Nourish-n-Cherish

Anand’s Comment on the Olympic post warranted a separate blog entry by itself. So, I’ve posted his comment as an article.

Anand says:

Let us take swimming for instance. You need great swimming pools, researchers who understand fluid dynamics, companies that excel in fluid dynamics and continuously push their R&D to develop better swim suits, private companies that are willing to fund swimmers during their training and great universities that are willing to hire such swimmers into their program and nurture them so when they are in their mid 20s – they have a post swimming career in place.This is a heady concoction – which is available may be in the G7 countries of the world. Of course, I was surprised to see Coventry is Zimbabwean [of course she spent her last 6 years in Auburn.Cavic is Serbian only for olympics. He is a thoroughbred Californian. The other great swimmers from the non G7 countries seem to have gone to Ann-Arbor or Cal.Basically at this level of competition where the difference between #1 and #10 is less than half a second – infrastructure is EVERYTHING. I can extend this argument to Track and Field as well. San Jose Mercury News carried a story about why Jamaicans rule in Track and Field – it went back nearly 40 years to SJSU. Their athletic program took nearly 30 years to start yielding results. Of course a lot of the research support I mention is now available to those athletes too, who also train a lot in the US.If anything, I am totally convinced that to be anywhere near the top in any of these competitions, you better have the entire infrastructure to support you. When would India grow enough to create such support? Not anytime soon I think. If someone spent $200m to build a fantastic T&F center or a swim center – imagine the ruckus it would create right now. Only when the basic needs of the common man are met, can and will India think of esoteric acts such as excelling in sports come into being.Yes, there are random acts of individual brilliance that bring medals to much smaller countries – which will happen in India too. But as a system that generates medal winning athletes olympics after olympics – I would be very surprised if I saw it happen in our lifetime.

Anand further pointed us to an article written by Amit Verma

http://indiauncut.com/iublog/article/india-doesnt-need-olympic-pride/

It was a long day. There were a number of interesting events today, but I’m here to report none of that. I sat in the car, in silence. I knew the lack of conversation was all my daughter needed to fall asleep. She had had a tiring day too, and had been extra active for the past 6 hours. I glanced across at my husband holding the steering wheel, and then looked out the window. It was either the full moon, or close to the full moon.

I felt strange, sitting there watching the trees go by, the cars whiz past. The clouds moved – dark gray clouds, but it wasn’t supposed to rain. How much one relies on the weather forecast, I thought idly. It was beautiful to watch the moon peer in and out of the gray clouds. Just as I thought some clouds were moving fast enough to eclipse the whole moon, the moon would slip out again. I watched the moon looking for a smile when it emerged. But all I saw was the bright moon with the same dark spots. I wondered about how we overload our thoughts and yearn for other things to change. Just because I wanted to find a smile is not going to change the moon’s contours to be a smile. The moon is the moon – reflecting sunlight, moving around the earth and awarding a peaceful moment to anyone willing the take the time to notice it.

I just sat and watched the moon slip in and out of the clouds the whole way home. I am trying to find the word for my feeling – but then I realise I cannot describe it. I couldn’t remember the last time I spent time just looking at the moon. Is peaceful the word? I am not sure, but it felt good. I watched as my husband stopped at the traffic signal – my daughter had slept.

I loved the for 7.2 miles in the silence of the moon.

It happens every leap year without fail. There is a sinking feeling, a feeling of great shame. As the second most populous nation in the world marches into the Olympic arena along with every other countries (some hitherto unheard of), the Indian in me cowers. I know of the feeble attempt we will manage, and feel terribly sorry to see the tiny contingent who has made it to the Games.

What do we lack?

Political will for sure. The making of Sports as an industry for another. Sports have to be made enticing enough to want to make people pursue them as a career. The prime-time in the life of an athlete is a short span, and if the industry surrounding this spurt does not sustain such talented individuals, few people would make the choice. There have to be careers for those who excel – as trainers, as team co-ordinators, as people who can be given the responsility to contributing to decisions in ways that touch not just their lives, but those of others who have the honor of representing the country. Cricket has achieved that, and I think it should be the same for other arenas too.

My husband and I were chatting about this, and one viable option would be to have a roadmap to win 5 medals in the next Olympics, and then make a career path for aspiring athletes. Make the infrastructure ready and available, hone skills and inspire people to succeed.

