Dreams

On a dreary day at work, I decided to take an in situ break from work with my colleagues. The mini office seats Rash – the warrior, Ants – the foodie, Abs – the events guy, Neers – the designer and me. 

The warrior was out, and it was the four of us in office.

My communications with the representatives from the Department of Social Welfare had been going back and forth, with no clear results. I was also annoyed with some directives issued to me. Some bits of information I gathered bothered me a little. I was debating over morality of decisions. I felt tired. At that moment, I wanted to go away for a Vipassana retreat.

I had broached the subject of Vipassana meditation with my colleagues. They showed interest in knowing more. We spoke about it for a while.

I then moved my chair to the centre of the hall that seats us, and asked Ants, who was at the other end, “If there was one thing you really wanted to do in your whole life, your single dream that you wanted to come true, what would it be?”

Ants is a chubby, cheerful person with a heart of gold. She loves to talk about dreams and wishes. “I want to clear the final group of Chartered Accountancy exams. I just want to do that. Everything in my life has boiled down to becoming a CA. If I had to ask for one thing, that would be it.”

Abs and I protested over, what we called her myopic vision of life. But she was clear.

I then posed the same question to Abs.

“I want to go away to a quiet and peaceful place and settle over there. Alone. I want no company. I want nature, peace and serenity. I don’t want anyone around me.”

So far, so good.

I turned to Neers with the same question.

Neers is a short, thin, dark guy, very soft spoken and very courteous. He is our designer. He is recovering from appendicitis. His appendix burst at work about two months ago, and he went on a one month leave. He has been with the organization I am currently doing a project with for over three years, yet he is a contract employee. He doesn’t get any employee benefits, gets a pittance in the name of salary, and yet he works diligently, painstakingly, day in and day out. He is not particularly scholarly, but he is good at his work – designing. He comes from a humble background, and doesn’t talk unnecessarily.

When I posed the question to him, he pulled away his chair from his computer monitor to face me with a sad smile and said, “Ma’am, mere zindagi ka ek hi sapna hai – ki mujhe ek sarkari naukri mil jaaye. Wo kuchh bhi ho, kaisi bhi ho, bas ek sarkari naukri mil jaaye. Aur kuchh nahi chahiye mujhe.”

(“Ma’am, I have just one dream in my life – that I get a government job. I’ll accept any role, I just want a government job. I don’t desire for anything else in life.”)    

Neers grew up dreaming of a permanent government job. Not a lot of money, but security and stability. The fact that he works day in and day out without any acknowledgement, verbal or monetary, does bother him. The fact that he doesn't earn on days he takes a sick leave breaks his heart. Even though he maintains equanimity through everything that is said to him, even when he shrugs off the disrespect people show him, I can see the sadness and disappointment in his eyes.

He works very hard. He never says no. He is extremely soft-spoken and humble. He is a pushover. He is a simple man, with simple needs, simple wants. All he wants is stability in return for his efforts. When I shared my lofty dream of traveling the world after listening to Neers, I felt sad, self-centered and selfish. Some dreams are as simple as that, and yet it is a gargantuan effort to realize them. Some things are so uncomplicated, and yet people don't bother to spend a minute to understand them. For reasons that I had not fathomed at the outset, this job is proving to be an immensely valuable learning experience.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I really hope that Neers, Abs and Ants do.  

Corny Conversations

IS: “How is this experience going to add to your CV value?”

Me: “I wanted to do this for the change it offered from my routine corporate job, not particularly for CV value.”

IS: “You must be getting paid a lot more than you are being now, no?”

Me: “Yes.”

IS: “You still wanted to do this, in spite of the pay cut?”

Me: “Yes. Pay was not a deciding factor.”

IS: “Pay was not a deciding factor? So would you have worked for free?”

Me: “That depends.”

IS: “Depends on what?”

Me: “On me.”

IS (startled): “Of course. So you had personal reasons to return to Patna, I guess?”

