A lesson in branding

A Branding Lesson Learnt from my child’s school

I learnt a lesson yesterday. I will be fair; it did not hit me right away. I listened because I had to and liked what I heard, but it was only after I got home and got some quite time to ruminate (which is in the shower), that it struck me and I smiled.
It was my child’s parent teachers meeting. My daughter is in kindergarten. She joined a week late and hence had completed only 10 days in school till yesterday. The teachers spoke about the school’s value that they incorporate in their students right from K to Grade 6.
Respect, Responsibility and Personal Best.
I smiled when I heard this. Teaching values already? I thought.
Values – I explain to my 5 year old is what differentiates her from the crowd. No matter what she becomes, her value is what she is and what everyone will know her as.
Rewinding to a few years back when I was in the Brand development team for my company. It was my first job and I loved it. The team I was in was to help 8000 employees buy and live the company’s newly designed brand values. We ran workshops; we created hype and had celebrations but deep down not much changed. The employees, who were well into their late 30s then, felt little or no connection to the brand values. It was the company’s values.
Fast-forward to today and my daughter who is only ten days old in the school – proudly comes and asks me when she keeps her belongings back in their place, whether this is the ‘Waitara Way’ (her school’s name). I was shocked. The teachers told me yesterday that they keep incorporating the values. They actually ‘Walk the Talk’. Everything the school does and ask the children to do is incorporated within the value framework. In a discussion with the class, the teachers ask their children their understanding of these terms and they decide what it would mean for the class. So, if showing respect meant no pushing other children – so be it – they will be conscious not to push other kids.
So what is it that we missed at the corporate level? Was it trying to incorporate the value in individuals who already had their own set of values that failed us or was it lack of continuous demonstrations of the values from the management? I would like to see how a new joiner in Grade 5 or 6 would respond to the values of the school. If the results are the same as the magic I see in the kindy kids – then there is certainly a huge role for us parents in inculcating the right values in our children. Values that will not only help them be their personal best but will also help them as Global citizens. After all, it’s only when individuals do well, do companies do well and economies do well.
As Indians we place a lot of value on values. Or so we are taught. India is always known as a country of culture and values. But let’s be truthful do we really learn to live our values. India now is caught in its own mix. We neither want to retain the values held by our forefathers – that of complete respect to elders, discipline and fear of a supreme power nor want to let go of it altogether. We have not been able to create our own identity – our values. We are in transition, but this transition (like our roadworks) is taking much too long. We have been basking in the false glory of India’s value system. The rise in intolerance to freedom of speech and action combined with the nonchalant attitude while hurting others physically and mentally, arises mainly from this lack of identity. The culture of ‘whatever’ and ‘I don’t care’ has seeped in and unfortunately for any questions for which we don’t have answers we have these two terms. The need to really know ourselves is lost. We are one with the crowd.
To this day, I can proudly say, my parents never ever lifted their hand on any one of their three children and never cheated anyone. Those were their values and this will remain unchanged till time infinity.
That is the power of values and that is something we need to cultivate for ourselves to help our children understand the power of it. It is the passion for a belief – a belief you will stick by no matter what. And that is your defining moment.
Values, my dear friends, have more value than what we know. Live well.

The XX and XY and their X and Ys

Roshini Sharma - the gutsy young lady who rode her bike 5453 kms from Kanyakumari to Leh by herself proving in her own words "But, there is no difference between a man and woman. If a man can do it, then there is nothing stopping from me from doing it". You are an inspiration.
And then there is the women councillor and head of the kangaroo court in West Bengal who ordered a 15 year old to lick spit because her father had not paid for a power tiller he had rented. The girl, who stood up for her father and defied the orders of this court was found dead on the railway tracks with no clothes on a few hours later. Auntyji – you are beyond any word in my dictionary. In simple words you are a shame to humankind.
What defines you is You. But what also defines you is what your parents have taught you.
There is a story, I remember having heard, of a young boy who was never stopped by his parents when he stole petty things from his neighbour's home. Once when was caught and punished – he told the judge – why do you punish me for I was never told this is wrong. Punish the hand that did not stop me from doing the wrong in the first place.

If it is ok with parents that their sons have just stripped the dignity of some women because they have the money to bribe the police to close the case – they are the main hand in the crime. If rape and abuse are to be punished - punish the parents who think that their sons are born to uphold the powers these parents have by unleashing themselves on women. As a lady in the Muzzafarnager rape case recounted - the boys who raped me were as young as my own sons. To think that a mother and a father actually allowed their sons to go out there and perform such an inhuman act and with such casualness is appalling.

