POOR RICH GUY

What we see is not always true. We have first impressions, which turn out to be very different from the truth.

One of the training programs turned out to be a personal tuition program for me. About four candidates, were selected in an interview. Three of them did not turn up for the training. Only one did. Therefore, I was stuck up with the lone student.

His name was Rajendra Kumar, similar to that of the silver jubilee star of Hindi cinema. He was from Gurgaon, near Delhi. He had a sad story to tell. His father had borne two sons, through his mother. When the children were about eight years old, he fell in love with another young woman. In her love, he deserted   his family, refusing to support them in any way.

 The mother and two sons stayed with the maternal grandmother. His mother had to do work hard to support her sons. They had lived a frugal life. In the meantime, the sons grew up and managed to graduate, amidst hardships. His father did not look them up even once during those years.

I felt sad for the boy and the needless trauma he had been through, because of an irresponsible father.

While he was narrating the gloomy tale, I noticed that he was wearing an elegant deep grey shirt. But it was not the right time to appreciate a shirt. I kept quiet about it.

The tuition went on for 10 days. He was an average student. His performance was just about OK. It was a challenge to be continuously optimistic about his presentation.  

Finally the last day of the training came. He was wearing the same shirt. Now I could not contain myself. I asked him, “That is a wonderful shirt. Where did you get it? “

He said, “In Chennai sir.”

It was a branded shirt. I asked him, “How much does it cost?”

“Rs.2500, sir,“ he said.

I was surprised. I asked, “It is costly, how could afford it? You said you came from a poor family’”

He smiled. “ Yes sir. However, we had some family property; about 4 acres of agricultural fields in Gurgoan.  They were worthless. One day the government wanted to convert these wastelands into an industrial area. They wanted to acquire these lands for that purpose. They offered a good price for it. So we sold it to the government. “

I asked, “ How much money you got for the lands?”

I was least prepare for the answer. He said, “ Rs. One crore. “

I sat upright in my seat. “One crore?” I exclaimed.  “Then why did you choose to come for this ordinary job? You could have done some business.”

He said, “ I tried, my hand at catering. I lost some money, about Rs.25000. I want to enter into pharmaceutical business. I need this job to pick up experience.”  I felt it was a good move; A step in the right direction. I wished him all the best in the new venture.

The training ended. He left for his hometown. He resigned the job, without even working for a single day. He could afford to do that. After all, he had enough money for his entire life time.

 I felt bad about having invested 10 demanding days with a student, who did not even care to gain a day’s experience. However, no complains from me. I too, was paid to do my job.

Had it not been for money and the compensation it offers, none of us would do many things we do not care for.

Money is a great leveler. If you have enough of it, you can live life the way you want to. If you do not, you will be writing such blogs.

CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

One of the candidates I trained happened to be the son of a politician. However, unfortunately his father was in the opposition party, which never saw power. Chandran, was his name. He was the first-born, followed by two siblings. His parents loved him dearly. His father’s power and love spoilt hm. His dad gave him a Pulsar in his first year of college, and pocket money was available in thousands.  Thoroughly spoilt, with an inflated ego, he projected himself as a gang leader.

He had seen his father wield power and respect. Therefore, to Chandran, self respect, esteem and status were very important issues. Added to these, was the clan dominance. He felt his clan was superior. He also was sure that his religion was better, and had a conformed dislike for any other religion.    

According to him, he was from a fighting clan. Therefore, he used these beliefs to pick up a brawl and bashed the opponent. In his village, no one dared to oppose him. His cousins and uncles were also of the same materials. So there were weekly fights, most of them were caste issues.  

I learnt many fight terminologies from him. For instance “ Ditching” meant to dash your forehead against your opponent’s forehead with such force, that he will black out. This is very similar to ram’s butting their head.

He also told me that near the temple compound walls, short stout sticks were, hidden in sand. These were, pulled out during a fight to give a sharp whack to the rival. The sticks were, kept short on purpose, so that the rival could not grab it and use it on the attackers.

There were also sharp thin knives to superficially, cut the skin of the foes, so that they winced and ran off.

Every time there was a temple festival, there also a free fight between rival gangs. He and his cousins were regular visitors to the police station. He had a few cases registered in his name, with the cops.

