mine had told me, “the strength emanates from moral values, knowing yourself, and sense of “NON Negotiable values in life.” This holds true in all times.

Where to Go?

Days end…..

Changes have been so common that now eyes and mind have become too numb to notice them. Each day is very similar to the other day; at times it seems the whole day was just a Xerox copy of some previous day.

There is a discomforting feeling of end approaching, stealthily. However this feeling is also mixed with some sort of fear.

Fear of stagnating, not moving. At times mind thinks that given a chance it would run fast as it can, the only question stopping it from running is.

Where to go?

Last half an hour

Everything was set, completed, finished, closed, sealed and packed. All those things that cannot be ended and packed were left in their own states and stages.

Eyes were observing things as if it were gulping them inside. Without any work I had taken couple of rounds of the entire house, just to see things again and again. In undue worry of “lest her son would forget something important” my mother too did two rounds of checking the entire luggage and made me see what all I was taking with me. All this while, my eyes kept falling on things that I was not taking with me.

· The old bat which had turned red due to some long practice sessions and innings

· The cupboard which contained some of the most read books, old diaries and some brilliant films.

· The couch placed right in front of the television, where so many hours of all my vacations have been spent.

· The big mango tree which used to be a resting place while playing in the backyard.

· That corner where cat had kept her kittens

There was deluge of memories in mind. I was trying, in vain, to hold the clock still.

The most difficult thing about this half an hour is that you know that after so small a time you will be going away from so many beautiful and meaningful things. YET YOU CANNOT HOLD ON TO THEM!!

During my train journey I wondered if our lives are also like that, the only difference is that we do not know which half an hour will be our LAST HALF AN HOUR!!