Would I leave a ding in the universe?

I recently went to Baroda to attend my late father's "shraddha", on his first death anniversary. In a very short span of a day during the rituals, my mind was occupied with memories making me go through mixed emotions, leaving my sentiments bit wobbly. I returned, engulfed with restlessness; result of yet another reminder of how things changed within the family post my parents' demise in last three years! 

Last evening, while walking on the beach, (my favourite place I visit when I feel the need to calm down) looking at the foot prints on the sand, a lot of memories with my parents were played on my mind; beautiful, abundant memories of a very blessed childhood, memories that brought out best associations with neighbours and extended family members conveying great reverence for my parents that made me feel proud.

Its strange how in spite of knowing that my parents have journeyed well and it was natural for them to depart, I sometimes crave for their physical presence to preserve my link, comfort and indescribably potent sense of security. Try as we may, to prepare ourselves for the departure of those who have been part of our lives, how difficult it is to remain stoic when the moment actually arrives! 

Have you ever observed how the beach unfolds lot of stories of the people passed by before us? We walk different paths leaving different foot prints. Some play, some run, some walk erratically, alone, others, with someone special, making castles while some just sit gazing at the horizon and waves. Some people ensure to erase foot prints of people passed before them, while some walk gently without disturbing anything in the surrounding, enjoying every step. Many of us don't leave foot prints because of where and how we choose to walk while some foot prints are rooted so deeply that even the waves are not able to erase them!

Looking at the way my parents touched so many lives, I can't help thinking, when I am gone, would I have made any difference to a few lives? Am I walking a right path to be like a fossil; leave an impression on sand that solidifies into rock so that many years later people can marvel about life I lived, literally and metaphorically?  

"When its over, I want to say; all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it is over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened and full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world." Mary Oliver

This quote reminds me of Steve Job's wish to leave a ding in the universe. It isn't about passing through. Its about leaving a mark. Ever thought, what is your mark going to be?

Dose of inspiration from the road

Traffic signals and foot paths in the metro cities of India are huge scrolls of never ending stories. They narrate tales that are tall. Not tall stories. 

There is diverse array of people trying to do business on footpaths, traffic signals and on road everyday. In our corporate humdrum dominated urban lives, we don't allow ourselves to explore their stories pregnant within. I know, we can't always afford to. In a city like Bombay, that plays host to every conceivable inhabitant on planet Earth, survival for these people gets painfully tough. 

In all these years of regular commute, I have learnt to stop struggling to fight with rising decibel levels and concern about encroachment of public roads and footpaths and have learnt to shift my focus to seeing beauty amid the chaos at traffic snarls and have come across most inspiring and fascinating tales of human spirit.

Since last couple of days, on my daily drive, I have been watching two stunningly beautiful Marwari women from Rajasthan, selling bead jewelry at the traffic signal. Watching these women selling their jewelry is absolute delight! Most of the times, while so many other people at the signal don't even merit a cursory second glance, I look forward to spotting theses women and interact with them as much as possible. Apart from their raw enchanting beauty and breathtakingly beautiful sense of dressing, its their seamless efficiency and mind blowing power of striking a deal within few seconds is what grabbed my attention instantly. 

Think about this. They don't have enough education as back-up or set of skills to define their "core competence" in "key result areas" to confine themselves to as each day brings in new challenges that demands them to change and adept. They have to provide for their entire family, including men and can you even guess the load of that burden? They are left with no choice but look forward to each day, face it head on; shouting, haggling, arguing, avoiding lecherous glances and touches, take humiliations in stride and yet try hard to sell their products taking all this in their stride with great élan, with a lovely, genuine smile on face and sense of "get-on-with-it, no matter what, WITHOUT seeking pity or any help! 

A gentle smile, a friendly wave or a full throated greeting to these women have made many of my days. I have gained a lot when they come to me and in those brief moments, share their experiences of harsh city life. It is in encounters like these that I realize I am part of a very blessed minority. I am waiting to catch up with their life stories to unfold strand by strand and when it does, I know there are many lessons to learn about business, management and life in general, that even the most elitist business school in the world can never impart!   