It is not difficult to achieve once the commitment is made, just difficult to overcome the reluctance to commit.

We had been camping last week-end – a bunch of moms from Kee’s class thought of it, and all-in-all eight families went camping. IT was only for a night, but it was enough to have me reeling for days. I am just recovering!

The camp grounds were far enough from civilization but close enough to the wilderness for us to get a sense of rugged adventure. From the top, we could actually see the city lights glittering at night, and I must say it made a melancholy sight to be sitting there in the tent peering out at the city lights down below. The tent itself is a masterpiece – a small package, that, when erected properly rooms a family of three or four with ease and relative comfort. We had the foresight of ‘selecting’ our tent site on a slope that had a 11.3 degree inclination and I must say we enjoyed the night slipping down the grade and getting back up grumpily and hauling ourselves back up again – sleeping bag, pillow, torch, night light, cell-phone, Kee and all. And try all of this on a full stomach and aching limbs, and I’ve sketched out comfort for you. Oh yeah – it was great fun – I spent half the night giggling as we picked ourselves up and ‘moved north’.

I see some eyebrows raised when they read ‘full stomach!’ – you see, we were a bunch of Indian families. While we may have forgotten some things like nightlamps and flash lights, do you think we forgot food? We had food fit for a king and his army – ordered from a fancy restaurant and brought to the summit with heating trays and candles. A complete Indian meal with Shrikand for dessert. If we couldn’t do justice to it, it was because we had too much tea, cookies and brownies for snacks! And of course, we had a HEARTY breakfast the next day – samosas with bread, butter croissants – all in the name of feeding our kids.

Speaking of the kids, they had a blast – running around, hiking (three year old kids actually did 1.5 mile round trip hikes), ‘rock climbing’ and of course falling and getting hurt. Our campsite was on a gradient as previously mentioned, and every second minute a child was toppling over. I found it quite amusing to note the varying reactions to a fall. Some children generally seemed to summon folks from neighbouring camps with first -aid kits for all their din, while others brushed themselves off and just toppled over again with no second thoughts. There was a tap at the site, and every once in a while a harried parent would be seen shaking their heads in disbelief, wringing their hands and pulling an unwilling child from the tap.

The highlight of the trip were the racoons – they are food lovers, and come scanvenging for food near campsites. They don’t have fear of any kind towards humans, and quite a few times the whole populace was grimacing with wild gestures, only to see the racoon get more and more convinced that this was the place for a wholesome meal! (I actually have a pic of everybody shooing the racoons, and it really looks comical )

Eight kids and their families on a hillside with a raccoon to boot – that’s what I call a fun vacation!

All things Strange and Wonderful

All things Wise and Foolish

All things Bright and Beautiful

The Cine’s got them all!

I went to a cinema theatre last week. Those who know me know that it is an event worth blogging about. Somehow, the cinema theatre has never appealed to me. I have always left the theatre with a headache (Dolby/fantastic sound systems, too many speakers) and blurry eyes with the humongous images that always seem too close for my liking! The Indian theatres had the added disadvantage of letting a tiny bit of urine smell ‘waft’ in through the opened doors after intervals. All in all, never enjoyed the theatre as much as curling up at home and watching the scenes I like and skipping the ones I don’t. I have the dubious reputation of watching whole 3 hour feature films in less than 15 minutes ( I hate violent scenes, I don’t like fights, I don’t care too much for most of the songs, and would rather fast forward an unnecessarily maudlin scene – That leaves the titles, which I don’t watch anyway!)

Anyway, we made an event out of the movie outing, and made sure my daughter did not take a nap in the afternoon, so she would fall asleep soon, and set out after an early dinner. As we were walking towards the theatre explaining the many virtues of popcorn to my daughter so she gets excited about the experience, what should happen, but she tripped and fell. Luckily, she hardly got hurt.

My daughter is a sweet-heart but a fall just jolts her! She cried and exercised her vocal chords considerably. I went and asked the theatre manager (TM) for ice and a band-aid. Guess what?

She donned one of those falsely sweet tones – “You know…I really would like to give you one, but, yeah, we aren’t allowed to do that”

Me aghast: Why? It’s just some ice and band-aid!

TM: Yeah, I know, but we aren’t allowed to do that.

Me: May I know why?

