Ego and WeGo

Lessons from the drunken Master

Mumbai is known for its three seasons – Hot, Hotter and Hottest. Who can vouch for it better than a sales person, braving the mean bambaiyya streets at all seasons! The weather was pumping the mercury real high and the humid breeze mixed with dust was sapping out all my energy. However that summer Friday was having something exciting waiting for me at the end of the day just before the beginning of another cozy slothy weekend.

The newest client of my company had its event in the evening at a five star hotel where I was heading towards. I finished my other calls of the day early and I was the first to be there at the venue apart from a few event coordinators and my senior who was busy doing a tango with a phone in his right ear, hearing a mic test through his left, watching the carpenters through his right eye and a reserved left eye to watch for the clients entry.

All of us finally settled together to have a brief of the event. My eyes couldn’t miss this person of a goliath stature with a pair of thin rim spectacles doing a balancing tightrope act on the edge of his nose. He had a grim expression on his face as he closely scrutinized a piece of paper with writings in blue scarred by edits in red. Just when I was observing things around, He saw me rushing to my events team to erect a branding signage that had given way. My glance returned to the gentle giant since by now I thought that he was the Vice President from my client’s side. My doubts were clarified when he introduced himself as Pablo, the compere of the evening. He gave his Goan aloha smile as though he cast off the grim-faced expression “Mask” effortlessly.

The client team made a grand entry led by the marketing manager who had just escaped from Shakespeare’s play – Taming of the Shrew. Following her was the Vice President of marketing, who had a rectangular pale face and almost similar shaped PDA phone with a wireless earphone blinking a bright blue light. He looked like a taxiing aircraft ready to take off at the drop of a towel. The Lady manager da’ marketing made her first fully loaded attack on poor Pablo and his script.

The red marks on his script increased courtesy the editing scissors of the client. He came to me and gave me a look that clearly showed that his script was turned inside out and he was certainly not having a good feeling about it. The frown on his face was like that of a dull student who just received his report card with many failed subjects, with the prominent and ruthless red marks. He sprayed his cinnamon flavoured mouth-freshner, waiting to blurt out the remade script, and in the due course of the event managed to deliver a splendid performance by holding the show and the attention of the audience together.

The conference ended with people rushing to the bar counter for their share of drinks like children running to the sandwich seller during their slim lunch break. Pablo managed to get his fair share and sat to enjoy with his drinks, while I sat with my usual mocktail sans liquor. I met up with most of the guests who were the top technology decision makers from various large companies based in Mumbai. Pablo, was trying to flirt and “tame” the shrew by being courteous to her asking whether she had dined, but he withdrew at her cold stares. He winked at me as I smiled watching that scene. He asked me for my feedback on his presentation while appreciating me for being a young and proactive member of a nice events and media company that could garner the business of a large client .

Pablo remarked “Nagesh, do you see this lady here with her bosses and the way she is fighting with her sales people who are volunteering at the desk? She almost made a royal mess of the show. You would have certainly seen some of the guests simply walk out of the show. “Its their ego that has spoilt things without which the show may have been better” . I could see a bit of frustration in his speech which was not just because his script was messed up, but as he claimed the show could have been better like the many others he compered.

He further said “I liked the way you were working with your events folks without a worry that your arrow shirt would get a stain. This attitude of yours will see you go places higher”. Anybody likes a good praise, with me as no exception. Just when I was about to be carried away, Pablo warned me, “Nagesh, don’t be like them ever… They have Ego.. in your case there is a small difference.. its WEgo. Both of you manage to get your work done , but in your case everyone is happy and content and the surroundings is full of celebrations! Where as in their case of Ego, its only frustration” Just that W mattered a lot indeed. Thanks to Pablo and the extra pegs that made him open up a lovely conversation, I had an important message about modifying my weaknesses just by a letter and turning things around for everyone’s happiness and success.

My faith in learning and getting from simple things and people around me in all forms, got strengthened further. Despite Pablo being drunk, he had a message for me that came out through our conversation.

After that day, I smile wider at my every colleague and take pride in being their man Friday at times when they need my help. That’s when I remember my friend Pablo.

Garaj Baras - Notes from a rain-soaked day

It was a day after i cleared the dust from Hawking's "A Brief History of Time", to sink into an experience of feeling how miniscular and insignificant we are in this mysterious conspiracy which we have conveniently named "The Universe". Perhaps the day after that, was when Mama Nature had scheduled her practical exercise to prove me the same point with a milder version of her boundless power. 

After seeing through the exercise, I am tempted to write my observations which i hope, describe Her session with me!



The Gray Day (July 24,2005)
Six months back i had enthusiastically laid my hands on an original edition of the Stephen Hawking best seller, with my biting conscience resisting the tempting calls of the pirate seller who was giving it away at one fourth the price without bargain in the streets of Fort, Mumbai.

Each progressing word of the book gave me an out-of-body experience and took me farther and farther away from the surface of the earth. I could feel myself shrink smaller with the book gently unfolding the limitless expanse of the Universe, with its innumerable unanswered riddles.

Back to the world that we know as real (which by then was an imaginary projection), the skies were getting darker, challenging the reducing lumens of the sunlight that passed through the mounting clouds. Despite subjecting a near-twilight at 12 noon, the clouds were as stingy as much as they were dark and seemed loaded. They did not spare even a single drop of rain! Meanwhile news started pouring that the far off suburbs and places like Thane and Panvel is where the action was happening with the fear of floods in few places.

I got myself prepared for the next day at work when my client had called for a meeting, I finished my day at work at normal time without even seeing a single drop of rain and cursing myself for carrying the extra weight of the umbrella, which was dry as its owner :-). The day ended peacefully.. Perhaps it was what they call the silence before the storm.

