In Pakistan: on the other side of the Radcliffe

In the week that the nations of India and Pakistan turn 70, I want to share the story of a week in my life.

That week was about 13 years ago, when I made my first trip to Pakistan.  

A most unexpected and incredible time, a time I look back upon with affection, fondness and hope. 

I invite you to read a description of that week, written from Pakistan and sent in an email to my friends back home in India, on the 26^th of March, 2004.

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Dear Friends, 

I am writing this from Lahore, where I have been for the last few days.

I am here with my wife, Ipsita. We are two of about 2000 Indians who have come to Pakistan for the one-day cricket matches between India and Pakistan in March 2004. 

Tomorrow morning, we head back to India. At the moment, its about 11 PM here in Lahore and I am sitting in the study room of a friend who we have met in Lahore, writing about the events of the last week. The friend just came in with a cup of tea, and has asked me to wake him up in case I need more tea or coffee.

It all started with the Pakistan Cricket Board opening up the sale of a limited number of tickets for the India-Pakistan cricket series.

The moment I saw that news report, I knew i had to do this. This was not just an opportunity to witness one of sport’s greatest rivalries, it was a chance to go to Pakistan – the place we as Indians talk so much about, read so much about, and often, despise so much about.

Tickets were promptly purchased on the internet, and visa forms filled up. There is no Pakistan consulate in Hyderabad, so we made a trip to Delhi and stood at 4 AM in the queue of hopefuls outside the Pakistan High Commission in Chanakyapuri. There were some like us, standing for a visa for the cricket match. Most others, and that number was in several hundreds, were people who had relatives in Pakistan and had been trying for many many months to get a visa, most of the time, unsuccessfully.

“Aap apna passport deposit kar dein, visa lagne par itila di jayegi”, said the helpful man at the counter, which I reached after about five hours in the queue. Translated, it meant – Deposit your passport, we will inform you when your visa is granted.

We returned to Hyderabad and a week later, got the information that the visa had come through. I have had many visas on my passport – tourist visa, business visa, visit visa. This one is unique – it says, ‘Cricket Visa’. It also specifies – Lahore only, as my match tickets were only for the Lahore matches and the visa forbade me from going any place else. Importantly, it also says- ‘Exempt from police reporting’, which is otherwise a daily requirement for Indians visiting Pakistan.

Next step was hospitalityclub.org , one of my favourite internet sites which provides a platform for members to homestay as a guest at someone's home. I had hosted and been a host at many places around the world, but Pakistan, God, this was someplace else, at least in the mind. Was it too risky, to search for random people in Lahore and ask them for a place to stay ? I took a leap of faith and narrowed the search string on the website down to Lahore and wrote to the top host in Lahore telling him of my trip and asking whether we could stay with him for the week. Promptly, my inbox had a response – ‘you are welcome’, was the message.  

The Delhi-Lahore bus leaves from the Ambedkar Terminal in Delhi. The bus departure time is 6 AM. We are there at 3.30 AM and notice a large queue of people already present. There are a large number of people also there to see them off, easily in a 3:1 ratio. They are not allowed in, and are outside the large, iron gates to the entrance.

The passengers are a mix of Indians, Pakistanis and others. There are about twenty odd cricket fans (mostly from Delhi, a few from Panipat and the two of us from Hyderabad), a woman and her four kids from Karachi, a man from Lahore returning from Jaipur after getting the 'Jaipur foot' fitted, a mother-daughter duo from Islamabad, a Dutch lady traveling from India to Pakistan, two armed security escorts and a liaison officer from Pakistan Tourism Development Corporation.

The security checks are more stringent than any I have experienced anywhere in the world.

The people from Pakistan say their good-byes to relatives who are waving from outside the iron gates of the terminus. The bus starts off at 6 AM Indian time.

 There are two Police vans with armed guards and lathis (sticks) escorting the bus. One in the front of the bus, the other in the rear. They are blaring their horns and clearing all traffic for the bus to pass off uninterrupted.

 The bus has three halts on the way in the Indian territory -  for breakfast, tea and lunch respectively. These halts offer a good opportunity for the passengers to mix together and get to know each other. There is a pervading spirit of bonhomie, which grows with time and halts.

 Kartarpur is the last halt before the border. Out there is a signboard showing an Indian and a Pakistani hugging each other in the backdrop of the Lahore bus.  Delhi is written on one side of the signboard and Lahore on the other, and there is a line written below – it says  "Dil ka darwaza khol ke aana, par wapis jakar humein bhool na jana" (While coming, open the doors of your heart, but don't forget us when you get back)

 

Around 1400 hrs, we are nearing the border at Attari and suddenly,  mobile phone signals are blocked. There are a number of Indians crossing over by foot from Amritsar. From their looks, it seems most of them are headed for the cricket match. A few entrepreneurs have put up a well stocked shop selling India t-shirts, Indian flags and banners. Their USP – this is the last place where you can buy this stuff. Beyond this, it’s a different world. Prices are moderate, and an Indian shirt with No. 10 and Tendulkar written on it can be bought for 200 (Indian) Rupees.