Meeting little superheroes

It was more out of commitment that I dragged myself and put on my happy face and headed to St. Jude Child Care Center at Tata Memorial Hospital for Cancer treatment and research, last Sunday; not really knowing what to expect except hovering death hounded by critical illness. I had injured myself and was in deep pain and at one point, was tempted to call it off but fortunately I didn't listen to that voice inside me.  

When I reached with my son to the children's ward, my pain vanished completely and I found instead, beautiful, profound lessons on how to live every moment of life. The real inspiration came from the children suffering from dreadful disease of cancer; so young, so strong willed and full of life! They were of a varied lot and the astounding thing about these kids was that other than their masks, bald heads and other obvious evident symptoms of cancer that gave away their condition, they looked and behaved normal like any other kid of their age. 

One of the most endearing experiences was when a toddler sat in my lap without any hesitation; I cautiously rested my arm around him and when his warm, frail fingers gently entwined into mine, tightly, there was rush of emotions that is beyond words! 

The innocence and vulnerability of children in the cancer ward was so troubling that I could not find courage to speak with the parents much. Looking at their sullen stares and burden of everyday struggle of not knowing what each day held for their apple of eye, I knew my sympathy, no matter how genuine seemed too hollow against the enormity of their pain.    

There was only one question I had in my mind, why them? The children were so young that they didn't deserve to be there. They needed the comfort of their own homes, fights with siblings, play in gay abandon, which was preferable to this comfortable but impersonal place like hospitals.


It is strange how easily we forget what a precious gift life is. Looking at all the painful stories around me, I was choked. Thankfully, I met two wonderful people Mr. Agastya kapoor and his lovely wife Bindiya, the organizers of the event,I learnt about their great initiative Someone.Somewhere.; http://www.someonesomewhere.org/ that provides community service through  unique events and helps out people in need.

When I saw Mr. Agastya Kapoor, talking about animation films, connecting with children with great ease, make them laugh, and engaging them in fun conversation, encouraging children to make greeting cards for Indian soldiers, I was touched. It is in moments like this, when our faith in humanity is strengthened. 


I thanked Mr. Agastya Kapoor, his wife and my facebook friend Ranjit Uzgare, whom I met for first time through this event, for inviting me and left with heavy heart haunted by piercing gaze of helpless parents of children at cancer ward. The only respite was the beautiful and positive energy Mr. Agastya Kapoor had created that brought lot of smile on children's face. I took back with me a lot more than I had anticipated; the unforgettable smiles on children's face and their inspiring angelic spirit. I said a silent prayer and kept my eyes closed till we reached home and when my son told me with a lump in his throat, "mom, we have reached home." I knew he was as deeply moved and was praying too.     

My super cool Lord Krishna is missing !

"Looks like, Lord Krishna is spoilt for choice when it comes to political parties", said my son, in jest, looking at posters full of photographs of local politicians, sponsoring Janmashtami celebration in the area. Poor Lord Krishna looked precarious in the posters, almost invisible amid the crowd of politicians vying for attention. There was a complete mayhem on the road with plenty of trucks full of "govindas", hunched in their colourful tees and bandanas trying to enjoy every bit of fleeting moments of glory coming their way. Each truck represented a candidate from some political party. Govindas, dancing to the tunes of blaring Bollywood numbers were adding to the ruckus.

If you live in Mumbai, perhaps, you may not find anything unusual in the scene I described. Problem is, with each passing year, the competition to flaunt political clout becomes much intense around such festival celebrations, luring people with obscene amount of prize money. I find this trend deeply disturbing.

I was very fortunate to have had a childhood that gave me exposure to various cultures and taught me to respect and value the cultural differences. I remember having celebrated most Indian festivals in a very simple, unique yet beautiful style.

As a child, Janmashtami meant collecting money from every possible house in neighbourhood with bunch of playmates and friends; buying clay toys and decorating the venue to recreate the scene of Bal Krishna's birth. It meant, being transformed into completely different world that was introduced by granny's endless stories of Lord Krishna and finally being part of it in some beautiful little way.

