Initiating an NGO

At long last, we gave shape to the NGO that we have been planning to start...visit http://educate-a-child.blogspot.com for more details...

Back from Delhi...

My journey to New Delhi began on a pleasant evening of the 30th of May, 2006. As if to commemorate this ‘event’, the weather gods were playing it ‘cool’, quite literally.

The previous Monday was rather long; I had to make an attempt to block my tickets for an impending trip to the United States (News – The idea of a venture fund focused on agro-based business has found some acceptance)…after spending almost the whole of the day in searching for a good flight route with a pathetic internet connection, I successfully did not complete the task. I was awake and functioning at about 3pm on the 30th and splurged good amount of currency on a taxi to the Bangalore Airport. On reaching the airport, I did all the things that have become quite functional for frequent travelers. As it always happens with me, I had superbly (mis)calculated the time required to travel to the airport and arrived for a flight that was to take-off two hours thence. (And I blame my Dad for rushing things up!)

Human life is a colorful mosaic of expressions. I get the feeling that airport/railway stations are wonderful backdrops for viewing this mosaic in all its glory. On one side, I saw a group of friends chatting away for eternity (the fact that they were girls and a bit loud is to be overlooked). On another, I saw an old couple trying their might to restrain their grandchildren who were devil incarnate. On this corner, I saw a couple – they must have been newly married – romancing away (no further explanations pls). On a corner of the restaurant was a family staring at the end of what must have been a wonderful vacation. The forlorn look in their faces, indication that they weren’t very eager to go back to their normal life, was taking its toll on the kids who just wanted to enjoy the last minutes of their vacation to the hilt.

A self-confessed bookie as I am, I checked out a couple of titles at the Sankars book stall and managed to buy one after almost an hour (I must confess here that I was rather interested in a couple of beauties – I even managed to befriend one…). As I was thus laying a strong foundation for the rest of the flight, sadly I was interrupted by Mr.Speaker beckoning me to board the flight…

I had a boring flight – the dinner served wasn’t adequate to quench my appetite. Air travelers ought to exercise their democratic right and ask for better food – they probably should take a leaf out of the striking medico’ books. Frowning more at the quantity of the food, rather than the quality – I set my foot at the Indira Gandhi International Airport and the first thing that I was thinking was – it was HOT; I mean quite literally. I have heard of the saying ‘from the frying pan into the fire’. This is the first time I experienced ‘from the Kelvinator into the frying pan’.

When I started to Delhi, my friends piqued my interest in Delhi by saying that Delhi is a land of beautiful girls. Well, I do not know much about that – I didn’t see an abundant population of good-looking girls – but, I did not know that Delhi was a nurturing ground for a future Michael Schumacher or Alonso. The cab driver probably forgot that he wasn’t driving at the Monaco Grand Prix. The roads of Delhi sure did not look like Monaco either! After a grand prix run to the hotel, I found to my dismay that the Air Condition wasn’t in full form – I had to do with a joke of an AC. Fortunately, my room had a television and I happily watched 3 movies before hitting the sack at about 3am

The dawn of 31st May began with the accompanying shrill sound of the telephone and the mobile alarm at the same time. I went to the US Embassy and as luck would have it, got my license to visit that country. With all formalities completed by 9.45am, I had to make some plans for visiting as many places in Delhi as possible and here entered Gurcharan Singh. This autowallah, offered to take me around a couple of places for an amount of INR 300 (I still think I was fleeced).

The first place that I visited was the Nehru Memorial & Museum at Teen Murti Marg. As I set foot inside the palatial bungalow, I couldn’t help but wonder about the life the Nehru family must have had. The Nehru memorial is the place where Jawaharlal Nehru lived and died. It was also a museum that offered a chronological snapshot of the Indian Struggle for Independence. As I moved around the museum, I got the feeling that it was more about the Congress Party and its role in the Independence struggle than the valiant struggle itself. I took a good look at his study room and decided immediately that I wanted one that was bigger and better. Not that his study room was small in the least, it’s just that – like anything else, the bigger & grander it is, the happier I am. I disagree with some of the political and economic views of Nehru, but I sincerely admire him for what he was – a remarkable politician and a visionary. In those days of Independence, I tend to think of India as a virgin country awakening from a dream in which it was brutally raped. Nehru and his cabinet had the guts to guide the initial tiny steps of a slumbering giant. Hail Nehru!!!

The next stop was the Indira Memorial at Safdarjung Road – the place here Indira spent most of her political life, where she was brutally assassinated and where Rajiv & Sonia Gandhi started the chapter of family in their lives. Indira soon impressed me with her well adorned study room – her bedroom was neat and functional. Both Indira’ erstwhile house and Nehru’ astonished me with its simple yet grandiose architecture. Both these houses did not flaunt an architectural brilliance that was patented by the Presidential Palace or the Parliamentary house. Instead, the architecture seemed to rely on the effect of space and a high ceiling to leave a resultant impression of a palatial house. Both these house espoused an old world charm that has become a rarity.