The May Day ( July 25, 2005)

I woke up with enthusiasm, which i used to don during my days as a sales person, smiling brightly at the mirror. I had a client meeting, which is very rare in my present case where in most of the things happen over phone and email. I dressed carefully in a bright white arrow shirt with a brown Allen Solly trouser. The only dark spot in the shirt was the flauntable arrow logo on the right cuff. I was tempted to wear a neck-tie but the folks at my office would think its my birthday and demand a treat.

I reached office guarding my white shirt with a windcheater which bore my company logo. At two thirty, i took my eyes off my computer to look out towards the window. It felt as though some divine hands had dimmed the lamps outside, casting an uncanny gray ambiance over the central garden green. It was darker than usual, felt as though it was past 7 PM, but my watch argued otherwise. The rain started its onslaught by 2.30 and from the confines of the office, it felt as though it was yet another ordinary heavy rain of Mumbai which could be easily scaled with the courtesy of my windcheater and umbrella together.

The Voyage begins
 
(Well begun is half done?? Well, we were almost done for)

At 3 PM, Boss and I left office in a cab, thinking that train may be a problem. At Dadar, the storm cloud bursted its with-held bladders on our helpless cab which was flapping its windshield wiper in desperation. The inside of the glass was fogged with the driver trusting his gut-feel of the mean streets, and by the faint glow of the tail lamps that filtered through the frosted windshield.

Every ten minutes we asked the driver where we had reached... Prabhadevi.. Dadar...Shivaji Park...Mahim..Every reply saw us getting disappointed over the fact that we would be late for the meeting. Little did we know that our appointment was fixed for another terribly demanding client... The weather.

We tried to reach the client, but darn!! his phone was sounding busy. We finally got stuck up at the Mahim causeway signal. I dared to ask the cabbie how far the highway was and he bleeped "Ek aadha kilometer sahab". Its then i realized that the water from the sea face was appearing to cross the Hutments of the fisherfolk and creeping into the busy streets. The wayside palms bent beyond their usual 90 degrees, as though they were bowing down to a noble woman approaching dressed in a strange grey garb. The scene was highlighted with a heavy confetti of wind-dispersed raindrops.

The water levels on the road rose higher and finally i could feel the waves hitting the bottom sheet of the cab, under my feet. A couple of apathetic heavy vehicles created a strong wavepool in which i could feel my cab almost drifting.

As a citizen of a democratic nation, the cabbie utilized his fundamental right to abuse the government for forcing his cab to run on CNG engine which is the first to succumb to the rains. His predictions were true and the car finally stalled at the causeway. He begged us to pay a flat higher rate to compensate his day and asked us to jump the divider.

I told boss that we had no other option but to get drenched. Luckily i had many plastic bags in which i could safely confine my most precious digital camera, which i was hoping to carry to my friends house to capture a function, and my ardhaangini.. my phone.

Moment of truth:The moment i stepped out of the cab, we got drenched to the bone in five seconds flat, as though my arrow shirt topped with the windcheater and the trousers, were no clothes at all. The raindrops felt like bullets, not that i had braved any of them to know the experience, but it hurt hard on the face. We somehow jumped over the divider and saved ourselves from knee deep water to land in ankle depth. We quickly decided that the highway route would be the best since the interior roads would have been flooded with open manholes at large.

As we dashed out towards the highway, we were racing against a crowd moving in the opposite direction. A papaya tree gave up its vows to the ground it stood and crashed just a couple of steps ahead of us. After pushing hard against the wind and the cheek-piercing rain-shrapnels.

We took a five second refuge under the shade of the foot-over bridge whose roof could not stop the horizontal raindrops. We decided to walk to the highway towards Bandra and all the way till Sion to catch a train from there. We thought the rain was seeming heavy there because of the seaside and were still hopeful that the trains were running on the central side.

The flyover crossing the highway served as a partial shelter to stranded people, mainly two wheel riders, who were already tormented by wearing soaked helmets to save themselves from the sadist cops. We did not stay under the bridge for too long. Despite our age difference, my boss and I felt like two school boys enjoying getting themselves drenched after bunking their classrooms. But by the time we reached the next signal we could be certified as aquatic. Near the kala-nagar signal we caught hold of a Rickshaw and asked him to take us to Sion, He agreed reluctantly but after seeing an ocean at bandra kurla complex junction he took a U-turn.

We saw many people taking the flooded side footpath of the road which also had open manholes, We saw a lady tripping but thankfully she was safe. We took the center of the road and carefully followed the vehicles ahead of us.

We passed through Dharavi towards Sion. My boss was not willing to believe that we were passing through Asia's largest slum since the Road side was looking like a full fledged leather mall, save that it was all part submerged, with the tanned hides of jackets, purses, shoes and belts lapping up the storm water. At a distance i pointed to the Sion railway station which appeared hazy behind the showers.

When we reached the station, boss was looking at the indicator, just when i pointed the platform to him and we both started laughing like madmen. The water level over the tracks had come up to the level of the platform and was flowing towards Kurla at a pace much faster than the stalled trains.

Just when we were walking towards the next signal, a car brushed by us and its owner offered us a lift till Chembur which was quite close to my home and meant few Km's nearer to boss as well. Through the traffic our car went slowly. the car was luxurious with the FM radio stations busy playing item numbers and old movie songs in a contrasting combo, but nothing about the real world! Perhaps the radio compere had kept the auto playlist in control and fled home, I thought.

