FULL CIRCLE - NOT ONCE BUT TWICE

I was born in 1954 in Calcutta. I had two elder sisters. In our custom, when the child is a year old, we shave the head of the child, in our family temple, pray to the presiding deity  and pierce  the ears of the child, and put earrings. My parents had their roots in their native village in Tamilnadu, but as they had shifted to Calcutta, their perspective regarding such customs had slightly changed, due to exposure to different Bengali and Hindi culture. 

They did not totally deviate from this custom. They had my head shaved, but did not pierce my ears, as being a male I would never need to wear ear rings.

In 1983, my son was born. When he was a year old, I too followed the altered custom set by my parents. I too had his head shaved, but spared his ears from being pierced.

Later in one such ceremony of another child, I watched the helpless child scream in pain and fear as all the relatives pinned it down to help the jeweler   pierced its ears. It could not understand what was going on, and with its eyes streaming with tears, looked yearningly at its parents to rescue it from the     terrible plight.  The parents: willing victims of customs, were also crying helplessly. Of course the child recovered within minutes, after the ceremony was over and went about playing as though nothing had happened.

18 years later, in 2001, when my son joined college, it was the fashion for young men to wear a single ear stud on the left ear. So he told me to take him to the jewelers, to have his pierce with a shot gun.

I had vehemently opposed any sort of ear piercing for children to my wife and her family members. They were unquestioningly rooted in traditions.  Now I did not know what to do. Here my son was wanting to be fashionable, and I knew my wife and family would make fun of me, if I changed my stance.

So to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment, both my son and I, went on a Sunday, stealthily to the jeweler, and had his left ear pierced with a shot gun, which drove a single white stone stud into his ear lobe.  My grown up son held my hand while this happened, and winced in pain as the stud sank into place. A single drop of tear escaped his eyes. My heart sank as I watched his pain. When we came out he said ,”Thanks pa.”

We both returned home with fear of reprisal from my wife. Surprisingly she appreciated the cute ear stud, which made our handsome son quiet dashing in looks.   

Life had come a full circle. I had to eat my words, in utter humility.

As I saw the ear stud adding to my son’s charm, I wondered, ”Should I follow his example?” But I did not have the guts to do it, as I feared total opposition from my conservative wife. As the desire lay dormant in my heart, I knew it would find expression at the opportune moment.

Four years later, in 2005, my son graduated, and went to Mumbai for his employment. He cut his long hair short, removed his ear stud, to look suitable in an official environment.

 Few weeks later I had to go to Delhi  for 3 weeks,  for my official work.  I considered piercing my ear so that I could continuously wear the stud, for 3 weeks, so that the ear hole would not close. And I could do it without my wife’s disapproval. But I was 51 years old.  Would it be appropriate, at my age, I needed to know. So I called my son, and asked him for guidance. He said, “ Dad go ahead, do it. If you postpone it you will be growing older only. Do not worry, if you do not like it, you can always discard it.”

So I went ahead and my left ear had this shiny cute earring. Boy, it did look good. When I came back to Chennai, my wife told me, “ You are not wearing that hideous thing , when we go out together. “ I felt that was reasonable.

  So I used to wear it after office hours as I spent 2 hours in the gym, and when I went to movies or the bar with my friends. I was a mild freak by nature. This part of me was obvious when I was with my pals. When with family I was predictably serious and boring.

 The organization I was with closed down, and I had to move on. One of my l colleagues, who shared my wave length, presented me with a ear stud, with a small white stone. I treasure it, because it gives me a lot of solace to think that, there are some people who are alike me.

So, life has come a full circle once more. One never knows when we have to own ideas, which we had disowned, and when we have to disown all the concepts we held dear to our hearts.

Life changes, we change, and so do our perspectives.I am still a freak. What next? Should I go for a body tattoo? Let us see.

 

ALL IS WELL ONLY IF IT ENDS WELL

I my long tenure as a training manager I have come across many students, from different walks of life. Some of them have wasted opportunities, and have just been a me too, happy to exist without any progress. While some have really withstood many hardships in life and have struggled to reach the same place,  to which the others students have come casually. Some of the life stories have been heart wrenching, when I came to know that what is taken for granted by those who are blessed, has been a path of determined struggle for the less fortunate.

Here is the story of many unsung heroes.