My plans to visit Mahatma Gandhi’ memorial was cancelled at the last moment and I decided to visit India Gate and the Parliamentary house instead. The view from the Presidential Palace, in the direction of India Gate is simply amazing. After loitering around for more than an hour, I had my photo taken before the India Gate. India Gate was originally built by the British Empire in memory of Indian soldiers who went to war for the British in Africa & North Western Frontier provinces. It claimed its own place in post-Independence Indian history when the last troops of the erstwhile British Empire symbolically exited India via the India Gate. It now houses the Amar Jyoti – a light that honors the ultimate sacrifice our brethren has made so that we may live a protected life. I also began to mentally draft plans to built a miniature India Gate at the entrance of my future home

The presence of amazing landmarks that read as significant milestones in history gives Delhi the pride of place among all cities in India. More than all this, Delhi exudes a power that is quite intoxicating. Power to me is an individually driven phenomenon. I don’t believe in ‘collective’ power. Delhi – more than anything else symbolizes the power of great individuals who have taken it upon themselves the task of single-handedly impacting lives.

After skimming the ocean that is Delhi, I returned to catch my flight back to Bangalore only to witness a freak dust storm that was further followed by heavy rain & thunder showers. As a consequence the flight was delayed by about an hour. The flight took off and I had my first experiences of air turbulence. We were quite literally thrown around in the plane. The fact that I was seated in the last row didn’t make life any easier. At one point of time, the turbulence got so wild that I started praying. Assuming that I would reach Bangalore in one piece I decided to shut down my laptop and concentrate on praying J

As I was praying, I also drafted plans to get my hands on ‘The City of Djinns’ by William Darlymple. Will I reach Bangalore in one piece? Will I read The City of Djinns? Who can tell?!!!

Venturing into venture funds...

A chance conversation with a friend, has initiated the formation of a venture fund focussed on agri-business and unconventional energy sources :)

Anybody reading this blog - give me some ideas on how to go about this...some research is already on the way though :)

A string of good news...

The past week has gifted me a nice string of good news...

• One of my friends is getting married to her sweet-heart; an event that a surprise, given the fact that she was expecting to cross the seven seas for this marriage to take place
• Certain things happenned that helped me come to a definitive conclusion on what to expect for the rest of the year...
• I managed to cook pal payasam and ended up what tasted like real pal payasam :)
• I managed to bring my finances to some control...and some investment decisions were made too :):)

For you, a thousand times over

In the just concluded three-day weekend, I was floored by a book that ranks right at the top of my favorites. That book is 'The Kite Runner' by Khaled Hosseini. What makes it one of best that I have read is the vulnerability of the protagonist Amir. The book is a poignant fiction depicting the journey of redemption of Amir. Starting from the Afghanistan of the late 1975 - a spring that determines Amir's life and shows him what he really is made of, to the post-9/11 period, the entire tale is so moving that it can cut a hole through stone. If you are one who enjoys the irony of irony, you will be satiated in plenty throughout the story

Amir begins his journey as a 12-year old, trying to gain his baba's respect and love. He has a loyal friend in Hassan, a hazara muslim, who also doubles up as the resident servant for the Amir family. Although Amir agha is the protoganist, it is Hassan with his loyalty and sacrifice who steals the limelight. After winning the local Kite fighting games, Amir is at the juncture of gaining his baba's love and respect that he so earned for. In the event, he witness a cruelty being committed to Hassan; but doesn't have the courage to stand for his friend. This event shatters Amir and starts eroding his conscience. The rest of the story is about how Amir reconciles to the fact that he is indeed a coward and how he redeems himself. Its a story of how a beautiful friendship lasts over periods of turmoil and certain uncertainty

In a period where anti-muslim sentiments are abundant, the book is a welcome break that extols some of the values of muslim culture. If you ever pretend to be a serious reader, my suggestion is, don't miss this book.

About such a title for this post - well, you will know when you read the book...

An eventful week

The last week has been an interesting week; I think it has been one of those weeks filled with those moments that shape my future. At long last, my Dad decided to do away with a loss making business. This has in turn contributed to my family moving in with me. While I am happy that I will be with my family again, I am disheartened with the fact that a good business was shot to the ground. A business house that was at one time a wealth making machine, lies in absolute tatters...a family that was at one time considered to be a ‘model’ joint-family is no more joint. It is absolutely amazing how the wicked claws of money can eat away at relationships that have been forged through years of challenging times.

Well, returning to the point – my parents are moving in with me quite soon, which means that my grand plans to shift to Bangalore has been indefinitely delayed. Let me tell you this – this is the least of my problems now. More importantly, plans for my MBA have been shelved for at least 2-3 years. It is dis-heartening that I got to cancel my GMAT test plans for the month of July of this yearL. If these are the ‘pain’ points in systems language, here comes the rosy picture

This means that, my plans for entrepreneurship has just been brought forward by years. It is said that necessity is the mother of invention. How true it is?! While these past 2 years of employment has been successful in relative terms, I missed my family terribly...this week has transformed this in a jiffy. Guess, God works in mysterious ways…

Digging deeper into what I could do to swim over this tide, I discovered a slew of possibilities. In an year’ time, you are going to get a complimentary copy of a book that I will author. Also, the possibility of buying an organization looks like a good strategy to stretch our business legs.