Some of the driest places, Everard Nagar, Priyadarshini were all submerged and looked as though they were resting on a shiny red muddy surface, with few abandoned cars floating towards the side gutters. We somehow reached the Kurla signal flyover where we parted with our host. Vehicles were not moving beyond since there was a sudden increase in water levels here and what we saw was the Red Sea!! We walked slowly through the flood. My Arrow shirt was going through a natural wash cycle of the raindrops while my allen solly trousers and bata leathers were beating the flood waters. Despite forcing my boss to come to my house, he decided to put his efforts or call me later. We parted at the next signal.

7 PM, The fading sunshine made me realize how chaotic it was without electricity anywhere, with a vehicle breathing its last gasp every 50 meters.

"Is this my Locale or has its address changed??"

As i crossed the Amar Mahal Signal I saw many vehicles getting "amar" before reaching their "mahals". Shoppers stop.. sumaria.. Gautier and the small grocer's shop, the rains were equally merciless to all. They did not even have the opportunity to move their stocks. An Autorickshaw driver was trying to save his vehicle against the stormwater draft by tethering his vehicle to a lightpole using a handkerchief!

Finally i was relieved to reach the entrance of the area where i stay, only to see a giant tree collapsed to make my home feel farther away. The next morning after the skies had relatively cleared, i visited the same place.  I was horrified to see a dead man under that. I felt that he would have been there when i walked past on my way back, when perhaps he lay unconscious ..maybe gasping... but with his heart still beating.. coming to a grinding halt from its rhythmic ritual of 30 plus years in that person's chest.

The water got deeper as i finally entered my lane.. In the near-darkness, I was horrified to see my groundfloor neighbor's abandoned homes filled with water till the waist. There was not a soul to be seen on the street or in the building balcony. Soon i did glimpse candle lights through the rain which was now forceful as the waterfalls i had bathed at the Malshej ghats.

This was the first time that i was thankful that my home was on the third floor. I walked in pitch darkness with light from the screen of my mobile phone that was protected by the plastic packing. Mom was glad to see me home, we were hosting our ground floor neighbour's daughter who had to abandon her car and come to our home with her son. I was glad that my sister decided to stay at her office who took all their employees later to a nice guest house in Malabar Hill. My niece was playful as usual, undeterred by the absence of electricity and her mom's electrifying voice (hehe sister bashing as usual). We were worried about Dad but he was home by midnight with an experience more tiresome than what i went through. He was in the submerged Kurla area and took temporary refuge in the top deck of a stalled double decker bus. After a brief rest, he waded through chest deep water for few KM's before arriving home.

I thanked God that despite releasing his wrath on us he did take special care of my family and rendered us safe. This situation made me feel as though the roof of my house was removed and extended to cover whole of Mumbai, which made me pray hard for everyone. But unfortunately some had to leave unexpectedly, with the rains as a sudden reason.

Switched on the radio which was busy with its digital item number playlists with thin slices of situation of Mumbai which made no sense. All India radio Mumbai was busy with experts debating on what happened in the union strike in Gurgaon. The PRO of Railways was optimistic to start the services in no time, however the "no time" is not yet due.

The cribs can be endless... but it was a different experience to start the chapter on "space and time" in The book - A Brief history of time, in dim candlelight, with all the other modes of information and entertainment reduced to dead solids.

The air was aloud with the sound of the raindrops accelerated by the wind, and was heavy with dampness. Soon got accustomed to it which finally put me to sleep, where the darkness of the room shook hands with the jet blacks of my sound slumber.

The rains continued till the morning next. 

Regards,

Nagesh

Garaj Baras - Notes from a rain-soaked day

It was a day after i cleared the dust from Hawking's "A Brief History of Time", to sink into an experience of feeling how miniscular and insignificant we are in this mysterious conspiracy which we have conveniently named "The Universe". Perhaps the day after that, was when Mama Nature had scheduled her practical exercise to prove me the same point with a milder version of her boundless power. 

After seeing through the exercise, I am tempted to write my observations which i hope, describe Her session with me!



The Gray Day (July 24,2005)
Six months back i had enthusiastically laid my hands on an original edition of the Stephen Hawking best seller, with my biting conscience resisting the temptating calls of the pirate seller who was giving it away at one fourth the price without bargain in the streets of Fort, Mumbai.

Each progressing word of the book gave me an out-of-body experience and took me farther and farther away from the surface of the earth. I was feeling myself shrink smaller with the book gently unfolding the limitless expanse of the Universe with its innumerable unanswered riddles.

Back to the world that we know as real (which by then was an imaginary projection), the skies were getting darker, challenging the reducing lumens of the sunlight that passed through the mounting clouds. Despite being near-twilight at 12 noon, The clouds were as stingy as much as they were dark, since they did not even spare a single drop of rain! Meanwhile news started pouring that the far off suburbs and places like Thane and Panvel is where the action was happening with the fear of floods in few places.

I got myself prepared for the next day at work when my client had called for a meeting, I finished my day at work at normal time without even seeing a single drop of rain and cursing myself for carrying the extra weight of the umbrella, which was dry as its owner :-). The day ended peacefully.. Perhaps it was what they call the silence before the storm

The May Day ( July 25, 2005)

I woke up with enthusiasm, which i used to don during my days as a sales person, smiling brightly at the mirror. I had a client meeting, which is very rare in my present case where in most of the things happen over phone and email. I dressed carefully in a bright white arrow shirt with a brown Allen Solly trouser. The only dark spot in the shirt was the flauntable arrow logo on the right cuff. I was tempted to wear a neck-tie but the folks at my office would think its my birthday and demand a treat.