And to think that these parents are as young or old as you and me - my friends - is even scarier. We are not talking about someone else or some other generation or era - we are talking of parents of the 21st century who still 'USE' their sons as the ultimate ammunition to wield power.
If you are a parent - be a responsible one. Teach your children to respect the dignity of the other sex. If you are a parent - reach out to any parent who believes that men will be men and it is in their blood to protect or harm women as is their mood on that particular day and that a woman is and will always be ultimately dependent on men. Teach them that we don’t want those genes anymore. We want a generation of sane young men and women who want to live together - respecting each other.
And if you are a parent know that you have a voice. Do not accept abuse. Teach your children – boys and girls to never be an abuser and teach them never to be a silent spectator to violence too. If you speak out today – there is still a chance that your grand-daughter can safely go to school, chase her dreams and live her life just as well as your grandson can. It is as simple as that.
IT BEGINS WITH YOU.

Attitude

My hands are free, so is my mind,
but I choose to be tied down and die.
I speak, I sigh, I lament all day
I twitter, I chatter, I cry all day,
I see my world crashing
Slowly one by one
But I don’t get up and get the change done
I accept, I bow, I buckle to the world
I conform to the so called ‘norms of the world’.
I want the change , I want the change
I want the change NOW
But no – I will not get up from my couch
Till this change is done.

Adios Facebook

I am allergic to Facebook. I have never been allergic to anything till date but I realized I am a obsolete - of a bygone era - an extinct species as far as FB is concerned. My friends – the few of them left, ask me as to why I don’t come on FB? Well, to start - I don’t have pictures to post of my recent company trip to some place far-away nor I have Saturday party nights to boast about. I don’t have status updates claiming about how excited I am that it’s Friday night. For me every day and every night remains the same. I am a stay-at-home mom whose day starts at 5am irrespective of the day of the week and ends at 11pm – not in some disc or fancy restaurant or pub but in my children’s bedroom after picking up the clothes, toys and books that have been left on the floor after the two of them have decided to call it a day. Well, that’s nothing to tweet about or be complimented for in FB, right? I chose to be a stay-at-home mom not because I did not have the caliber to work but because I don’t have the help to take care of my kids. I am not sure of leaving the kids behind in someone else’s care to go to work. But does that mean I work less or enjoy lesser? Not a chance. It's just that my day is filled with baby stuff and nobody in FB surely wants to hear to that. I can’t bitch about bosses or tweet on the state of traffic or about the work clothes I purchased from the new store in town or how its promotion time to a swanky new office. In my world my kids are my boss, jams are stains left on the white linen, clothes are still nappies purchased and promotion is moving from feeding the little one in one place to running around because she has learnt to use her feet and oh! boy is she fast! I realized I also don’t have pictures of my recently done pedicure. I saw a picture of an acquaintance in FB showing off her beautiful feet thanks to the pedicure done on a relaxing Saturday after a hectic week at work. She got over sixty likes and an equal number of flattering comments. I realized I am not made for FB when just before retiring to bed I remarked to my husband almost half sleepily – ‘I want to post pictures and get likes too - I think I will get a PediaSURE done’!!!... Goodbye FB. Adios. P.S – Pediasure is the drink for kids below 2 years.

Just saw the song Badtameez Dil!!! Liked the connotation to the word Badtameez. The 1980s Hindi movie scene saw a lot of use of the word Badtameez. The word was often followed by a high octave background sound then silence and then tears rolling down. Thankfully, 21st century mostly cut down on the tears part. Here was the young generation which was more confident. Badtameez, a slap and walk away. So this song was a fresh take. I dint understand the lyrics of the song.....oh! love - 'paan mein pudina' and 'Thaali mein katora leke' is actually not lyrics - a lot of us can write such lyrics - but what I did like about this is the energy of the song. Life has its own complications and limitations but steal those little moments and allow your heart to be a 'Badtameez' to you and laugh along with it. Enjoy!

The cook in me...