This boy is from Madurai, a famous temple town in Tamilnadu. Born to poor parents, he lost his father when he was three, and his mother when he was eight. His grandmother was not able to feed him, and so she left him in a orphanage hostel in Kodaikanal, a hill station near Madurai.  He studied there, and he was so young that he did not even know the way back to his grandmother’s house, till he reached his 10^th standard. Only then one of his uncles came to take him home for summer holidays. Determined to finish his studies, he went on to join college. To pay the fee, he used to load grain bags on the lorry transports. He used to be paid a certain amount for each bag loaded on. This work used to done throughout the  night and  with the wages earned, he paid his fee. He also worked as an assistant to cooks during marriages, and other ceremonies, and in the process had become an excellent cook himself. Now he is employed as a Medical representative, and is taking care of his old grandmother. He has no bad habits, and his only aim in life is to come up as much as possible. Commendable.

Then there is the other boy from Erode, near Coimbatore. His parents were very poor, and they used to manufacture potato, banana, and yam chips in their house, from morning till afternoon, and his father used to sell the same, in a push cart in the busy street corners, from evening till late night. In such conditions, the boy had completed his post graduation, and now well employed is taking care of his parents. His father due to failing health does not sell chips anymore. Praiseworthy.

Another boy from Salem. The second of three children, all male, his father was an agriculturist and a very hard worker. To educate the boys he used to take up any labor which came his way, whether it was loading bags, ;or doing construction work. This boy used to augment the family income by working as a weaver in the looms, during the summer holidays. A very ambitious boy, he showed tremendous growth in sales, and simultaneously wrote his exams for the sub inspectors post and today he is a SI. Admirable.

And there have been many candidates, who inspite of being born and educated in English medium in Chennai, have neither learnt to speak or spell any language properly. They as such failures, with no skill whatsoever, and have no clue of what a career means. These are the candidates of concern, that in 2014, while there are so many opportunities for professional courses, and good income, they continue to exist as a person in would in 1950s. Lamentable.

    

PARADOX OF LIFE

It was in 1985, I joined a pharma company as a product and a training executive. It was a small south Indian company. There was not much work, and most days had little activity. I was in-charge of preparing Visual Aid. The ideas were generated by an elderly consultant, and I did the follow up. Then the company used to screen print the pages. I had to go to a printing press and decide the base color of pages, the color of the letters. Once this process was completed, we stuck appropriate photographs in space left empty for it. Later the different pages were compiled in a given sequence, and spiral bound on hard board, and protected by a plastic sheet. The book was ready to be used. The representatives of the company used this book to detail the products to the doctors, who in turn prescribed the medicines, to patients.

 Slowly the screen printing was replaced by single color offset printing. It was a new field. I had to learn new techniques. The artist had artworks prepared on white boards, and had a trace paper flap, covered by a  color paper flap.

Now we needed to know the color code of printing, that is cyan yellow magenta and black. If we needed a brand name in red, we had to mark over the trace paper, the percentage of red as yellow 100 and magenta 100. All colors were converted to mathematical percentages, and over a period of time I could convert any color to it nearest percentages.

To create the page, I was involved in all steps. Idea generation, model sourcing, photography of models to depict the idea, copy write, color coding, positive making, plate making,  printing, lamination, gold foiling, and finally spiraling. I was very much satisfied, with the know how, and with the way my career was going.

Slowly the single color printing was replaced by the four color machines, which were more efficient. Then it was upgraded to a computer controlled printing machine. Positive making was skipped to direct plate making.

Then the art work was generated directly on the computer. We did not need to shoot photos anymore, as we could download visuals directly from the net. Negative photography was replaced by digital photos.  Artists, laid to rest their paint, brushes and spray guns. Work which used to take weeks to complete, could be done within days, thanks to technology.

All the knowledge I had gained so far, were now outdated, once again thanks to technology. Artist lost their income to the younger tech savvy generations. Professional photographers  changed their profession, as there was no demand anymore. Screen printing totally died somewhere on the way.

The latest tech, being detailing with the help of a Tab.

I shifted totally to  training. All changes in 30 years. All in a small life time.

As my friend used to  say,” You either lose to competition or technology.”

We lose our young age in learning a trade.   Once, we get employed, we do not get the time to catch up changing technology, and one day are caught in a cross road, where what we know is useless, and we cannot proceed because we are outdated. Then of course there is inflation, alimony, disease, treatment cost , old age, debility, helplessness and thankfully death. Quiet a paradox. 