I reached office guarding my white shirt with a windcheater which bore my company logo. At two thirty, i took my eyes off my computer to look out towards the window. It felt as though some divine hands had dimmed the lamps outside, casting an uncanny gray ambience over the central garden green. It was darker than usual, felt as though it was past 7 PM, but my watch argued otherwise. The rain started its onslaught by 2.30 and from the confines of the office, it felt as though it was yet another ordinary heavy rain of Mumbai which could be easily scaled with the courtesy of my windsheater and umbrella together.

The Voyage begins
 
(Well begun is half done?? Well, we were almost done for)

At 3 PM, Boss and I left office in a cab, thinking that train may be a problem. At Dadar, the storm cloud bursted its with-held bladders on our helpless cab which was flapping its windshield wiper in desperation. The inside of the glass was fogged with the driver trusting his gut-feel of the mean streets, and by the faint glow of the tail lamps that filtered through the frosted windshield.

Every ten minutes we asked the driver where we had reached... Prabhadevi.. Dadar...Shivaji park...Mahim..Every reply saw us getting disappointed over the fact that we would be late for the meeting. Little did we know that our appointment was fixed for another terribly demanding client... The weather.

We tried to reach the client, but darn!! his phone was sounding busy. We finally got stuck up at the Mahim causeway signal. I dared to ask the cabbie how far the highway was and he bleeped "Ek aadha kilometer sahab". Its then i realized that the water from the sea face was appearing to cross the Hutments of the fisherfolk and creeping into the busy streets. The wayside palms bent beyond their usual 90 degrees, as though they were bowing down to a noble woman approaching dressed in a strange grey garb. The scene was highlighted with a heavy confetti of wind-dispersed raindrops.

The water levels on the road rose higher and finally i could feel the waves hitting the bottom sheet of the cab, under my feet. A couple of apathetic heavy vehicles created a strong wavepool in which i could feel my cab almost drifting.

As a citizen of a democratic nation, the cabbie utilized his fundamental right to abuse the government for forcing his cab to run on CNG engine which is the first to succumb to the rains. His predictions were true and the car finally stalled at the causeway. He begged us to pay a flat higher rate to compensate his day and asked us to jump the divider.

I told boss that we had no other option but to get drenched. Luckily i had many plastic bags in which i could safely confine my most precious digital camera, which i was hoping to carry to my friends house to capture a function, and my ardhaangini.. my phone.

Moment of truth:The moment i stepped out of the cab, we got drenched to the bone in five seconds flat, as though my arrow shirt topped with the windcheater and the trousers, were no clothes at all. The raindrops felt like bullets, not that i had braved any of them to know the experience, but it hurt hard on the face. We somehow jumped over the divider and saved ourselves from knee deep water to land in ankle depth. We quickly decided that the highway route would be the best since the interior roads would have been flooded with open manholes at large.

As we dashed out towards the highway, we were racing against a crowd moving in the opposite direction. A papaya tree gave up its vows to the ground it stood and crashed just a couple of steps ahead of us. After pushing hard against the wind and the cheek-piercing rain-shrapnels.

We took a five second refuge under the shade of the foot-over bridge whose roof could not stop the horizontal raindrops. We decided to walk to the highway towards Bandra and all the way till Sion to catch a train from there. We thought the rain was seeming heavy there because of the seasiude and were still hopeful that the trains were running on the central side.

The flyover crossing the highway served as a partial shelter to stranded people, mainly two wheel riders, who were already tormented by wearing soaked helmets to save themselves from the sadist cops. We did not stay under the bridge for too long. Despite our age difference, my boss and I felt like two school boys enjoying getting themselves drenched after bunking their classrooms. But by the time we reached the next signal we could be certified as aquatic. Near the kala-nagar signal we caught hold of a Rickshaw and asked him to take us to Sion, He agreen reluctantly but after seeing an ocean at bandra kurla complex he took a U-turn.

We saw many people taking the flooded side footpath of the road which also had open manholes, We saw a lady tripping but thankfully she was safe. WE took the center of the road and carefully followed the vehicles ahead of us.

We passed through Dharavi towards Sion. My boss was not willing to believe that we were passing through Asia's largest slum since the Road side was looking like a full fledged leather mall, save that it was all part submerged, with the tanned hides of jackets, purses, shoes and belts lapping up the storm water. At a distance i pointed to the Sion station which appeared hazy behind the showers.

When we reached the station, boss was looking at the indicator, just when i pointed the platform to him and we both started laughing like madmen. The water level over the tracks had come up to the level of the platform and was flowing towards kurla at a pace much faster than the stalled trains.

Just when we were walking towards the next signal, a car brushed by us and its owner offered us a lift till chembur which was quite close to my home and meant few Km's nearer to boss as well. THrough the traffic our car went slowly. the car was luxurious with the FM radio stations busy playing item numbers and old movie songs in a contrasting combo, but nothing about the real world! Perhaps the radio compere had kept the auto playlist in control and fled home, I thought.

Some of the driest places, everard nagar, priyadarshini were all submerged and looking they were resting on a shiny red muddy surface. with few abandoned cars floating towards the side gutters. We somehow reached the Kurla signal flyover where we parted with our host. Vehicles were not moving beyond since there was a sudden increase in water levels here and what we saw was the Red Sea!! We walked slowly through the flood. My Arrow shirt was going through a natural wash cycle of the raindrops while my allen solly trousers and bata leathers were beating the flood waters. Despite forcing my boss to come to my house, he decided to put his efforts or call me later. We parted at the next signal.

7 PM, The fading sunshine made me realize how chaotic it was without electricity anywhere, with a vehicle breathing its last gasp every 50 meters.

"Is this my Locale or has its address changed??"

As i crossed the Amar Mahal Signal I saw many vehicles getting "amar" before reaching their "mahals". Shoppers stop.. sumaria.. Gautier and the small grocer's shop, the rains were equally merciless to all. They did not even have the opportunity to move their stocks.