I am not a great cook, infact; I am rarely an ordinary cook. I have more bad days than good ones. I started cooking only to fill a stomach -to go on with the day and its many exciting things. Food was not exciting for me. I liked good food. But most food was good for me. And hence life was good. Even as a child, I was not greatly bothered about what was for lunch – what was the ‘dabba’. Food plays an important role not only to satiate our stomachs but also in our early social development. What is for the next day’s dabba is every parent’s dread. Something that’s tasty, not sticky, nutritional, fast to cook and good to eat – the criterion is just too much to accomplish on a daily basis. There are then three types of dabbas brought – one which is always nutritional or traditional. Like a typical south Indian would not think twice about bringing curd rice and vegetables for lunch – but for a north Indian that would be a complete no-no. Something more ‘masaledar’ is a must. The second type of dabba will have its emphasis on the ‘looks’. Corriander leaves neatly sprinkled on the top and a slice of lemon by the side. Tissue paper and a side ‘dessert’ dish is a must. This dabba was everyone’s envy. Who does not want their dabba to look good? I remember a classmate who used to bring sandwiches to class. There were four loaves of white bread, the edges trimmed off, a slice of cheese and two pieces of neatly cut tomato in between and a drop of ketchup on the top. All this neatly wrapped in a fresh wrap. Neat, yummy, non – sticky, it fulfilled the entire criterion in the presentation front but fell short on one factor – minimizing hunger. Then the third type was the mixed category. Good days – good dabba – bad days – bad dabba – great days – special treat for the entire group – horrible days – you would not want to go there. Most of us fell into this group. The dabba the day after the result came out usually gave away the parents opinion of the result got! The dabba also played a huge role on those days when unexpectedly and unfortunately the teacher decides to ‘bond’ with her class and share her lunch with them. Maybe, it was her best days and she really wanted to show off her dabba – but for the class – each one of us secretly prayed that today mamma should have packed something really really nice. And in this regard, I noticed that a well made aloo paratha always won in front of a well made idli or dosa. So for a south Indian - making the dabba presentable, delectable and shareable (quantity wise) was a able task in itself. And hence the fact that food was not so important to me – was good. But not all good things in life stay forever and it was the same here. Tragedy struck. I now started dreaming food. Pav bhajis and Chinese. Italian and Desserts. I would get up in the middle of the night – hungry. But I was not just hungry for food. I was hungry for a specific food. I knew the exact taste and feel of the food in my tongue. The cheese melting down the hot food, the dessert spilling from the sides of the bowl, the sizzling of a hot sizzler and the spiciness of the chilli in the jumbo vada pav, the extra sweet in a dripping hot jilebi, the tanginess of the pani in the panipuri – I knew it all. Oh! food. I did not like anything that I cooked. It was the same before. I did not care for my food to taste like the Chefs of Masterchef Australila. If it had the salt, spice and tanginess required – it was good. If it was delectable – it was among my great days. But now – I was craving for all that I dreamt. I know not how this started – I first thought it was pregnancy blues – the ‘want’ for a specific food and all - but the dreams and craving never went way after delivery. That is why I say – life turned upside down. I dedicate this blog to those places that have haunted my dreams – restaurants which have created food so special that it has turned me – a complete non-foodie for all these years into a complete foodie. And not just a foodie – but one who wants to make the food I dream of. Till I get there – wish me luck.:) Try the ginger masala chai at Shimla, the fresh oven bread in Pondicherry (plain bread melts in your mouth but bread with cheese is something else here! – it disappears!!!), the pizza in Johannesburg, the perfect omelet at Fresco and bread and baked beans at Benmore Gardens, my mom’s vettai koyumbu (tamarind and only tamarind sambar) and Mysore Pak, Pavbhaji at Canon food stall, Mumbai, Sugarcane juice below the Kingcircle station bridge, Mumbai, Strawberry icecream with double cream at Bachelors, Mumbai, Masala puri at nandidurg road, Bangalore, fresh handpicked strawberries from the farm at Brisbane, sizzlers at Kobe’s Mumbai and Caesar’s, Bangalore, dal bhatthi churma my friend Sonu's mom makes, the sambar Karthik makes (that’s husband – though the sambar has been made only twice to show-off to kids) and finally the homemade digestive kadduka podi’ my dad makes specially for me to digest all that I indulge in. It is made of ‘kadaka’ - bitter tasting fruit whose powder is used for digestion, mixed with cumin powder, a pinch of salt and sugar and a dash of lemon. You will first taste the bitter of the fruit followed by the sweet of the sugar and finally the tanginess of the lemon. It hits you like no tequila might ever do. You have to gulp it down and jump around a few times. There is no other way to have this. But I love having this coz – like all the yummy delicious food that melts in your mouth, this mix has so much love that it melts your heart!!! Dad – I think I will need more of this concoction.

Lets act now.

I recently read a write-up about child labour and the state of children who live in the street. I have a child of my own and it pains me to see children begging on the street. I feel ashamed to walk past them. If I give them money I don’t know if that would encourage them to beg more. What if they use it for drugs or does this money even go to them or does it go to the CEO of the begging scam? If I walk past them – I shudder to think of what I will go through if my child was, god-forbid, ever in that situation even for a minute. But what do I do. There are thousands of children begging on the street. Where do I take them? Are shelter homes any good. Don’t they exploit these children? And how will these shelter homes accommodate them? I do not have the space to house these kids – but I want to help.

The author in the write-up spoke of the govt having the funds to help these kids. But, my question, as is all our question- are they really bothered? Have they set up any information to say the least in place to direct funds and resources to help these children? How come in the past oh-so-many-years there has been no single govt. or politician who has ever ever been nominated for “Hero of the year” or any such award that’s been handed out to people helping and reaching out. This despite the fact that they have the power, money and all the resources. Politicians ride on the fact and courage that the common man – individuals who care and want to make a difference don’t have much time in their hands. You and I can go and ask for action but how many days will we stand and demand. Our own work and pressures pulls us back.

Spreading awareness constantly and consistently, educating children and adults on the plight of these children and ways in which they can help and sorry to say but glamourizing the whole 'reach out' act could be the way out. If it is fashionable to be seen as someone who cares and someone who makes a positive difference in a child's life – then you will have half the politicians working on this. For the rest - individuals with no money but all the heart – will take care.

p.s – Can we start a “Save our children” week where NGOs and volunteers can set up stalls in the most prominent places and educate people on how to help. Right from street plays to raise awareness, to campaigns to education – lets do it all. Lets dedicate one week to give these kids a better life – a reason to smile. If anyone can advise me or offer help please contact me at harinibala@yahoo.com.
Lets make a difference – NOW.