Me: “You could put it that way.”

IS (with a glance at the wall clock): “Ah! The clock is ticking.”

Me (not sure about what the equivocal statement meant): “Oh! I’m sorry. Don’t let me hold you up. I didn’t know you had a meeting.”

IS: “No, no. No meeting. I meant the clock is ticking for you. Getting married, having kids and all that.”

Me (a little nonplussed at why she had to look at the wall clock when she was actually referring to my biological clock, but soon regaining composure): “And all what?”

IS: “All that. Marriage and kids.”

Me: “But you said getting married, having kids and all that. What was the all that you were referring to?”

IS: “Arre baba marriage and kids only.”

Me: “But you said all that. I thought you meant something more.”

IS: “Nothing more. I just said it like that.”

Me: “Like what?”

IS (slightly annoyed): “Please, why are you talking like this? You are asking stupid, irrelevant questions.”

Me (smiling): “Exactly my emotions and exactly my question.”

The lady searched for words but did not manage to create a coherent statement. 

And I realized that I enjoy the act of making people speechless more than I should. 

People. Sometimes, they just don't get you.

To think that I was starting to become a milder version of myself! Huh!

Eerie emotions

It happened a couple of hours ago.

I was sitting at my desk, browsing through all the newsletters that were housed in my inbox. The week that went by has been enervating. The last bit of vitality had been sapped out of me. Weekend has been reduced to a part of Sunday. The siesta did some good, and after a cup of tea in the evening, I was finally in a mood to go through my personal inbox.

I had just plugged in my datacard, when I felt as if someone was trying to move my chair. Flummoxed, I looked down. I felt it again. Mild vibrations. The chair was shaking. I felt the wooden bar on which my feet were resting also vibrate. I have had some inexplicable experiences in life, and eerie emotions in my mind were just taking the form of words when I heard the glass doors of the cabinets in the room reverberate.

At that moment, my father came in, gesturing to me to move outdoors quickly. “Tremors”, he said.

Stationed on the flat roof, we saw the neighbourhood go all abuzz. Many people had gathered outside their houses on the street. Several, like us, gathered on their rooftops. For no particular reason, thoughts of death and destruction clouded my mind.

In my family, we sometimes joke at the ‘curse of the monsoons’. Monsoon months have not been good for us in the past. Over the years, these months have brought sadness, gloom, despair and disappointment. Probably that is why, I have never liked monsoons. Every monsoon, there is a trepidation of something awful happening. I wish I could lead a life in which I would be away from India, from this subcontinent for the duration of monsoons every year. Leave in June and return sometime in October or November. Live in some other part of the world for these three or four months.

Scarred September

I was in the first year of my Post Graduation in Management in 20o1. Scattered memories about this day in September 2001 have been floating in my mind since morning.

It was a little past 8 in the evening, and I made my way to the hostel mess for dinner. I remember Sandy J rushing out of the common room in his abominable little shorts, shouting, “Guys, the third world war has started, America has been attacked”. I dismissed his remarks with a smirk. Sandy was known to exaggerate. 

But, to my surprise, I soon saw a couple of other shocked faces rushing out of the common room  expressing similar sentiments. Dinner was abandoned as most of us rushed to catch the news in the ‘Old Hostel’ common room. The sights on the television left us flummoxed.

“Is this some sort of a media prank?”, someone called out from the background.

Alas, it wasn’t. That was no prank. It was reality. Mind numbing reality. Through the night, we followed news of the attack on the World Trade Center in NY on television and internet. Bone chilling videos of the plane tearing through the second WTC tower left everyone speechless. We later learnt of the crash in Pentagon and of flight United 93, which crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. There were no survivors.  The site of the crash in Shanksville is now home to a memorial. 