Finally i was relieved to reach the entrance of the area where i stay, only to see a giant tree collapsed to make my home feel farther away. The next morning after the skies had relatively cleared i was horrified to see a dead man under that. I felt that he would have been there when i walked past on my way back, when perhaps he lay unconscious ..maybe gasping... but with his heart still beating.. coming to a grinding halt to its rhythmic ritual of 30 plus years in that person's chest.

The water got deeper as i finally entered my lane.. In the near-darkness, I was horrified to see my groundfloor neighbor's abandoned homes filled with water till the waist. There was not a soul to be seen on the street or in the building balcony. Soon i did glimpse candle lights through the rain which was now forceful as the waterfalls i had bathed at the Malshej ghats.

This was the first time that i was thankful that my home was on the third floor. I walked in pitch darkness with light from the screen of my mobile phone. Mom was glad to see me home, we were hosting our ground floor neighbour who had to abandon her car and come to our home with her son. I was glad that my sister decided to stay at her office who took all their employees later to a nice guest house in Malabar Hill. My niece was playful as usual, undettered by the absence of electricity and her mom's electrifying voice (hehe sister bashing as usual). We were worried about Dad but he was home by midnight with an experience more tiresome than what i went through.

But i thanked God that despite releasing his wrath on us he did take special care of my family and rendered us safe. This situation made me feel as though the roof of my house was removed and extended to cover whole of mumbai, which made me pray hard for everyone. But unfortunately some had to leave unexpectedly, with the rains as a sudden reason.

Switched on the radio which was busy with its digital item number playlists with thin slices of situation of mumbai which made no sense. All India radio Mumbai was busy with experts debating on what happened in the union strike in Gurgaon. The PRO of Railways was optimistic to start the services in no time, however the "no time" is not yet due.

The cribs can be endless... but it was a different experience to start the chapter on "space and time" in The book - A Brief history of time, in dim candlelight, with all the other modes of information and entertainment reduced to dead solids.

The air was aloud with the sound of the raindrops accelerated by the wind, and was heavy with dampness. Soon got accustomed to it which finally put me to sleep, where the darkness of the room shook hands with the jet blacks of my sound slumber.

Regards,

Nagesh

Malshej Ghat in Monsoon

Visit my blog on a wondrous weekend at Malshej Ghat.
at
http://nagpai.blogspot.com

Photos here

Cheers!
Nagesh

An Ode to Her Music

Salutations at Thy Lotus Feet,
Oh Goddess of divine music.
Melodies and Dance together meet,
and cast a spell of Pure Magic

Your Magical tunes although,

ain't just mere illusion.

The North east west and south,

find here a harmonic fusion.

May your lilting music flow
to far flung solitary lands
Irrigating lush green oases
amidst frigid desert sands

An admirer of the art manifest

Has no more words to say

may your music heal one and all

Is what I will ever Pray.

........Pied Paiper

Vangani Travelog

Check out

http://nagpai.blogspot.com

This is a log of a nice weekend trek that I had.

here are the photos too!!

PHOTOZ

The Unforgiving Boss

At the Head office

Braving the heat, humidity, dust and grime of a typical midsummer Mumbai, I was relieved to enter the cool air-conditioned fortress “Om Sagar”, which served as the Head office to my ex-company. Quick as breeze, with a “daakiya daak laya rhythm” I flew across many cubicles of my colleagues who formed a Mexican wave of greets as I passed their dens. Quite a warm welcome that a sales person gets when he comes on a not so frequent visit to the head office, far away from the party time (noise to few) of the city sales office.

I was glad to see all of them like a child sliding his fingers over all the whites in a piano octave, like the green coconut palms waving past me in a train taking me to my long separated hometown, like the standing paddy turf bowing to gusts of pollinating breeze gently caressing them.

As I was swinging past with joy, I came across the cubicle of my friend who was a senior correspondent of one of the reputed publications of the company. His reportage was well regarded as a genuine source by lot many faithful readers of the magazine and of course by the highly placed marketing managers of leading IT companies regarding whose coverage in the magazine was very much sought after. As a good friend he used to provide me with tips from the industry which I used for generating sales. His reference was highly effective in breaking ice with new and otherwise unapproachable clients.

This time around the cheerful expression of his face was evicted by a gloomy frown with a tinge of frustration. He asked me “ Nagesh, can you spare a minute? Lets go to the café. Have something confidential to share”. “Sure” I replied hoping that it nothing more serious than the hot summer that kept him disturbed.

“I have decided to quit the company” began my colleague stating it upfront and bold. “Have you got a better offer elsewhere?” I asked with glee.. “No Nagesh, I am starting something on my own and wish to ask whether you want to be a part of it” He further explained what he was intending to do. I appreciated his enterprising decision but regretted my participation stating that I still had to gain experience and it was too early in my career to take such a bold step.. I was playing safe but after due calculations. He ended by saying..

”I am tired of working under someone. Its high time I do something on my own and earn for myself rather than generate profit for others” .

The last statement due to some reason started playing in my head again and again like a needle-stuck-gramaphone. While it was an enterprising move that my friend was trying to make, was he doing it out of passion or out of sheer frustration? Well maybe a fine combination of both.. But would he succeed or land up from the frying pan straight to the voracious flames? I wished him good luck and proceeded back to my paths with the extra luggage of my friends last statement…

“I am tired of working under someone”

I had known the editor, his boss to be a nice man, was he being a tyrant? Nah .. couldn’t be. Maybe saturation in his career and its worries had caught him imprisoned. The kit-baggage with these questions in my mind was waiting to be answered on another occasion which wasn’t far off.