….on second thought, this is the most idiotic post I have made in my blog…but, I am going to let myself post this for posterity’s sake

Humanity for its own good!

I was at the Railway station to meet some of my relatives when this ‘incident’ happened. I did not think then that this would have an impact on me; here I am – stitching together this worthless garland of words a fortnight after this incident happened. As I recollect that moment – I remember that I was watching as if I was looking at some other species that was undergoing a surgery sans anesthetics.

On that day, while I was waiting at the end of a rather long and windy queue to reach the ticket counter, I saw a man doddering possibly due to old age and sickness. I remember now that he was rather disoriented and was growing restless by the minute. There was quite a queue on that day and we were all pushing and shoving at each other. Out of the blue came a shriek; the old man with his stuffy bag started shaking like a rattler. I first thought that it was somehow a decoy, a ploy to cut through the line...probably most of us thought the same way. So much for unity in diversity!

For a couple of seconds pandemonium reigned and we all didn’t or rather couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The old man now looked like a wraith; he was a ghost of himself and was shaking all over. We realized that he was having an epileptic seizure. After this realization dawned on us, any decent man would have expected us to help that sick man. We were all like stunted stumps of a tamarind tree, rooted to our spots…not wanting to lose our places in the line, while a man was trying his best not to lose his life. When I think about this, I must accept that I feel a deep sense of shame – how could I, an educated guy by many standards not come forward to help a man in need? To be frank – the logical side of my brain was afraid to help him because of what, I do not know. While my heart wanted to reach out to him, my brain was commanding me not to even touch him. I saw a small child, he would have been all of 13 or 14 years old; this kid came running from nowhere, started holding the old man’s hand and was trying to calm him down. I think this kid galvanized me into action…trying hard to get over my shame, me and a couple of guys around me rushed the old man to the hospital. Till date, I do not know whether that man survived or who that kid was. All I remember is that, we were not able to trace that kid after all the commotion.

Now, the issue is – why do we have this ME FIRST mentality? I think more than anybody else, I am bound to answer this question. What would have been my reaction if that old man had been my Dad? What was I thinking at that time? Was I thinking at all? As I tried to answer these questions, I first started blaming the so called ‘system’. My first argument was, why bother? If that guy had lost his life, then I would have to answer the Police’s queries and such crap reasons. Then I realized it’s not the system, but I – very much part of the system who is to blame. That little unknown kid helped me realize that the most important thing in life is life itself; not career, not money, not position and not many things that we are supposed to obtain over our life times. I just realized that the lever that turns humanity is humanity itself; the quality to help others in need.

We all have been hypocrites at various stages of our life. I could have chosen not to publish this on my blog…what pushed me is the magnitude of the realization that kid brought within me. For this time, I can say, I am not a hypocrite!

Like Swami Vivekananda said, “Money does not pay, nor name; fame does not pay, nor learning. It is love that pays; it is character that cleaves its way through adamantine walls of difficulties”

Decrypting the sound of silence

After a pretty long break, I am back to my blog. In the interval I have taken to return to my blog, much has happened; the world has witnessed the coming and going of an year - India has lost an away cricket Test series, yet again - and I am none the wiser (this would seem like a trite remark for those who know me) So, what was I doing in the mean time? What happened during this rather long period of silence?

To tell you the truth, I was enamored by a sudden urge to find out the sound of silence. While I was thus wondering aloud, a note struck me as rather obvious. It is said that the eye of the storm is as calm as a desert. I am just wondering if the converse is true. Have you ever had the feeling that a storm is raging inside you when you are quite calm and collected on the outside?

It is difficult to associate a tangible quality to a thing that is in its very true form, quite intangible. Some time back I witnessed a scene that got me thinking; I saw this poor kid who was looking at a piece of jewelry displayed at a showroom. Was he silently thinking about the degree of joy that piece of jewelry could bring to his mother? What was the sound of his hankering silence? Wouldn’t it have broken his heart that he wasn’t able to afford that piece of jewelry as a consequence of which, he was not able to make his mother happy?

Each one of us has gone through this deafening silence time and again. Is it true that we are silent when we secretly or not so secretly yearn for something that our heart desires, but due to some contextual constraints we are not able to obtain the object of our yearning? What is the sound of our silence then?

It is said that, nature has this unfailing ability to fill up spaces or vacuums. Don’t we all in our urge to close a vacuum, drown out the sound of silence when it touches our ears? Why do we do it? Is the sound of silence so hard that it forces us to ignore it?

I know not the sound of silence. But, I do know that it is deafening to uninitiated souls like mine. To some the sound of silence is like the musical notes of a nightingale. To some, the sound of silence is as noisy as a rock band. To me, the sound of silence looms largely before me like the full moon, yet I know not how to enjoy its beauty.

So, what is the sound of your silence?