The website of the National Park Service details the story of United 93. It was the only hijacked flight that day that missed its target. An eponymous movie was made about the flight and its patriotic crew and passengers, who decided to fight back once they realized the intentions of the hijackers. The film makers tried to be accurate, with the cooperation of the families of the passengers of the ill fated flight. It is an excellently made film, compact, well edited and brilliantly presented. It also leaves my face wet with tears every time I watch it.

When the passengers realized that they were destined to die, what would have transpired in their minds? Some people had managed to make calls to their loved ones from the plane, knowing that they were never going to see them again. They said that unexpected final goodbye, knowing they were going to die a painful death. The transcript of the cockpit voice recorder of the flight has been made available by the Government of the United States of America. You witness religious fanaticism at its worst.

Biographies of the passengers and crew of the flight have also been made available.  Sandy Waugh Bradshaw, a flight attendant told her husband from the flight that they were boiling water to throw on the hijackers. Another flight attendant, 33 year old CeeCee Ross Lyles spoke to her husband minutes before the crash, “Tell the boys I love them.  We’re getting ready to do it now.  It’s happening!”  Todd M. Beamer, an account manager for Oracle, called Airfone customer service and provided information about the hijacking. He sent a message for his pregnant wife and children. The customer service representative he spoke to, recalls that at the end of his call, Todd said to his co-passengers, “Are you ready?  Okay.  Let’s roll.” These are only a handful. Each life lost has a story to tell.

An otherwise little known Shanksville in Pennsylvania became home to the saga of the patriotism of the passengers of United 93.

Death as an absolute finality has often occurred in my thoughts. As I have known more about the passengers of United 93, a group of people united by a strange and tragic hand of destiny, I have often pondered over some questions. What would I do if I knew I just had a few more minutes to live? How would I spend the last few minutes of my life?

What would you do? How would you like to spend your last few minutes?

In the days that followed the attacks, every expert worth his salt analyzed the attacks.

It was in the fall of 2006 that I started living in USA. It was the Black Friday afternoon in 2006 when I visited Ground Zero. It was a Saturday afternoon when I visited the Staten Island September 11 memorial.

During the time I lived there, I met people who had experienced 9/11. I got to know someone who lost his mother in the attacks. I became friends with someone who was trapped in a subway. I once saw a teenager sit quietly in front of the memorial weeping. Her choked voice was addressing someone dear. Her grief was infectious, and people around her stood still. There were many moist eyes there.

While reading Rudy Giuliani’s ‘Leadership’, I got to know of hundreds of acts of bravery.

I’m reading and hearing a lot about 9/11 on the tenth anniversary of the deadly attacks today – a reminder that sometimes it just takes a bunch of blindsided, obsessive maniacs to jolt our lives and bring our world to a crashing end. Life moves on, and time heals. To an extent. Some wounds run very deep. Some scars never completely heal. Closure is most likely a mythological concept. What is truly commendable is the fact that after September 11, 2001, no major terrorist attack has occurred on the US soil. Attempts have been made, yes, but none of them have been successful. That says a lot about the national intelligence, law enforcement, administration and government of the country. 

Stars

Twinkling dots on the navy blue sky. Lighting up the vast sky. Mesmerizing a terrace onlooker in the silent night.

Old memories come alive. A child’s yearning for the elusive fairy. Different fairies from different stars. Hours spent on the terrace waiting to catch a mere glimpse. Wondering about what the stars hold.

Waking early to see the morning star. The blinding brightness of the evening star. A surge of accomplishment on identifying the stars. Still wondering, what is on them? Still wondering if I could ever get any closer?

Hours spent under the stars. Traveling, walking, talking, stopping. Standing. Sleeping. Waking up with stars in eyes.

Heartaches laid bare under the canopy of stars. Tears melting away on starlit nights. Fears and insecurities swept aside by their twinkling presence. Ambitions defined with an eye on the stars. Silent celebrations of triumphs on starry nights. Marching ahead, with stars in my eyes.