However, the boy was intelligent and a natural at studies. He passed easily in spite of all the distractions.

In his family when a child was born, or when some girl attained puberty, or some one got married, it meant traditional expenses. In Chandran’s clan there was no dearth of such mindless exorbitant wastage of money. Each occasion meant an expense of Rs. 25000.

His dad’s major portion of property was, spent on such draining expensive rituals. The income from agricultural lands also slowly reduced.  So now, the family had to depend on Chandar’s income. In this critical situation, he came to my organization for a post of a representative.

He got his home- town as headquarters. Once the son of a rich man; he was now working as a commoner. He felt humiliated about the downfall in his status.

Therefore, he changed over to another organization, which gave him a different but nearby head quarter. From the new place, he could also visit his hometown each night, after the day’s work was over. This arrangement helped him maintain his status.

 Nowadays, with exposure to the realties of life, he is slowly turning into a new leaf. He has understood that violence leads to more violence. He is keeping away from the gangs that would pull him into a fight. He has also understood about the dignity of labour.  He is now relooking into his beliefs. Now he is realizing how of much pain one can get due to wrong viewpoints.

He has now mellowed into a better civil person. He is also regretting his past; about how much of valuable time has been lost in such useless pursuits.

He is abiding with time, to go abroad, far away from the maddening crowd, customs and meaningless customary extravagances; to start anew and to start afresh.

Certainly a change for the better.

POT OF GOLD

Some men are ambitious and realistic. Some are only ambitious. They dream of riches and property and hope that one day they will be the dream realized. My friend Swami was a professional photographer. He was dynamic, and could easily deliver  goods, as per the clients demands.

I needed his services to shoots models, for my organizations products. He was quick in work and could be creative or mundane to suit the situation.

He dreamed big. He wanted to live in style. He also believed in astrology.  Astrologers are excellent in reading client psychology. They indentify your weak point and exploit it.  An astrologer told him that he could become rich overnight, if he performed the Lakshmi  Ganapathi  Homam. Swami performed the pooja. The bill was only Rs.32000.

Nothing happened. Therefore, he went and met a gemologist. He suggested, that Swami wear a dark Blue Sapphire. Swami paid without batting an eyelid, Rs.6000.

Still nothing happened. Now it was time for the Vastu consultant. The Vastu consultant, came to Swami’s house, and suggested that all rooms to be interchanged.

The kitchen became the toilet. The store room was modified into the kitchen. The hall turned into the bedroom. And the bedroom was converted into the hall. Existing doors were sealed. New doors created. The only things left untouched were the outer walls and the ceiling. The bill was a whooping Rs.1,25000.

Still no change took place in the financial status.

But swami was a die hard. He met a saint and got fleeced of Rs.32000, so that the finances improve.

In the mean time, business became bad, due to competition. Digital pictures replaced conventional photography. Anyone could now shoot, as photography became affordable to the common person.  Photos were available from the net. Organizations stopped caring about qualitative work. They were ready to make do with whatever was available.

So swami joined a Multi Level Marketing Organization. The basic logic in these organization being; I was fooled, now I will fool you.

Swami forced me to attend one of their meetings. Many people came on stage and proclaimed how MLM had changed their lives; how easy it was to become successful and rich. The speakers tried to brain wash the gullible and greedy audience of 300 people. To a person hardened by bitter experiences, like me, it was a mindless shameful parody.

I refused to become a member, in spite of Swami’s best effort. I told him, “I know only one way of earning,  that is, by regular persistent hard work. I do not believe in luck. There is no easy way to become legally rich. “

After that Swami and I lost contact.  Much later I met him once. He had sold off his house and his car. He was travelling by bus, but he still nurtured his dream of making it big. Well some people never learn.

As long there is insatiability and naivety, the astrologers, naadi specialist, gemologist, nameologist, numerologists, vastu consultants, feng shui guys , will all continue to prosper. 

   

GENERATIONS APART

This is how my grandma was while granddad was alive

My parents were born into large families. In any household, there were at least 15 members. Visiting relatives often stayed for weeks or months. In those days, it was very difficult to manage expenditure, as the source of income was just one, and the commitments were many.