A hug a day keeps wrinkles away!!!

Adults take a cue from these little angels. When you are not-so-high in spirits and life seems down your little one who has been watching you closely from the cornor of her eye suddenly runs up to you to give you a “huggie”. Arms melt into each other instantly and the next minute she is gone – back to her play. No questions asked – nothing. It is a magic moment.

Why do we adults restrict ourselves? Why ever do we think not twice - not thrice - but for ever to walk up and give a hug just to say - "Smile -It will be alright".

A hug a day keeps wrinkles away!!!

The sea and I

I left the shores -
I bade it goodbye
and headed to meet the sea
to sail under the perfect sky

The sea welcomed me
embraced me in its arms
But some thing troubled it deep within
And something was just wrong.

I set out though
For a journey of my life
Trusting the sea
to take me in its side.

It was a calm sea
And all seemed well
Till came the waves
Oh! how it swelled - it swelled.
　
I met the waves
both high and low
And the rains that poured
From today to tomorrow
The chilling pricks of hail
that hit now and then
reminded me that indeed
that all was not well.

I was tossed and turned
and I feared the night
but the day was no better
with a raging storm in sight
It threw me over
But why did it hold me too?
The sea – Oh! My sea
What did I do to you?

What will my day be?
Where will my journey end?
Will I ever sail with you
Till the very end?

I sailed for days
In silence all around
Those dark gloomy days
Were so unsound

Days turned to months
And respite I knew not
But I sailed on
Why I knew not.

Was it for love
Or was it for hope
Or was it for maybe
Some reason unknown

I sailed through
Till I met the sea
Oh yes the sea
The real real sea
The sea that it was
In its truest form
Not for me or
Not for the world
But for its own self
In its purest form.

A sea that I knew not
A sea that I had never seen
A sea so different
I knew not where to begin

My end became my beginning
And I left the shores again
And bade it goodbye
For all reasons known
We now sailed along
The sea and I
Through the highs and lows
Under the perfect sky!
　

What have I turned out to be?

What have I turned out to be? Post motherhood combined with not working professionally - my entire focus shifted on the home front. Cleanliness at home became next to godliness. I would hear my husband remark a few times – leave it. Why are you always washing or cleaning. On a much awaited Friday night I would often find myself thinking on what had to be done first thing on Saturday morning. Up until a few years back during my ‘oh-so-amazing’ single days my list of things to do would be either of the following:

1. NOTHING
2. Wake up at 9am and after a quick bath head out for a blast of a day (my Bombay days)
3. Wake up to a wonderful morning to head for a leisurely walk with folks followed by some hot breakfast (my Bangalore days)

However now my list ran somewhat like this:

1. Wash vessels
2. Wash shirts
3. Wash baby clothes
4. Patio clean
5. Clean house
6. Dusting
7. Vacuum
8. Grocery

I never thought much of it till I one day while getting the lil’ one to sleep I was flipping the pages of my scribbling book. I noticed pages after pages with the same notes. It was the above list of things to do. And this was the same list that would run my head on a relaxed Friday night.

I still did not think much of it till I had taken an appointment with a lady to come and clean my Bath and shower room. This was an extensive job and I did not have that kind of time in hand. So the date and time was fixed for a Thursday. I was happy. On Wednesday night I slept well. I dreamt of a sparkling shower room. I woke up early and finished making lunch. I cleaned the house and kept looking at the time. The appointed hour was 8am and I dint want to miss her. I told my lil one that when she wakes up she will get to see a fresh Bath and shower room. I checked and rechecked the area. Was it too dirty? What will the maid think? Shall I leave it the way it is or should I clean it a bit? I then went and checked myself out in the mirror. What would she think of me? Did I look alright? I set the house quickly. Dusting and all. I arranged cups to serve coffee for her. I scrambled to get it all done before she came. I often find myself running short of time and hardly get any time for myself – but in my mind this had to be done.

The clock struck eight and I looked at the door. I expected punctuality. Like she might just be waiting outside the door eagerly waiting for the clock to strike the magical number eight so that she could come to clean my ‘oh-so-magnificient’ Bath and Shower Room. Anyway- the clock then moved to quarter past eight. No knock still. (There are no calling bells here in Johannesburg.) I was anxious. Surely I had not missed her. I bent under and strained my eyes through the gap in the door to see if I can see any shadow outside the door. Maybe she knocked very feebly and I dint hear it. This despite the fact that I was standing right beside the door all the while. I wanted my Bath and Shower Room clean and like the way Ryk Neethling the South Africa Olympic Swimming Champion said before the start of his race “For nine months I had visualized this happening: getting ready, standing on the blocks, blasting off”, I had visualized having the maid over at my home to clean the bath room from the day she agreed to come (which was a week ago).