Day with Anand (Answers)

It was another day o’ dust, sweat and grime minus the central AC of Om Sagar or my cozy cubicle at the Sales office. I was out on the punishing Andheri-kurla road where pedestrians, stray animals ( wild as well as tamed, some of them on wheels) and vehicles fight for their square feet share of the cratered tar + concrete, to jiggle and if possible wriggle their way through, while still remembering their destination by the time they take their next step into chaos.

Finally after overcoming every hurdle on the road and getting a thorough inhalation of vehicular exhaust, I reached Anand's office. Anand and his brother Gurpreet managed one of Mumbai's largest Web-hosting business and were faithful advertisers in my company's magazine from its day one issue. After cooling down with a glass of water with a cup of tea waiting to cool (Anand never lets his visitors go without serving them tea), our discussions started and led to me asking for more than usual business for a special issue which was due in the coming months. Anand was a good negotiator and startled me saying that he may not be present in the next issue which meant it would be his first break in 3 years!!! He then allowed me to release my witheld breath by saying that he will not be able to spend high for the next month, although he will be present in his usual quarter page advertisement.

In his self-made stature he remarked

"Nagesh, I may be having a great rapport with you, but my boss will not allow me to spend even a penny more".

I had known Anand as the proprietor of the company, now who was he reporting to off late?? How could he entrust his entire self made and established business to someone so easily?? Before I could think of disguising my question and ask him.. He read the query in my expression and said "You must be wondering who my boss is? Relax, I still own this business but I am Self-Employed.. I am employed... by whom?? Well you will be scared if I even tell you about what a tyrant he is."

Anand continued " Nagesh, you work for a nice company where if you dont meet your targets they dont ask for your head. Well my boss doesnt take any prisoners, He is the most ruthless superior you may ever see in your worst nightmares. Whenever my decisions lead to the right results i get rewarded. But when I fail, I dont get cajoled but I get the lashes straight till I bleed"

Anand's words kept me hooked as he disclosed

" My boss is My Business"

" People may think that i dont have anyone to report to. But like I said, My business is an absolutely unforgiving boss who never keeps accounts to be settled for later. Whenever I take the right path and succeed, He rewards me with profits a large part of which I feed him back. But sometimes even with genuine intentions if things go wrong and give unfavorable results, he punishes me with the worst ever punishment.. losses, some of which takes long enough to recover and endangers your sustenance. But despite all of this I have to report to him and Hence I am sorry Nagesh I cant spend more with you at this time when I am at a greater chance of being punished".

I smiled back at him with a genuine smile which may have perhaps raised surprise in his head, since salesmen can't don a genuine smile when refused. But what i had gotten from him was a big principle of business which perhaps no B School would teach me.

Flash-back Om Sagar.. I was wondering if my correspondent friend would quit the current job because he did not want to report to anyone, whether he would be able to cope up with the Ruthlessness of a new boss - Mr. My-own-Business. The only quality that would drive anyone to the brighter side of this boss was sheer passion, which was at its highest levels in Anand, which I prayed that my correspondent friend should have.

Passion for your goal is the only language that can help him negotiate with "the unforgiving boss". Pursuit of passion would surely see him shining in his new venture. But an act driven by escapism would surely land him in the boiling cauldrons of his unforgiving Boss - would -be.

Hats off to Anand who answered my predicament and gave me a lesson for lifetime. Sincere Prayers for my correspondent friend for his endeavors! And a big thanks to you for reading such a long blog :-)

Sincerely,

Nagesh

Triple traits of a Woman

The Three Traits of a Woman - Uncle Gokhale speaks again

July 1998, Pen, Maharashtra

Arrival at Pen:

If you have read my last blog you would be conviced as to why i am in love with this place. The monsoon of 98 with a great training at IPCL Nagothane, and a great place to retreat after a long day at the plant, made those 10 days memorable. Apart from the occassion, what made the experience unforgettable was the magic of Pen - the house where we stayed and its owner Uncle Gokhale, who was the dad of my father's colleague. Many more trinklets and glistens formed the fine brocade of this magical place. It was also a different experience for a pampered and protected kid like me to stay away from the luxuries of a well provided, "automated" home.

Mounted on a rumbling n' wobbling four wheel box o' jagged tin ( God knows whether the fifth wheel existed in the drivers hands), which is locally called Maharashtra ST bus, we chug-chugged from Mumbai. After getting down we carefully followed the detailed directions noted by my dad and found ourselves far away from the bustling Goa highway into the quiet enclosure of old Pen where the trumpets of the great marathas can still be heard looking at some of the old "Waadas" and the old Shiva temple up the hillock.

Gokhale Uncle

We were welcomed by our elderly host, Mr. Gokhale, who assured us that his home was a peaceful and comfortable place to stay. We felt quite protected in his octogenerian company, despite feeling slightly insecure about the heavy rain falling on the age old mangalore tiled roof. He helped us quickly unwind. He told us that there had been few students of a nearby engineering college, who stayed as paying guest with him for a long time except for one who got bogged by drinking habit and had apparently put up some obscene posters in his rented room.

I could see Mr. Gokhale getting more talkative with growing enthusiasm which was a direct reflection of how lonely he had been staying all by himself long after the last paying guest had left him.... long after his wife passed away... long after he retired from the film editing lab where he glared at every frame of movie with his expert eyes, much before the burning light of the arclamps projected its image on an awaiting white screen. As he started talking more and more we could see the experiences he had been through and the many cycles of various seasons, some changing as per the nature's pattern and the others rather uncertain.