TM: Yeah….for the risk of being sued

Me: *Laughing inwardly* Believe me, I have neither the time nor the inclination to sue over some band-aid and few blocks of ice!

TM: Yeah – I know, but I really can’t

Me: Yeah…okay (What?! “Yeah” does get to you after a while!)

Anyway! I spent the first half an hour of the movie trying to soothe her, and put her to sleep. Well – no points for guessing what happened next. Turns out, only the first half hour of the movie was supposed to be watch-able by even less stringent standards than my watchability guidelines outlined above. So, I came home with a child who had body pain because of the fall, a bad head-ache and blurry eyes to boot. Not to mention a hoarse throat with the rather vehement criticism on the way back!

Sigh – I remember why I don’t like theatres!

In every child’s life, there are few teachers who make a true, lasting impression. In my life, the person who tops the list is Raga (Mr.G.Raghavan) Raga was one of the few teachers who could make children love a relatively tough subject like Mathematics! Weekly once, 1 half of one class would be dedicated to story-telling. He would take a story, and elongate it over weeks, while having children wait eagerly in pin-drop silence for the next point in the story. He had mastered what took ages for television to figure out. He would stop the story at a critical juncture, and have the class waiting for the remaining part of the story the whole week! What better method to have a child wait for Maths classes? He had such compelling story-telling abilities that entire generations of students were spell-bound with his stories.

It takes special ability to teach children, and most of all make every child feel important and valued. He was gentle, kind and no matter how good or bad you were at the subject, you never felt unwanted in his class. That is what separates a good teacher from a stellar one. At a boarding school, a teacher metamorphs into a surrogate parent, and as housemaster and Prep School head, he was the father figure to hundreds of children as they struggled to settle in to boarding school for the first time.

Raghavan uncle and my father started life at Lawrence School, Lovedale as bachelors sharing a single bedroom apartment. Over the span of three decades, life moved on, they had children, and we all grew up together. Monsoon vacations in the pouring rain, playing board games and listening to the whooshing sound of the rain, and of course my father and him rattling on in the back-ground. Vacations, school years, leaving with a glistening teardrop as they dropped children off in college, marrying them off, and finally both of them retired as grand-parents from the school.

I visited him a few months ago. The image was shocking. I had never known Raga to fall ill – ‘Sunny’ is the word that best describes him. He had survived one bout of cancer, and he looked pale and thin. He started talking, and I could hear the same old Raghavan uncle again. As he carried my toddler daughter, he said – “My god! This is Kutti Saumya, Mr Balasubramanian – I feel like I am in my thirties again carrying her as a toddler.”

I still remember one incident – I was all of seven years old. I had come to write the Entrance exam for Lawrence. There was a column for my father’s name, and I had confidently filled out – “Mr.K.Balasubramanian (Late)“.

Mr. Raghavan was supervising the test. He called me aside, and asked me why I had written “(Late)” near my father’s name. I explained to him that everytime one wrote their father’s name, one must write ‘(Late)’ (Both my maternal and paternal grand-fathers were no more then, and everytime I saw my parents write their father’s name, they had always added ‘(Late)’!) He then laughed heartily, and explained that you append ‘(Late)’ to a person’s name only when they are no more. My father and he had their laughs about this incident for years. Decades later, I still laugh everytime I recollect this incident.

Yesterday, Mr.G.Raghavan lost a battle to cancer. It is with the heaviest of hearts that I append “(Late)” to Mr.G. Raghavan’s name. This time, I am doing it correctly, just as he lovingly explained to me all those years ago – but it doesn’t feel right. He lives on in the hearts of thousands of children, and will never really die.

What are your expectations of an ideal work-spot/ professional environment?
Top criteria for me would include:
Challenging work (Just the right amount too!)
Ownership
Good Team
Good Manager
Flexibility
Proximity to home (The last two for work/life balance)

When I was growing up, my father harped on three business ventures:

1) Seven Star Saree Center

2) Anand cycle mart

3) Bama tuition center

Seven Star Saree Center: This venture originated in the endless love of Indian women for clothes. His plan was to have sarees from 7 major brands in the store (Garden Vareli, Calico …. I forget the remaining brands) He spent endless hours designing the showroom (the showroom design and his ideal house design somehow merged in the designs, and I am sure had it been put to paper, it would have looked like a five star hotel that doubled up for a shop or a house)

State of project: Somehow the sizzle for this died down, but not without running its course of a decade worth of “planning”.