The joy of decorating the venue with clay toys like small white cows, idols of Vasudev and Devaki, a special colourful cradle, where embellished version of Bal Gopal was placed was beyond words. I still remember that feeling when a generous neighbour donated princely sum of fifty or hundred rupees! (During those days, donations generally ranged between ten to twenty rupees). 

The entire experience was more of exercise of learning essence of team work, leadership, organizational and management skills. Now when I look back I can't stop thinking what a farce we have made of our beautiful festivals! The very essence of the festivals, its ethos is completely lost. Quintessence of bonding of various cultures around these festivals is replaced by vulgar display of power, money, political one up-man-ship and perverse influence of Bollywood glamour.

Faith in Almighty/God/religion is difficult to put in words and it is a very unique and personal experience. This very faith helps us hold life with equanimity and drive our emotions to surpass worldly boundaries and govern that unseen, infinite power within us. But when this very faith is altered for the sake of carnal, political and commercial gains, does it remain the same? 

Should I be surprised that, I can't find my favourite Lord Krishna in any of Janmashtami pandals?

Are Indian men rapists?

Since last couple of days, an article "India: the story you never wanted to hear" by Rose Chasm (http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023053) has gone viral on social networking sites. After reading that article, I was stunned, appalled and deeply shamed. What also shocked me was the response on social networking sites/media channels on this painful story that reflected not just deep anguish/concern/empathy for Rose and unfortunate victims like her but also a dangerous mind-set of labelling/pronouncing all Indian men as rapists/perverts. 

Another unfortunate event that coincidentally happened last week, a photo journalist was gang-raped in Mumbai and the sad incident shook the country. Media and social networking sites went berserk like usual and the tamasha of blame game still continues! 

Pain of rape or any form of abuse is very difficult to put in words and the damage it causes to the victim is difficult to comprehend. Being a woman, I can imagine the trauma Rose and many unfortunate victims like her have to suffer. Many Indian women have experienced some form of abuse in varied degrees that Rose narrates in her agonizing outburst. But to conclude that all Indian men are rapists or perverts would be like dismissing and deriding entire collective without blinking an eye and that, I find very unfair and unacceptable.

Yes, there are sick people who don't flinch while abusing others for sake of their pervert satisfaction. Any form of abuse occurs where there is mind-set of entitlement; entitlement to do whatever it takes to satisfy one's deviant needs. This sense of entitlement breeds not only in societies where the voice of patriarchy always sabotages voice of girl child on issues of equality and equal opportunities; or societies where a male child is treated as God's greatest gift to humanity. Crimes against women happen everywhere in world, even in most advanced, socially liberated societies. Women are raped even in countries where stringent laws are implemented well. And by saying this, I am not trying to trivialize the enormity of issue of crimes against women.  Rapists/abusers don't belong to any particular caste, creed, nationality, social/educational/financial strata of a society, they are born out of regressive environment, unhealthy mind-set of sex-in-your-face macho-ism, chest thumping aggression to proclaim ultimate male virility that revels in power tactics to abuse as a means of perverse pleasure.

I happen to know interesting range of people right from slums to people working at very senior positions in corporate sector. Like all women, I am aware how it feels when someone ogles, or tries to rape you with eyes. I know how violated a woman feels when a formal handshake during business meeting lasts longer than it should. I have experienced violation when someone posted audacious comments on my photograph on facebook, crossing line of decency. And in spite of these experiences I would not like to generalize men and call them "jerks". The men I know, observe, interact with and am surrounded by are educated, evolved and decent people with a gender-sensitive conscience; they are equally pained by gruesome and tragic incidents of crimes against women and are deeply disturbed to be portrayed as debauchers and brutes. I have met men; complete strangers, who have turned out to be very decent, protective, respectful, cultured (irrespective of the background) and have always been very kind and helpful to me.

What happened with Rose and so many victims like her is deeply disturbing. I am in favour of zero tolerance for crimes against women or for that matter anybody irrespective of gender. It is great to bring awareness of serious issues and spread the message by participating in constructive discussions but let us be careful about not ending up punishing those who are not guilty by passing our harsh judgments on them. Let's not punish the innocents please!