Uncle Gokhale pointed to the inner room and said " tum log yaahaan pe soneka.. chadar chatayi rakha hua hai.. laga ke so janeka Bhe**hod". The last word came naturally with an absolutely smooth allignment with the rest of the sentence. Kaushal my colleague who was a non-swearer till that point in life, wondered why uncle used a gaali for no mistake done!!! I was reminded of my Dad's description of few elders who use abuses like Ashtottara, which is a set of endearing names to God almighty.. I could feel the same music in his abuse, except that Kaushal took time to appreciate Hard rock music, which was clear from his question "Uncle ne humlog ko gaali kyon diya".

For the next two days Kaushal and mine sentences to each other ended with that word, while trying to imitate the smoothness in uncle's tone.. we could not :-). Saints as we were at that time when we never used any abuse, it was quite a try when no one else was hearing.

After our dinner, uncle said that there were many boys who stayed there but he never allowed a single girl to stay there.. I thought that with a small house as that it would be an obvious reason not to allow a girl to stay there. But before i could freeze my apprehensions, Mr. Gokhale vented out saying:

" Ek chatt ke neeche hazaar ladke reh sakte hain ... lekin do ladkiyaan kabhi nahin.. Kyonkin aurat ka teen gun hota hain" (teen and gun are hindi words not to be pronounced as in english, but what uncle meant was a more lethal weapon than a gun in english) .

I did not wonder too much as to why he was being so unfair to womankind because i myself was a MCP those days, much more than what i am today. Overcome with sleep after a sumptuous dinner and an equally filling long talk, I nodded at that statement thinking that it was one of the dialogues of his film and retired to bed in total darkness of not just the night, but in the darkness of my ignorance about where uncle Gokhale came from when he made that statement.

Next morning he spoke about his sons and their family, about the arrogance of his daughter-in-laws. One of whom had a love marriage with his younger son who was not even having a firm employment then. His older son's wife was arrogant and quite believed in staying separately. It was apparent by now that Uncle had seen the worst of women in them who were the reasons for him to stay away.. far away from urban civilizations in his own world where he experimented with herbs and ayurveda, where he carefully stored his collection of old film posters of those for which he did the editing, where he lived with the fond memories of his passionate and hard struggled past. He once again ended up saying "Aurat ka teen gun hota hain".. this time my eye brows went higher, the way it does when you see a catchy advertisement for the second time delving deeper into what it is trying to convey.

I heard this sentence a couple of more times before i finally blew the whistle asking "Uncle yeh teen gun hain kya??". He burst out laughing and asked "Tereko aurat ke teen gun nahin maloom? Kaisa aadmi hain tu bhi?" I told him that i honestly did not know about it. He then then repeated the phrase like a mantra.

"Aurat ka teen Gun hota hain"

Ater a pause he repeated and continued " Yeh teen gun ke wajah se saadaran si aurat Indira Gandhi ban jaati hai.. yeh teen gun se .....sirf yeh teen gun se woh apna raj chalati hai is duniya pe"

"Sabse Pehla gun: Shringaar" A lady expresses Shringaar through her beauty, through the way she carries herself, the way she decorates herself and makes her presence felt aloud. She grabs attention and then she robs unsuspecting sights and hearts.... she conquers. The charm of beautiful women like Madhubala was still present in the fading posters from uncle's collection of those movies he edited. Cleopatra unlike the hype was not known to be a particularly good looking woman, she had some odd features. What made her alluring was her sense of Shringaar. People go out of the way and ways fall apart when the lady in red calls for her shots, no matter however "strong hearted" a man may be. The way a woman carries herself can get her big tasks done by others without throwing her weight. I must confess here that i have been an unsuspecting victim to this weapon too and many among ye readers after raising your eyebrows will recollect a time when you have been vulnerable (men) or when you have used this deadly weapon (women) :-).... She dresses to kill and she rules.

"Doosra gun: Rodan" . I recollected Munshi Premchand's words which may be translated as "A woman's tears is the highest calorific fuel to keep masculine anger at its highest temperature". The toughest masculine carborandum-hearts have melted like butter on a frying pan at the first trickle of a feminine tear droplet. Tears may arrive as an indication of deep pain but have the immense capacity to mobilize action.

"Teesra Gun: Matsarya" .. Before uncle could tell me more about jealousy, i was reminded of the famous story of Goddess Parvati being jealous of her sister River Goddess Ganges residing in her husband, Lord Shiva's hair locks. She devised a fine conspiracy after that to ensure that Ganges was sent back to earth. However her Jealosy served a higher purpose of relieving the thirsts and sins of thousands of seekers in the downstream of Ganges. But I stood bewildered at the amount of action and change that Jealosy can drive.

Its amazing that these three forces are neatly concealed since they appear as signs of weakness or as means of getting attention. It is these notions that makes these forces unbeatable.

Mr. Gokhale's story was an eye-opener which showed clearly that men and women are not created equal, as women are more equipped with these three forces. As a matter of fact every woman is well armed to use these three forces for either rocking the cradle or ruling the world.

.... "yehi teen gunon se woh apna hukum chalati hai.... aur saadi si ladki Indira Gandhi ban Jaati hai"

The Little Green Woman

The Little Green Woman from Innerspace

Outset:

The monsoon of 1998 saw me excited upon a spectacular journey, a nice getaway that every tormented prisoner of Chaos City longs for. Thanks to my close college-mate, Sridhar, Kaushal and I got a berth for an exciting offsite training at the IPCL plant at a distant place, Nagothane. The three of us were quite a group

Accomodation at Pen:

While Sridhar had a direct bus from his outskirts residence leading to the plant location, Kaushal and I had to stay at a nearby town called "Pen" ( n pronounced with the stronger syllable), which is famous for its plaster sculptors who supply the whole world with plaster statues of Lord Ganesh. Thanks to my father's colleague, we got ourselves an accomodation in the innermost precincts of Pen, which was a stronghold of Maratha warriors of yore, whose presence could still be felt through the family temples and the large residences named "Waadas" prefixed with the family names (eg. Daataarwaada). The Waadas and the fragrance of the place were frozen in time ever since the last Maratha warrior raised his war cry, save the falling plaster and structural deterioration of the buildings, inspite of which the structures stood tall and sturdy.