Therefore, no family member got to eat any food stuff all by themselves. When visitors bought mangoes, it cut into small portions, and all the family members got only four or five small pieces.

Children were not given priority. Most of them took curd rice and pickle to school, for lunch.

For dinner too, they had rice, while the elders had iddlies or dosa. Small portions were distributed to the eager children. These items were difficult to prepare, as the dough was ground manually. By the time I was born, our family had become nuclear. 

Since my parents had suffered endless sharing, they gave us the best they could.  Whenever they bought any eatable there was always enough and more. We always got full biscuit packets and full chocolate bars. We were not used to eating in small bit and pieces.

My paternal grandmother came from Delhi to visit us. She was 70 years old; I was six years old. Those days, in Delhi customers used to give flour, vanaspathi and sugar, to bakeries. The bakers would bake delicious biscuits. These were packed, in 5 kg tins. Any visitor from Delhi carried these biscuits to distribute to relatives. 

 My grandmother was a widow. As was the custom of her times, she was shorn, and wore a “pale orange cotton saree”, which was the widow’s uniform.

She finally settled in one corner of a room. Next to her were the steel trunk of clothes, and the biscuit tin. She mostly sat there, and even lay down there in the afternoon and night to sleep.

I was very much keen on eating the biscuits. I went to her with an eagerly out stretched palm. She gave me one biscuit. I ate it excitedly. I asked for one more. It was 9AM. She asked me to come at 4PM, for the next Biscuit. I went to her by 4PM. She gave me half a biscuit. I felt insulted. I was conditioned to eating biscuits in packets.   She was conditioned to give in bits. So it was a clash of upbringing.   With my eyes full of tears I threw the biscuit on her face, and said , “ I do not need your biscuits, grandma. You eat all of them.”

I ran wailing to my mother. My mother comforted me, and said, “Do not worry, I will take care. You need not go to her anymore.”

Every time, my grandma went to the washroom, my mom took 2 to 4 biscuits from the tin and silently gave them to me. I went to the next room and ate them with satisfaction.

My grandma could not understand why I never troubled her anymore for the biscuits. I fact she even begged me to have some. I refused nonchalantly, telling her to keep her biscuits.  

When she left for Delhi, she told my dad, that she had never seen such a stubborn child like me. Poor old lady, little did she know that my mom and I were accomplices in the heist. 

RAGS TO RICHES

He came to Chennai, when he was 18 years old. He hailed from a very small village, near Madurai. His name was Kadir.  Kadir was one of the five children, in his family. His father was a very irresponsible man, who squandered the family wealth, abandoned them and vanished from sight. Kadir grew up in poverty. With his mother doing menial work, there was hardly enough food to go around. He too had to work to keep poverty away. Employed during the summer holidays, in a groundnut shelling factory, he ate groundnuts for lunch, to keep hunger at bay. 

Having completed his schooling, with great difficulty, he came to Chennai for employment. He stayed with his elder brother, who had found a job slightly earlier.

He was, employed in a screen printing press. Good looking, with a head full of curly hair, sharp nose, sparkling expressive eyes, and a spontaneous smile, the most impressive feature in him was the tireless energy and involvement with which he worked. He was hard muscled, and very fit.

After his full day at the press, he returned home and printed visiting cards and letterheads for friends and private clients.

He was ambitious, and wanted to be rich, with property, and lead a secure life. To attain this dream, he married  a well to do woman. She was the only daughter of a rich businessperson. Kadir’s  father in law, financed and set up a printing unit for him.

Kadir resigned his job. He had picked up enough business contacts from his erstwhile employer. Many clients shifted alliance to Kadir, whose quality of work matched competitive prices.

Business prospered. One of his clients, a elevator manufacturer wanted to give him an offset printing work, about the Company profile and catalogue. Kadir neither, knew English nor anything about offset printing. He asked my advice as to whether he should try untested waters or withdraw.

I organized a copywriter, a photographer and a layout artist to help him. His client was happy with the results and he got the printing order.  Now that he knew the various steps in offset printing, he got more orders for similar jobs.