Anand cycle mart: This venture was planned because of the high expectations set by my brother with respect to his academic ambitions as a boy. He drew far greater pleasure in tinkering with his cycle than in sitting with a textbook. The brother is a gadget-junkie, and used to fiddle around with anything new. I still tease him that he must have started concentrating on the academic front only when he realised that his income as a cycle mechanic was not going to pay for all his fancy gadgets.

State of project: Thankfully, this business venture plan was put to rest in a few years time, when my brother became a chartered accountant.

Bama Tuition Center:

(Creative title origin: first 2 letters from Mother and father’s first name)

State of project: I regret to inform you that this venture even now sporadically raises its head in our home, but by and large the frequency has come down from everyday to every month or so.

I have my share of business ventures too. I wanted to start a potato supply business when I worked at Infosys. The seeds of thought were planted in the fact that almost every dish at the Infy canteen had a generous serving of potatoes. Masala dosa, aloo poori, potato bonda – you name it, and there would be some portion of it containing potatoes.

State of project: Abandoned when I moved away from the Infy Bangalore campus

Tea Stall at BART:This, I know, is a sure shot! You see, 80% of BART commuters in the Fremont line are desis. Please tell me who would hesitate to buy a few bondas/bajjis in the way home after a tiring day and journey.

State of Project: Current, meaning discussions still rampant

I am sure everyone has some crazy escape mechanism to think of when evaluating one’s own life. Let’s hear all your fantasies.

To the rest who did not know! I am wearing a new pair of jeans.

Though new clothes don’t exactly require an occasion anymore, I am still a little girl when it comes to wearing new clothes. I love them. When we were growing up, new clothes were worn only on festivals, birthdays etc. I remember my birthday falling close to Diwali, and both occasions being satisfied with one set of clothes. To this date, I exhibit a certain reluctance to release new clothes without an occasion.

Regardless, I wore a new pair of jeans without any occasion, and as I was running towards the station, some friendly stranger called me, and told me I looked really good in my jeans. “Thanks!” I beamed, before realising how on earth she knew. For one thing, there is little way of telling whether a pair of jeans are new, they all look the same. Could it be the glow on my face?! I had run a little ahead before it struck me – I must have forgotten to remove one of those infernal tags! I had removed three of them, but had forgotten the fourth.

So, there it is for the rest of the world who did not know – I wore a new pair of jeans today! Glad to have got that of my chest 🙂

Disclaimer:This post is not aimed at any set of individuals or corporations. It is months of diligent observation culminating in this highly unscientific post that many can identify with, and yet nobody can quote.

Primates have been known to use this technique. This technique has undergone Darwinism, and is perfected by few in work environments and offices across the world. I’m fuzzy on the specifics, but most scientific findings are fuzzy on some level, and just define fuzzy better, so here is my theory.

People with a high talk to work ratio indulge in this technique for survival. In general “talk to work” ratio is also related to “talk to volume” ratio. The louder you are and the more indignant you sound, the more convincing you sound. In a cubicle farm, a marginal achiever with a high talk to work ratio, and a voice that has a high bass quotient can be viewed in different ways. For people with the MBWA (Management by Walking Around) syndrome, it is a sure strategy to pull attention towards oneself.

People who fit into this elite bucket, congregate in groups every once in a while to pat each others backs. This associative behaviour is required for a sense of belonging, and a sense of fortification on one’s stand and technique verification. While in the gathering, one also has the opportunity to gather irrelevant points of problem areas in other teams. This hitherto irrelevant information can then be wielded to one’s own advantage in another gathering.

Such behaviour finds itself being rewarded because the higher echelons of said organization themselves would have indulged in this to get ahead of the breed. A candid self appraisal should let one know whether any of the techniques need to be perfected if one wishes to surge ahead.

Once ahead, one would think the club member would shift allegiance to the next higher level group, but this is a technique that needs constant practice. So much like a pregnant waistline, the sphere of influence expands. In order to do this, one must spend time in multiple circles patting each other’s backs, talking more, talking louder and achieving less. This only means the Talk to work ratio just got higher, while still maintaining a knowledgeable aura.

Good leaders are charismatic speakers – I rest my case.