The clouds and the left-overs of the sunshine that it spared through, ensured that the grays matched with that of the old town.

When we asked for the residence of Mr. Gokhale, our host, we were pointed to an old, ramshackle tumbledowned home. It was made of mud with a roof of burnt-red Mangalore tiles. The central portion of the structure had already given way, succumbimg to the forces of nature and neglect. We came to know later that this demolished part of the house partitioned the two occupant families of the house like a no-man's land between conflicting countries. The courtyard was a fine red paste of mud, the blend of which told us aloud that the place was well rain-fed. The dripping droplets from the trees above did its bit to keep the dampness of the place alive, despite the strong showers having left the place about an hour back.

Our host was very courteous well in his eighties, and had lots of stories to tell us about ayurveda and the silver screens of yest years where he served as a technical person. The posters of the old movies which he proudly showed with his name in the fineprint, with the innocence of a child showing his high grades, were all faded. But in the glimmer of his faint eyes, the colours of Madhubala's costumes showed with its full lustre, just like it did on the silver screen on one of the first eastman colour movies that he edited.

After his wife's demise, Mr. Gokhale stayed all alone by himself in this house but for a companion whom he called "the Laxmi" of the home. I discovered this "Laxmi" later, a small mole rat, when she was having her share of the khichdi that I cooked with chef Kaushal's directions, thankfully she did that after we were done with our share. She was harmless as Uncle Gokhale had told us, she came uninvited and left at her own will, but paid regular visits. The house was lit by three bulbs, one flickering tubelight and had bare minimum possessions like a primus original kerosene stove and a couple of vessels for cooking and heating bath water. We were about to crib for a fan before the onset of the night that blew a cold breeze with torrential rains over the place. We sought refuge under our blankets.

The Dark Damp Night.

At the end of the first long day Kaushal and I were done with our dinner and so was "Laxmi". We were also done washing the utensils and the clothes which took over two days and nights to dry in the damp weather. The one's which dried anyways became wet when we wore it and set off in the windy rains.

The last lamp in the house was finally switched off and Kaushal immediately dropped asleep. While I somehow made it to the bed in the pitch dark, I was lost in the darkness even after settling in the bed. I could feel just my eyelids flickering with not a pixel illuminated on my retina to prove that I still had the ability to see. Goodness!! had i turned blind!!?? or do such dark places actually exist on earth!!?? My eye lids continued to blink with an experience of total blindness less the sixth sense of a blind man.

The next morning, Mr. Gokhale gave us a small surprise and said that he is leaving for Mumbai to collect his pension and the house would remain in our charge. He asked us to religiously light a lamp or an agarbatti in the place near the kitchen where he had the photographs of few Gods and his departed grandmother who had taught him ayurveda. He gave us some medicines to take care of ourselves, and a mysterious powder which was supposed to have the effect of sanjivini.. the elixir of life kind of drug. I later on found that the same medicine had cured my tonsils without operation, long back when Mr. Gokhale's son had sent me during my troubled days.

The Damp night Returns.. She Came with her torch.

The night repeated with her mysterious darkness, tranquilizing Kaushal almost as fast as the lights went off. Once again I marvelled at the immense darkness of the place till I had the encounter which was waiting few moments ahead.

Just when my eyelids were almost done with their routine flicker and were about to close like the falling curtains of a concluded opera show, they swung wide open to a spectacle! This time they did not flicker...my eyelids were held wide open.... for the entire room was filled with a green haze that was bright enough to light every detail of the room, just like the zero watt bulb of the room in the brown-out low voltage.

For the first few minutes I could not trace the source of the light, until a tiny green lantern came flying across the room and hovered for a brief instant over my head with her full lustre in which i could now see my own nose. She proved to me that i did not turn blind after the lights went out and that my faculties of vision still remained active. I realized that the room and I were haunted, as much as I was enchanted, by this glow-worm who had just graduated to become a firefly. Her tail had the faint green steady light which was unlikely of the bright strobelight flashes of the fully grown firefly. She settled on the wall like the night lamp on duty, while her green glow into sweet slumber.

I was beginning to believe that it was a dream until the next night she returned to redeem me from the blinding darkness of the night, giving me company till I fell asleep, giving me rays of green hope even under the grey clad skies and the burnt mangalore tiled roof.

The night after, she never came, but by then my heart was full of her beauty and lustre and I was pretty much convinced that it was the darkness of the night .... nay not loss of sight which defined the black canvas on which my imagination drew green images.

Sincerely..

Nagesh Pai

My first blog

Hello There!

How has your journey in cyberspace been so far? Welcome to Nagzone, the place where you find a good friend in me and get an opportunity to share some of your interests and knowledge with me.

26 years Young, Religiously secular and Secularly religious, net to net, a firm believer in the Supreme who is humble enough to come down to my level and help me shoulder-to shoulder. An engineer plus MBA in qualification, after a fair share of experiments in career today I am content and almost settled in Advertising and Media.

Every breath and heartbeat in life for me constitutes the rhythm of the drum that starts its thumps from the womb and stops at a step short of the tomb. My life is full of music and Music fills my life! Keep visiting my cove here and stay tuned!

Cheers!
Nagesh