It was quarter to nine by now and there were no signs of her. I began to get slightly tensed. Why did she stand me up? Why was she not here? I dint even mind her coming late as long as she came. I checked my mobile twice to see if she was trying to reach me. Damn! She dint even have my number. Will she never come? I was disappointed and dejected. I was even angry. How could she do it to me? I remembered what my dad had told me when I was young – “Expectations bring disappointment” Of course; it was said in a particular context. But I thought it was so true. I was tempted to call him long distance and tell him that that his words were so true. I was sulking.

Well – its 10am and of course she has not yet come. But thanks to her – I realized how obsessively passionate I had become about having the house clean. I was here behaving like a child denied of her much awaited outing or more so a young lady being held up by her first date!!!....... What have I turned out to be?

So – as realization dawned, I vowed not to get head-over-heels in love with cleaning and all that is associated with it and after a good nine months found this quick hour to put this piece down. I am feeling so relaxed and rejuvenated. It’s a nice feeling.

But hey…wait a minute…who will clean my Bath and Shower Room now? Looks like I got to go!!!

This might not be the ideal piece for a blogsite – I mean why would someone want to chance reading about my shower room story – but if a blog reflects one’s state of mind – then sadly this IS the piece. Enjoy!

Oh love!

It’s been a long time since I have posted anything on my blog but as my mind went back to the days of one of my most memorable trip in Joburg’ – I remembered I had this one to post.

My travelogue of my trip to Drakensburg.

On the 3rd Oct – Friday – we left to Underberg, Drakensburg, Sani Pass and Lesotho …. 2873 mtrs above sea level. Fresh beautiful air, mountains, jungle, streams flowing, cows grazing, mist falling, beautiful sunrise and sunset, valleys……. Hello…what else can one ask for. There was Heaven!

On Thursday- the ladies (4 of us – Geetha, Geetha, Shikha and I) met to put the menu for the trip. I made 15 methi rotis and seasoning for the curd rice. We left on Friday by 3pm. Three Nissan X-trails and one ford fiesta started together. The Nissan X trail had the sunroof…….. and I was happy !…… we reached the main road and got stuck in a heavy traffic jam that took us one hour to just get out of Joburg. Once out of Joburg – I couldn’t resist the temptation. The sunset was amazing and travelling at 110kmph was too much. The sun roof opened – I stood up to feel the wind blast my face. Remembered Jackie chan in the movie where the wind blows on his face. I called Geetha to feel the view and saw Ravi doing the same in the other Nissan. He sat back decently and I continued to feel the wind - the universe. One could hear the wind but within 5 minutes one also heard the siren of the police car. One sign by his finger and we were asked to stop our car in the side. A small oh – oh…..and Karthik and Govind stepped out to meet these guys. They reminded me of Laurel and Hardy...one fat and short and the other thin and tall. They spoke, looked at geetha and me and spoke again. A nod of head in disapproval, grim faces and some glances at us again. So we had screwed it up big time – or so it was. By this time the other three cars arrives and all of them parked one behind the other – not too close but not to far also.

The four bachelors – the first to arrive on the scene joined K and G. Geetha and I could make out a series of sorries going round…till Laurel let out a half smile. Relief. Grim faces dispersed and K and G came back in the car. None of us spoke – not until the police car went ahead of us. Then a small smile and the sigh of relief gave way to the happenings. Standing and sticking your neck out of a moving vehicle is an offence in SA. (Then why do u keep such cars. Where is the sense of adventure???)… Kids especially are NOT allowed to stand. (He called me a kid for which apparently Karthik took great offence and clarified that I was his wife and not a kid). Pay up 2000rands or Geetha and I had to got to the police station and spend the weekend counting the bars…(I wonder what would have been going on his mind then. 2000 rands – you must be joking- take my wife;) )……..

Anyway- the series of sorries was for that. Everyone realised that wife and money – both were hard to get. So we were left with a warning and we started our journey again.

The first stop at a gas station. We were to reach Harrismith – our first stop over for the night by 8pm – but reached mid way only by 9pm. Stopped at an Engen gas station and ate there. We had some packed food which we gobbled down. The slight drizzle and chillness in the air said a lot. But we dint quite interpret it all. We knew that there was rain and it was night driving. What we dint know was that we were climbing altitude and were surrounded by valleys, mountains and heavy fog. Within 5 minutes of being back in the road – all that we could see was one feet of road ahead. Nothing else. There was rain, fog and trucks on the road. Karthik was on the wheel and the other cars had Vivek, basava and Dinesh. Geetha had to lie down because of a bad stomach. We were driving at 20kmph at times. No place to stop when you are on the highway. But the excellent road signs made it possible to be on road. We then let a mini truck overtake us and followed him in his taillight. The constant lighting was spectacular. Spread across the sky – they came and went in quick succession.

We reached Harrimith, thanks to the GPS in our car, and the small and homely Oak cottage by 12 midnight .Geetha and I shared a room. Basava, Shikha and Dinesh’s family had a room each and the bachelors and Govind and Karthik shared two rooms.