He worked day and night, and soon built his own house. With expanding business, he built two more floors. His clientele increased and so did is income.   He was blessed, with two sweet daughters. 

As fate would have it, he crash-landed on his face, in a two wheeler accident. His once handsome face was now grotesque. He was afraid to do reconstructive surgery. He was demoralized, and went to his village to find solace. Nevertheless, the villagers were more bothersome. He rushed back to the city, wherein people were diplomatic and less concerned about others. For over a year, he refused to look at the mirror. Being a fighter, his optimism soon surfaced, and he took the accident in his stride.  Many years later, he told me, that he had forgotten his old face, as he kept on looking at his new face. 

His father in law had purchased a land for him in a remote area in Chennai. He once showed me the property and told me that he was planning to dispose it off, as the adjacent plot owner was trying to infringe into his land. I asked him to build a compound wall around his property, and a small house to safeguard his land.

He did just that, and built a large hall to shift his printing press from a rented place to his own building. Soon he added another floor to the building. In those areas, buildings were constructed lengthwise, wherein the outer walls of adjacent houses, had just an inch gap in-between. 

This proximity presented problems. Late in the night, local boys began using Kaidr’s terrace as an open to sky bar. To prevent the growing nuisance, Kadir added three more houses on the second floor and had family members as tenants. The problem of the open bar thus came to a close.

As his business expanded, he further built a palatial independent house for his family. Now that he had a parking space he purchased a car. He now got monthly rentals from seven families. He got his eldest daughter married to one of his relatives, an employee in the IT industry.  He was blessed with two grandchildren, both girls.

The last I saw of Kadir was in a tea shop. As we drank tea, he was complaining about his low levels of energy and the normal problems of advancing forties. I requested him to take care of his health. His greatest sadness was that he could not speak in English, and that he did not graduate like me. I told him that he was lucky; for had he graduated he would have been a miserable low paid employee, rather than a rich business. He laughed loudly as he saw the co-relation.

He had a family history of diabetes, and hypertension. Kadir seldom paid attention to health. He skipped doses, sometime forgetting to take medications for days at a stretch.

One day while working in his press, he felt a discomfort in his chest. Since it came after his lunch, he dismissed it as gas, and drank a soda to relieve it.

As the pain grew worse, he went to a nearby familiar hospital, in-spite of his employee suggesting a multispecialty hospital as a better alternative. He was diagnosed as having a impending heart attack.  

 By the time he rushed to the multispecialty hospital, he died on the way.

When I heard the news, I felt so sad, about the untimely death. His death could have been avoided, with regular health check up, proper medications, and reviews.

It was a contrast to see his dead body; so silent and still; very different from the active energetic effervescent person I knew.

His wife and two daughters were wailing in agony. I too shed silent tears. 

But he had been a responsible husband and father. His family could live comfortably just by the rentals of the many houses they owned. The property he left behind could help them tide over many financial situations.

I wish he had bestowed the same care on his health as he had had on his business. Had he survived he would have certainly grown further in stature. His story was a very typical one; From Rags to Riches. 

TWO TO TANGO

Most of us, are created with ordinary talents. We study, pursue a career, get married, have children, grow old and die.   During our 70 to 80 years of existence, we do not make a single special contribution to the society. We are so commonplace.

When someone is different, he finds himself to be a square block in a round hole. Everyone around us, be it parents, teachers or employers tell us to blend into the mass of anonymity. 

I had the fortune to meet a young man of exceptional talent. He was my son’s classmate. The only thing he knew was to dance.

One day, he danced in my house. I watched in rapt attention. When he danced, his entire body became a single unit of movement; fluid, energetic, brilliant. Even a layman, could not help admiring his talent.

He was very poor in studies. Obviously, as each and every cell in him was already filled with dance. He was a natural and had picked up dancing while he was just 6 years old. He had not been formally initiated into dancing. He was self taught. All his movements had been picked up from watching the TV.

Since dancing came naturally to him, he did not know that he was extraordinary. I told him that he had great talent, and that he was no ordinary dancer. 

He dropped out of school. I tried to fix him in some jobs. But, he could not fit into anything. He was at a loss. He did not know what to do.  He then joined a dance school; within a few months became employed there, as a teacher. He choreographed few numbers. I had the pleasure of seeing him create magic on the stage with his performance. 