I have 2 quotes, both of them from 2 different types of people.

 One who is not able to fight the change.....

“It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair.” ― Taylor Swift

And the other who still has strength and age on his side....

 “When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny.” ― Paulo Coelho,

FAMILY DOCTOR - LAST GENERATION

It was in 1976. I fell ill and went to a doctor near my house. He examined me with a stethoscope and took my temperature, and asked me to take paracetamol. He also asked me to record my temperature and meet him 2 days later. He charged me Rs. 10 for the consultation.

That  day I had fever. Then there was no fever the next day. There was fever the day after that. I met him and told him. He said, “ Ah, Malaria. He prescribed chloroquine, one tab twice daily for three days. He did not take any consultation fee that visit. The medicine cost Rs. 6. I was fine within three days. He became my family doctor.

I finished my studies, and later became a medical representative. I met him now as a representative too.

I got married, a within  a year and half , was blessed with a son. Even though he was a very good doctor, he refused to treat my son as he felt that, that was the job of a pediatrician. He was very clear about being true to his profession.

Once  in 1988, my wife came down with chronic cough. She used to cough day and night. I had changed my residence to an area far away from his clinic, so I took my wife to another doctor who was close by. He prescribed cephalexin, which did not work. We went to a specialist, who preferred amoxicillin, which too did not have any effect. After three weeks of continuous cough, we met our family doctor. He saw both the prescriptions, and said, “ The medicines are right, only the dosage is not enough.”  He now prescribed a strong dosage of doxycillin, and within two days the cough vanished. The consultation had now become Rs.30.

In 1993, as I got up one early morning at 4 AM, to go to the toilet, I felt as if some one had pushed me against the wall. I was dizzy like crazy. I somehow managed to crawl into the bed, and lay worrying, about a probable brain tumor. 

I met him that morning, and told him my worry. He laughed, and asked me what significant changes I had made in my diet in the recent past. I told him I had got some free cheese, which I was hogging with relish. He said, “That is the reason for your vertigo. Fat and sweets decrease the circumference of the blood vessels. When someone is young, such a decrease does not cause any problem, as the blood vessels are healthy. But as one touches 40 years, the blood vessels become narrow due to aging. Further decrease due to diet leads to diminished blood flow to the brain, leading to vertigo.”

He asked me to lay off deep fried snacks, and frank sweets. With diet control, my vertigo vanished, never to come back.

A year later I developed high fever of 105 degrees. This fever never dropped, and on my doctor’s advice I took 6 hourly doses of paracetamol. This continued for 5 days, and I was getting worried. I asked him over phone , whether I should admit myself in a private hospital. He said ,” Wait till tomorrow morning 8AM. If the fever does not come down by then, do get admitted.  A patient of mine got admitted yesterday , and after doing all the tests, when his temperature returned to normal, they discharged him , with a bill of Rs. 12000. This is a new type of viral fever, and it will come down by the 6^th day.” Predictably I became normal by 8AM.the next day.

In 2003, when my father had his third heart attack, the doctors in the hospital prescribed a dozen medication, when they discharged him. My dad was a very talkative man. But after taking all the medicines, he sat listless, and drugged. Very often he used to faint, because a medicine which was given to reduces the work load of the heart also resulted in less supply of blood to the brain.

I took  the prescription, and showed it to our family doctor. He told me that none of the medicines prescribed would prevent another attack, and said that he would like to make some changes , in the prescription, provided I trusted him to do so. My experience with him for many years, had led me to have total faith in him. I said I trusted him. He just retained 2 of the 12 medication. Within days my dad improved and was his usual chirpy self.

Few months later, my father went into a coma. I did not know what to do. I pondered whether I should  keep him home or admit him in hospital?

My family doctor, came home, checked my dad, and gave me 2 alternatives. Either put a naso gastric tube and feed my dad, or put my dad in hospital on a ventilator.

I opted for the home treatment, and within 10 days my dad passed away gracefully, in peace, in his home, and thankfully not in a impersonal hospital ICU, fully invaded by tubes and machines.

I still visit him as a patient for all ailments and not once has he misguided my family. Today his fee is Rs. 150., in 2014.

He does not have a crowded clinic, but has his steady patients who believe in him. A bachelor, he spend much time updating himself on latest treatment  algorithms, and seeks to give the right treatment for all his patients. He also recommends his patients to responsible specialists, for diseases which need a specialized care.