Up by 4 next morning, we hit the road by 5:30am to reach Underburg. This was another beautiful country side. The morning mist, chirping of the birds and the dawn was breathtaking. How much can one take in at one stretch? That morning reminded me of the Chandigarh- Delhi morning drive.. Sipping some hot masala chai in a road-side dabba was all that was needed..

After filling gas – we drove straight to Underburg from where we were to take a bus to Sani Pass and Lesotho – the highest pub in Africa . You drive up the mountain to reach 2873 mtrs above sea level and have beer. (Well, we just dint have beer)… Actually, chai and pav would have been better than beer. We had to get our passports stamped at both Sani pass and Lesotho . Two stamps. We decided that if any one of us did not get a stamping to go back – we would set up a tea stall there. Fortunately for Africa- we all got our passports stamped back.

Lesotho – the highest peak in Africa was as expected - Awesome. Standing in between the clouds – you wonder that if life was so beautiful then why do people stress and ruin their lives in the busy hassle of the city. The crowd, the sweat, the lack of one inch of space and anything close to fresh air – Is this life??? Can’t life and your purpose in this world be justified by living on a mountain top and tending your own garden and teaching kids in your own small school?

One felt like filling up bottles with oxygen. As Karthik said – that was pollution for us. It felt like there is so much of fresh air and it is all going waste. We could spend only an hour up there which was a pity - but it was beautiful. Sitting there and looking at the mountains and the clouds passing by, enclosing you – nice. One could easily spend one full day just sitting there and watching nature in its nature.

The driver called us back to the bus and we reluctantly followed. I mean what was his hurry. After all our VISA stamp said we could be there for 14 days and he was not even ready to let us stay there for two hours. So we came back to the bus and started our journey back down. Journey back down was filled with prayers that we don’t reach straight up. Like totally up. It was a steep down, with the tyres just unsettling a few pebbles on the edge of the path.

We reached back to the base of the mountain and drove back to our cottage for the night – Umzimkulu River Lodge. Wow……. Was the word. Wooden floors. A big chess table with pieces as big as my palm, every single edition of the National Geographic, a nice kitchen with all the cutlery, nice beds, a big snugly couch, TV, music system, a nice balcony – that place was rich and had all the class and comfort. You should go there with family – it was like if Taj had a separate ‘cultural’ cottage – it would be like this. We did not realize it but the morning awakened us to one spectacular sight. One was gently awakened by the chirping of the birds, the soft mooing of the cow faraway and the gentle lapping of the stream. Despite being able to sleep only by 2 – I was awake by 6. The mist was settling down and the Shepard had let his herd to graze. The cows were grazing slowly and coming towards the stream from the other side of a small hill in front of our cottage.

A quick description of the place – There were six to seven small green hills joining hands and forming a circle. Our cottage was on one hill and we had this stream a few meters down. The stream itself was around 24 meters in width and had a small hill on its other side. So while we were on this side of the stream – the cows were coming down the hill to the stream from the other side. Once they finished grazing they went back.

Karthik was in his room with the guys so I slowly tiptoed out and went straight to the stream – camera in hand. Balancing over a few smooth stones –I sat on one listening to all that nature had to tell. The song was pleasant and the tune was peaceful. Dinesh’s daughter had joined me and we sat there till it started drizzling. Back to cottage to get the jacket on – I saw Karthik was awake and so we went for one nice morning walk by the stream and the mountain and the green grass that surrounded us. If I was an actor – there would have been a song – maybe “ Suhana Safar aur yeh mausam haseen, humme dar hai hum kho na jaaye kahin’….but god saved the cows and drakensburg.

After one walk - Karthik joined the guys for some cricket and freesbie , while I tried my hand at the swing and walked up another hill. The other families were awake and each family took its own route – posing here and there – capturing everything that one could see through the naked eye and the camera. For now and for eternity.

It was 11 am by now and it was time to leave. Renu, Siri, Ravi , Vivek, Karthik and I just managed to cross the stream and walk up half way to the hill on the other side when we got a call that it was time to go. We gave ourselves five minutes and sprinted up till we could – bare foot and sprinted down again, crossed the stream and ran back to the cottage. A quick shower, a quicker breakfast and we set out to return back to the city – to Johannesburg . It was Sunday afternoon. Photos were clicked in all poses imaginable and unimaginable.

Drive back home was quite. There were small whispers among families that we ought to come back to this cottage again and just spend the weekend here. Quietly we drove back to end our trip safely. We reached home by 10:00pm – tired physically but fresh mentally and spiritually..

How will I describe the trip – Well, I got to be in what I would call – Mother nature’s lap - hearing to her sweet lullaby and smelling her fresh breath, feeling her cool and gentle touch.

I came and touched

I came and touched
Gaily ruffling his hair
Gently caressing his soft skin
Swirling around to care.