Reaching for the stars on shores wide apart. Watching them on my way back home. Staring at them with thoughts of those I cared for. Thinking of a friend while looking at them. Searching for answers when talking to them.

When my thoughts are fuzzy, and priorities unclear, the blanket of stars guides me sometimes. I sought their company as a child. And they have always been with me.

Officiously meddlesome colleagues

At work, very few things piss me off more than a meddlesome co-worker. I have usually got along well with co-workers, peers, bosses and reportees. Back in my corporate avatar, I had become the troubled project specialist – one who would put assignments gone awry in order. I enjoyed it. Even when I have not liked people at work, I have been civil to them, and this has invariably been reciprocated.

Over the years, as I have learnt that I am not perfect, I have also learnt to be more accepting of what I perceive to be faults in others. I have tried to keep my personal and professional life separate and not let my work become my life. In the same spirit, I have avoided doing personal work and making personal calls while at work. Sometimes, I can’t help it, as I spend ten to twelve hours at work, six days a week, but overall, I manage quite well. To the extent that it concerns people, I am a firm believer in keeping personal and professional spaces separate. Hundred percent of that, I know, is difficult to achieve, but I try my best. I never pry into the personal lives of colleagues, ask them personal questions or make remarks on their appearances.

It, therefore, pisses me off no end when people start prying into my personal space. To the extent that they are directly asking me questions, I can handle it. But this week, something super annoying happened. I had received a text message that had the contact number of someone a colleague needed to speak to. When she asked for the number, I started to read it out loud, but she was already on the phone with someone, and with a gesture indicated that it’d be better if she could just read it from my phone itself. I just handed it over to her, thinking she’d note down the number and hand the phone back to me.

The phone remained in her hand for over five minutes despite my subtle protests, during which my call records, details of address book contacts and the text messages were lovingly browsed. Why didn't I go and grab my phone from her hand? I'll say, because I thought it would be rude. But then, what she was doing doing was equally rude and unprofessional.

Subtleties were wasted and I learnt that expressions of displeasure are not taken seriously unless you make a loud (and I’m being quite literal here) hue and cry over it – an act that I’ve never really indulged in, at any of my workplaces.

In the last few days, part of my annoyance has given way to amusement at the overt interest being shown in my life and affairs. I feel like a neophyte in this environment.

Century

This is my one hundredth post. Finally the elusive century is here.

For four years, I averaged one post each month. I was almost absent from this space in 2010. This year, 2011, has been my most prolific year blogging. I should credit that largely to my decision to move to Patna, where, in spite of hectic schedules at work, I can use most of my spare time reading and writing. I am discovering that being taken care of can be empowering too!

I started blogging when I was in New York. Subsequently, I lived in Delhi, Pune, and have been living in Patna for the last three months. It has been a long journey. And I know this journey will continue to destinations that are, as yet, not clear to me.

I started blogging very apprehensively. I was unsure of how much to express on a public forum. When I revert to my initial posts today, I find them a little hazy and unspecific. Over the hundred posts, I have become more direct and forthcoming with my expressions.

For a very long time, I limited my posts to text only. You could say that I liked (and still like) the Google style minimalist philosophy on websites. But slowly, I moved to pictures. They made the space more attractive.

Talking about Google, I must digress a little from the topic here and add that in the last four years, my admiration for the company and its founders has grown. I am a huge admirer of the company, its code of conduct “Don’t be evil”, its founders and the business model. I sometimes regret not specializing in web data mining, for Google is one company I would have dearly loved to work for. Apple is another. I’ll write more on this, may be some time later.

These days, at any given point, I have at least two or three drafts in waiting. But I wanted my hundredth post to be exclusive. It has been an interesting journey of expression, self discovery, learning and connecting. I am now fairly sure that I will not abandon writing (blogging), wherever I am, and whatever I am doing. For, I now take time out for writing in the middle of working through practically all holidays and personal tribulations.

When lives are short and roads are long, a century does tell you at least this – that you have endured.