Having a responsible family doctor, is a blessing. I have been blessed for 38 years. Now as he too is aging I pray for his good health and long life.

"FROM MONDAY"

Post retirement I was seeking employment. I had applied to many companies. I also considered tutoring in Spoken English institutions. Since I had been a trainer all these years, I even thought of joining a school as a teacher. 

I went to a nearby school to which I had applied, attended an interview. They requested a demo class on English grammar. The next day I made a presentation. The authorities were satisfied and asked me to join the next day.

I went to the school t 8.30 AM, the next day and for the entire month inducted in teaching methods, for classes 3 to 6. At the end of induction they allotted me English reading, grammar, history, geography and music.

I was fifty eight years then.

I was used to the silence of corporate offices. All the organization I had worked for, had central AC.  I was used to working in comfort also. The candidates whom I had trained till then, were mostly over 22 years of age. They sat in silence through out the lectures. There was no strain on the vocal chords. They also did their assignments without having to be pushed.

My school was a total contrast to this. It had no AC. But, it was well ventilated. In spite of this there was this constant sweating, and by the end of the day, I smelt fowl.

The single most striking feature of any school is the high noise levels. Students were talking most of the time, and hardly settled down. More than teaching keeping the class silent was very difficult. If you could get a maximum stretch of 5 minutes of silence, then it was an achievement. Then within seconds everyone was happily talking. Every  five minutes I was busy banging the duster on the bench to ensure that every one pipe down. To be heard I had to shout, and by the evening my throat hurt with all the yelling.

My entire attitude towards the children changed. Earlier I used to love children. But  now I saw them as, as heartless brats who had no consideration for their teachers.  So I was most times yelling at them to keep quiet, and settling petty quarrels, about a pencil or an eraser. My face developed a permanent scowl.

Then, there was this morning and evening prayers, enforced on all students. The student did not give a damn, about getting close to God, and said it as a ritual. But the management was in earnest, about getting the Gods into the school premises, with the chorus chants.

For a person used to practicing silent meditation, I found the prayer exposure traumatic.

The students never walk. They run especially in the corridors. The school corridor was the best place for a teacher to be pushed down, by students  chasing each other. Certainly very dangerous.

One  Saturday evening after the student had left, I stood alone in the corridors, savoring the silences.  Then I thought, what had I got myself into? Certainly this is not where I belong. I was clueless when I was a student. I had hated school, for nothing taught there appealed to me except English. I was creative. I could have used that valuable time to paint, to sing,to dance or to write or exercise.  Boy, I heaved a sigh of relief when I was over with formal education.  Now I realized it was not the place for me either as a student or  as  a teacher.

That evening, as I slowly reached home, I got a call from a pharma company to join them as a trainer. When they asked me when it be convenient for me to join, I replied without batting an eyelid, "Day after tomorrow, From Monday.” 

Permanence in transition

2013 ended very badly for me. It was the last day, December 31^st, when my colleague passed away. He died of pneumonia.  He was only 36 years old when he died. I met him in October 2013, just 2 months before his demise. 

Post retirement, I was seeking jobs, and landed one as training manager, in a Pharma company near to my residence.

I joined the company on October 7th. As I walked towards the office that Monday, a person was getting down from an auto-rickshaw. Young and slightly bulky, with prominent belly, he steadied himself with the help of a walking stick. He limped to the door, and I followed him. We introduced ourselves.

He said his limping was due to an accident when a moving two- wheeler had rammed into his knee and had broken the knee bone to small bits. After surgery, and 5 months of recuperation he too had joined duty recently.  

Most time his walking stick used to slide and fall down, as he rested it in odd places.

I had to train him in methods to improve his presentation skills. He was from interior of Tamilnadu, and though he spoke well in English, there was ample scope for improvement.

He took in my suggestions, and showed slow improvement.   

Within a month he opened up and shared with me details of his life. He had 2 sisters both of whom were brave, and exceptionally talented. But both were now content to play the role of house wives, a very normal sacrifice women make for their families, in India.

His was a love marriage. He had fallen for his childhood friend, and their friendship had turned into love.  His parents had opposed the marriage, and he had waited patiently for 3 years to get their approval. But they were adamant. So informed them about his plans and one day got married in a simple ceremony, with the help of friends.  It was an economical marriage, costing just Rs.5000.    