Curled up under the window
Unaware of the world outside
He stretched his small hands for me
And gave his million dollar smile

Was it his soft curls?
Or those innocent eyes?
Or was it that beautiful heart
That had me so tied?

I was drawn to him
And the beauty that he held
He had given me all the love
And wiped out a lifetime of despair

He laughed with delight
When he saw me there
And shone his bright eyes
To see me – the Butterfly.

I nestled on his tiny feet
Allowing him to stare in awe
And as he came slowly to touch me
I flew to his delight

We laughed and played
The baby and I
As we curled by the window
Unaware of the world outside



This piece is dedicated to my little nephew.

And she flew

She rested snugly in her bed of leaves,
As the night fell
And smiled as the others said
“You have done well”

As a young bird she had learnt good
To give up was something she never would
She worked hard and she worked fast
To fit with her coloured friends
She was always there for them
For they were her only friends

As that night came, came the unexpected
The winds and thunderstorm were never like before
They struck hard and with a vengeance
And they struck till they got her down
Leaving her broken and torn
Through the night till dawn.

The morning came
And it was no better than the night
For here she had lost it all
And had no strength to survive

She tried with all her might
To fly back to life
But her broken wings was a disgrace
To her only coloured friends.

As she perched on the tree that night
She felt her heart sigh
For though this was a life she had come to known
She had never felt more torn.
Is this life
Or is this what I believed it to be?
Is this life
Or is this what I made it to be ?

In pain and anguish she flew
Till she could fly no more
Through the woods
Over the sea
Up the mountain
And on the low green fields
And flew she did
And she wanted to stop no more

For as she flew
She re-lived her longing to fly
To feel the wind in her wings
And the leaves dance at her feet
To wake up to nature
And the smell of life
She re-lived her love
She re-lived those dreams
That she had buried
Long before that fateful night.

She now saw her world
Where she lived those dreams
Where everyday work was not a task
But a fulfilment of those dreams
She now saw her world
And lived every moment of it
She felt life in her
Life like never before
Oh! Life like never before.

Pages in my life

Where do I go from here?
I don’t know
Was I supposed to be here?
I don’t know
All that I know
Is that you made my journey till here
As cherishing as a drop of water
In the noon of the desert

The care you showed
Was more than can be told
The happy faces we had
Followed by the uncontrollable laughter we shared.
The endless mindless chatter of ours
And the discussions on those later on….
This is what made my day
As beautiful as the sun’s rays.

The short fighting sessions
But the longer lunch and dinner sessions
The long walks watching the sun set
And the ever failed attempts to watch the sunrise.

With us – we were just us.
As smart, as silly
As troublesome, as patient
As childish and hardly ever adult-like.
And as freaking mad as we ever wanted to be.

Where do I go from here?
I don’t know
Was I supposed to be here?
I don’t know
All that I know
Is that you made my journey till here
As cherishing as a drop of water
In the noon of the desert

Every page in my life has all the colours of life and I love reading them over and over again.This piece is for my family and friends who have filled the pages of my life.

My Love for Outlook

I can bet that atleast 70% of the corporate world uses the Microsoft Outlook or Lotus or a similar package that allows one to send and receive mails. In my first job, a responsibility at work was to interview a new employee every week and write a piece on him or her. This would be circulated to the entire office. It was a kind of ‘Know Your Colleague’ scheme and I called it “Day in the Life”. Nearly every employee I interviewed would have a standard reply of how they started and ended their day at work – by checking their mails.

The ‘You got mail’ feel had managed to get everyone hooked up. It felt kind of important to see mails in your inbox. It meant, all these tasks need your attention. You are required that much in our company.

One would hear of an occasional “You know my inbox got jammed because I dint come to work for a day. Now I have to work extra hours just to check my mails”. I can bet all of you would have heard such remarks. It is a different matter that half of these mails would be forwards, jokes, updates of the latest movies to hit town or other mails that should have been directed to the junk mail category in the first place.

Recently, I had to leave my job since I was moving out of country for a while. Unable to get a job because of work permit issues, I somehow made up my mind to use this time for better things - like upgrade my skills. For someone who is used to working – sitting at home can be the worst nightmare. And so it was for me. But I dint realise that there was something worse. And that was – No Outlook.

It killed me, made me feel jealous almost when I saw someone flip open their laptop to ‘quickly check their mails’ or to ‘just respond to one pending important email’.
I nearly died every time someone did this. I felt like I had no purpose in life. No – I was no longer required. No one wanted my opinion or my help. My decisions – however small or insignificant, did not matter any more. I was faceless without an identity. I was suddenly a Nobody.

I now wanted a job, desperately, just to be able to receive and send mails. To hear the alert sound when one receives mails. To segregate the mails into folders. To look at the number of mails you have responded to and feel that one has accomplished a lot of work for the day.

I never thought I would be infected by the ‘Mails makes one feel good’ virus or experience the ‘Mail depression syndrome’ – but I shamelessly realise that I am one of them. One to be caught in the web!