The school sent him abroad to head one of its lucrative schools. He was most loved teacher. Simple friendly, unpretentious, patient, he could reach out to inspire his students.

He wanted to start his own school abroad. He was also unsure of the future of the plan. He asked me for advice. I told him, “Go ahead. You are young. You can run the risk. You are not married, and have no major responsibilities. If you become a success, it is good. If you fail, there will still be time to restructure your future.  He is very successful today, as both a teacher and an entrepreneur. 

His school teaches all types of dancing styles. He has regular shows. He teaches all age groups; from 6 years to 60.

He fell in love with one of his students; a lovely young woman.  They have married recently. He invited me to his marriage reception. It was a grand affair. They looked resplendent in the marriage outfits. He hugged me warmly, and introduced me to his wife. She told me, ”Sir he talks about you everyday. “ He told her, “What ever I am today is because of him. He is the one who made me realize my talent, encouraged me to pursue my passion.” He turned to me and said,” Stay sir for sometime, we want to dance a few steps with you.” I stayed, and the newly weds and I danced for a few moments together.  

I bid goodbye to the wonderful couple who would be together, in work and in life. The marriage would be a great one, for they shared a common bond of dance. After all, it takes two to tango.  

“You can sail on a ship by yourself

Take a nap or nip by yourself

You can get into debt on your own

There are lots of things that you can do alone

But it takes two to tango two to tango

Two to really get the feeling of romance

Two to tango two to tango do the dance of love “

JUST HAPPENED YESTERDAY

When I began my career, I used to a representative of a biscuit company. I was working Salem. When one my colleagues, who worked Pollachi, resigned from the organization, I had to work his territory also, for some time as a stopgap arrangement.

On one such visit, I had to go to Valparai. We used to go in a van, with ready stocks. We had a van driver, and two boys to help with the billing, and to unload the heavy biscuit tins from the van.

Valparai is a hill station, famous for its tea estates.It is located 3,500 feet above sea level on the Anaimalai Hills range of the Western Ghats. There are 40 hairpin bends on the way to Valparai.

The entire way was, decorated with trimmed tea shrubs, on either side of the winding roads. The climate was growing colder on the way up; it was so chill and delightful. I was feasting my eyes on the green neat scenery, and felt thrilled at each whiff of cold air. I had a smile on my face, throughout the ascent.

There is a magic about hill stations. They open up your senses. You become aware of the beauty of nature. You enjoy the smell of nature. You also long for hot steaming tea, and the pleasure of a cigarette.

We finished our sale for the day. Before darkness could descend, we checked into a wayside lodge, know as Taj Mahal Hotel.  Why the owner named it “Taj Mahal,” was beyond my comprehension.  The name was so out of place. I mean, the place was in TamilNad, about 2374 Km from Agra, where the Original Taj Mahal was;  the owner was a Keralite; maybe  this hotel was in his lover’s memory. In 1979, that was the only hotel in Valparai. It was actually a restaurant, which had three rooms in the first floor.

I was staying alone in one room. The other three were in another room. Since I represented a Company I had to stay alone. I visited their room. They were having so much fun, playing cards, talking loudly, having jibes at each other. I could not join them, as there was a difference in status. I had a lonely dinner and retired to my room. Night fell, bringing with it an impressive quiet.  The lodge had a single bulb in each room. I switched off the light, and fell asleep, watching silver moonlight cascade into my room.

I must have slept for an hour. I woke up to hear the wailing of the cold wind, as it blew through a small opening in the window. I shut the window tight. I looked out. The tea estate was, bathed in white light. It was so peaceful. The entire mountain range seemed to be sleeping peacefully. There was no sound. For the first time in my life, I had heard such deep silence. Soaking in the stillness, I could my own breathing. I fell into a deep sleep.

The next day dawned, with mist. We had a typical Kerala breakfast, 

Kola puttu, nendram banana and tea.

We winded our way down, to reach the warm, noisy and dusty plains. 35 years later, today I am still able to enjoy the memories, of the Valparai visit. It looks to me like it just happened yesterday.