The parents came around, when he was blessed with a daughter. He found it difficult to manage his child, as his wife was a working woman. He left the office sharp at 6PM, to take over his daughter from his wife as she rushed off to work night shifts.

He had plans of becoming an entrepreneur , and toyed with the idea of marketing green dip tea.

Casual and yet ambitious, he was always cheerful.

Within weeks of knowing each other, he complimented me on my dress sense, envied my trim figure, and  appreciated the smell of my perfume. He  used to dress well, he told me, but had lost interest after the  accident. Now after meeting he said he felt inspired to dress better.

He used to come down with episodes of coughing, and used to self treat, himself with            anti- biotics.

One Sunday when his chest started aching with each cough, and he stared spitting blood with sputum he got admitted in the emergency ward of a private hospital. As his condition worsened, the doctors shifted him to the ICU, and put him on ventilator. In spite of the best antibiotics administered, he did not respond and he breathed his last at 5 AM, that morning.

Too young to die, he left behind a young widow, a small child and aged parents who had hoped to depend on him in their old age.

Had his parents had an inkling, maybe they would have attended his marriage. If he could foresee, maybe he would have spared his lady love of wedlock.

Only if we could foresee the future, our perspectives of life would be so different. All of us know about the fleeting nature of human life. We see enough evidence of it in the obituary columns everyday. Death spares no one. It treats, the young and old alike. But we hardly learn from life. If only we could live each moment as it were the last one. If we could only  be kind to everyone we meet, spread love and laughter through each day. If we could exchange understanding for ego, love for hatred, kindness for cruelty, and laughter for meaningless sadness, then we may not feel so much for the dead.

It is so much better to spare a kind word for the one who is alive, than shed a tear for the dead.

I hope that this incident on the last day of 2013, helps me to live 2014 as a better, kinder, and a loving person. I hope it not only teaches me to be kind to my loved ones, but also tolerant to those who challenge my goodness with their mindless attitude. 

Curious case of muralidhar button

It was in 2006 I moved to a new organization as a trainer. I had been working for 20 years steadily with an organization, which closed down, due to mismanagement issues. So, I was forced to relocate.

 Even as a student I was an introvert, a loner and had few friends. I used to keep to myself and did not interact unnecessarily with people. But, I had a spontaneous and a crazy sense of humor, which kept the boredom away.

Then I happened to interview a young guy, for our company. He was 28 years old then..

He had a level head, on his shoulders, was well mannered, hard working and was well behaved.

We had to conduct training programs together, and for the first time we travelled together. It was to Chatisgarh. It was his first trip out of South India. For the journey he had come well prepared with some good premium brand of whiskey and a flask of cold ice. No sooner the train left the station, he started going on the rocks. I denied his offer, as it was a long time since I had boozed, and I could not afford to take risks at my age, especially while travelling. It was a long journey, and in spite of continuously drinking, he never appeared drunk or blabbered.

We finally reached our destination. After we checked in we decided to drink together.

Drinking with him was a pleasant experience, as he shared the same sense of humor I had, and within no time, we were rolling over with laughter.

I felt 15 years younger, as jokes came out tumbling out of us and felt that I was not as boring as I had believed myself to be.

We attended many trainings together, and found that we could have as much fun when sober and more when high.

He was half my age, and with his habit of pulling my leg every other second, he upgraded me  and my reaction time in giving counter comments, to someone of his age group.

He was a person who would find an opportunity for fun in the most un-imaginable situations.

Once it was pouring non stop rains in Chennai, and I was on his pillion, and both of us were soaked to the skin.  At one point the traffic simply did not even inch forward, as happens in Chennai even when there is the slightest rainfall. 

He simply got a packet of fried items [ kara boondi], shoved it on the handle and ate scoop by scoop, in the rains. Then we got down, had some  steaming tea, all the while chatting non stop.

The more our interaction, the more I became younger in mind.

I rediscovered  my laughter, my optimism, and it was his cheerful nature which reversed my mental aging process.

Three years later, we moved from that organization, and joined different firms. I imparted knowledge to young students, with the same enthusiasm and jokes and fun which had become a part of me, thanks to my mentor of laughter. I was simply the most affectionate and popular teacher. For in me, I was young again, and this quality showed.

When I was young I had read in a quote, “There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”

Your life can be touched and made richer by any one. Only we have to be a source or a reflection of inspiration.