Sarfaroshi Ki Tamanna

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai
Aye watan, Karta nahin kyun doosra kuch baat-cheet
Dekhta hun main jise who chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar
Ab teri himmat ka charcha ghair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

When Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekar Azad and Ram Prasad Bismil took this oath to save our country they took a pledge and stood by it. They were ordinary citizens like you and me. Today, when anger simmers in us and we talk of saving our country, do we have the intention to stand by it? Will you and I stand by to save our country and question anyone who wants to spread terror in our home? What is the difference between those three young men who changed our history and got us independence and us? Is not the situation much alike? We are not cowards nor are we intellectually weak. What we are voicing at this hour is not about talking big for today or for this week or for a month. This voice is about taking charge. We have the right to question, to lead and the right to change. This is our home and we have to save it. The question is – are we ready to do that? Stand united against terrorists – whether insiders or outsiders.

Are we going to go back to our work stations tomorrow and gossip and complain about the system or take charge to change the system? We don’t have to go to the parliament house and throw paper bombs but we can make our voice heard.
I see the media taking some responsibility. From sensationalizing news to a bit of sensitivity in reporting was seen by all of us in this tragedy. Will the media support us to make our voices heard? Will the media give one hour of their time to save their country rather than to show us loose talks by the vote grabbing politicians?

No system is rigid or set. It is what we make it to be. Why have we accepted the politics is for scoundrels and let these politicians trade our lives in the name of power, religion and money.

As a citizen of India I request all of you not to sit back. The going may be tough but we are not cowards. Let us stand united and fight back. Write, talk and spread the message of the fight against corruption and terrorism.

Let us take charge and lead. Let us take the pledge today to flush out this terror that trying to get us.

The Grasshopper Story

The grasshopper story started a few years ago and since I can’t recollect the year – let’s say it started in 2003, the last possible date, since this was the year when I had completed my graduation and had moved to the University to do my masters and this was the year of my grandpa’s first ceremony.

I remember vividly one sunny day back during one of the years of graduation that my friend told me the grasshopper story. The tale of how the spirits of those you love come back every year on the day of their ceremony in the form of a grasshopper. I listened, I smiled and thought – that never happens. I would faint out of shock if I ever saw a spirit in whichever form it may be.

My grandpa left us just after I completed my graduation and entered the University for my Masters. My grandma had expired when I was barely three so I have no recollection of her. But I was fortunate to spend my 20’s with my grandpa who was nearing his century. It was one of the best days of my life. Coming home to hear my grandpa give me beauty tips that he saw in the afternoon T.V. Feeding him everything from Maggie to Limca to icecreams to his totally mashed vegetable filled semi-solid food, combing his hair, making a French beard which he so loved – my sisters and I used to freak out completely. So it was but natural that on his first anniversary I suddenly remembered the grasshopper story. My sister and I decided to keep a look out for a grasshopper to validate the story. My father had gone back to Chennai –my grandpa’s home to perform his ceremony. We saw no grasshopper on the day of the ceremony and were a little dejected. But on the morning of the day my dad returned back – we all saw a small grasshopper sitting on the kitchen- balcony door as if listening to our conversation. My sister and I smiled and gave a hi-fi. My dad and mom shook their head in amusement.

The grasshopper story is not about that day but for that day every year hence when it came home – during both my grandma’s and grandpa’s ceremony days. Now it is not only me or my sister but dad and mom too who have become accustomed to the visiting grasshopper who makes it appearance only two days in a year – not more – not less. I have always found it in my kitchen – balcony door. I never remember the grasshopper at any other time of the year but never forget to look for it during those two days either. And all this is from someone who never believes in supernatural. I was happy to know that in this world what you see is what it is. But I had a special liking to the grasshopper and it felt nice to know that your grandparents were still there looking at you.

One special year that shook all of us went like this – as usual we were cleaning the house getting ready for the ceremony and there was no sighting of the grasshopper still. I lamented a bit to my dad on this and asked him why the grasshopper would miss coming this year. As I just said those words, I bent to pick up the tub below and my fingers touched something on the inside of the rim of the tub. Out of shock I flung the tub and as we turned it to see what I had touched, I saw this beautiful large green grasshopper sitting in the inside of the tub. I jumped, danced and went mad because for me it was not the grasshopper now, but the fact that I could have held the tub anywhere along its circumference. But something made me hold it there – there where my fingers would touch the grasshopper and I would know that it was with us this year too. Guess it proved a point that in this world there is more than the eye can see.

I don’t know the significance of a grasshopper coming during a ceremony of a loved one nor have we checked any scriptures. All I know is that it is too much of a coincidence to have a grasshopper sit on your kitchen-balcony door every year only on those two days of the ceremony.

All I know is that if man ever thought that he was the One – the supreme power – then he needs to think again because he is just a frog in the well.

And if you ever thought that you were alone in this world – think again – there might be a grasshopper waiting for you somewhere to give its love to you.

There are some things in the world that cannot be answered by science. They are best left to be answered by belief and love.