Next is the Customs check-post at Attari (India). Amidst a lot of confusion and a sea of blue shirt wearing Coolies (porters), our passports are collected by a couple of stern looking officials. We fill in our forms and in about two hours, we are checked out of India.

Pakistan is clearly visible a few meters in front, but we have to wait for our luggage to be loaded back on to the bus (which, necessarily, is done by the Coolies because the authorities don't allow you to carry your own luggage). After a few photos with the Indian flag in front of the bus, and a cold coffee, we are back in the bus.

The next leg of the journey is a few meters of physical distance, many light years of perceived distance.

After all, this is Pakistan !

 The six-and-half foot tall, well built, BSF (Border Security Force) guard is standing in front of a huge gate just ahead of our bus. It has ‘INDIA’ written on it in big, bold letters. The BSF jawan opens the gate, and the bus slowly rolls on to the other side.  Inside the bus, there is huge applause from the passengers.

For many on board, it’s an emotional moment. I am one of those.

Being on the others side of the Wagah border meant I am nearing the place where my parents were born, where they learnt to walk and take their first steps, where our family used to stay and a lot lot more.

In a few minutes, the bus stops again. This time on the Pakistan side of the border for the formalities to be completed. Systems here are relatively more streamlined than at Attari, and the queue moves faster. Formalities done, we have to get our luggage checked once again. A huge amount of confusion here too, before it finally gets done.

My mobile phone starts working again. Surprisingly, it is the Airtel Punjab (India) network that is the strongest, so I make calls to my parents in India, from Pakistan, on an Indian network.

Just outside the café, some of the porters are asking passengers if they want to exchange currency. I give them currency notes with Gandhi’s picture and get back those with Jinnah’s. The Qaid-e-Azam is in his trademark cap.

The bus passengers are asked to head towards the PTDC (Pakistan tourism development corporation) cafe, for a complementary tea. The manager of the PTDC cafe takes control of the operations to meet this sudden spurt of Indians, and is endeavouring to increase the turnaround time of the cheese sandwiches.

As we await our sandwich, a framed photo of Md Ali Jinnah adorns the wall right in front of us. To the side are a few Pakistan Tourism posters, all of which have the words ‘Visit Pakistan’ firmly written in bold font.

 We get back to the bus and it starts again. The first thing I see  thereafter, is another entrepreneur, selling Pakistan cricket team t-shirts, caps and Pakistan flags.

 The landscape turns to green, and boys in Pathani suits are seen playing cricket.

As the bus moves on, there are hundreds of  people on the way who are eager to catch a glimpse of our bus. They are on the roads, in shops, in houses. I wave incessantly and most people wave back, with a huge smile as a bonus. That makes my day.

 There is a railway level crossing in front of us, and the gates are closed. The escort of our bus walks up to the railway cabin, gets the aspect of the signal changed and gets the gates opened. Our bus passes through. A goods train is seen waiting a few meters away.

This was amazing. A train was stopped to let a bus pass by.

We head into Lahore in about half an hour, and the roads are dominated by the Daewoo city buses, some double deckers, Mehran Suzuki cars (the exact equivalent of India's Maruti Suzuki 800), the three wheelers (called Rickshaws), Tongas, Chaand gaadi (a six seater vehicle), and dozens of motorbikes.  

We cross Atchison college (where Imran Khan studied, informs the liaison officer),  the Pearl Continental Hotel (where the cricket teams are put up) and a number of buildings from the British era.

In some time, we are at Falleti's hotel, another hotel from the British times, and the bus' final destination.

 As we get down, there are people from the (local Urdu) press clicking photographs. They ask us (who are in Lahore for the cricket match) to pose with the Indian flag, which we happily do.

 We get down, and in a few minutes are able to locate the hospitalityclub.org friend. His name is Naseem. I call him Naseem saab. He takes us home after driving us through the Mall Road, the High Court, the Post Master general's office and the Secretariat. While driving, he makes dozens of phone calls to neighbours and relatives and invites them to his place for the evening. 

At Naseem saab’s place, there are scores of people who want to meet us, talk to us, and express the fact they are extremely happy at our being here.

Naseem then takes us to another friend’s place, where I mention that my parents were born in Lahore. The friend whose house he had taken us to had come from Saharanpur, way back in 1947. The person is thrilled to bits on seeing us, and he takes off the watch he is wearing and puts it on my wrist. He takes off the pen in his pocket and gives it to Ipsita.

We are overwhelmed.

The next day, I managed to track down the respective houses where my father and mother were born. It’s a very special moment for me.

The houses where KL Sapra (on Gurmukh Street, Dev Samaj Road) and Neerja Sapra (nee Mehta)( 15F, Nisbet Road, near Dyal Singh Library) were born might be nondescript today amongst the sea of houses in Lahore, for me they represented places where my parents would have taken their first steps, played, fallen, walked, talked and learnt to get their first bearings of the world. These would also be the places where they would have to undergo, as kids of five and two respectively, the horrific trauma of partition in 1947, leaving their house and getting away in the lap of parents with fear and frenzy all around.

On the 21^st of March, we are at the Gaddafi stadium. I am in my Indian-team blue T-shirt. Outside the stadium, there are a large number of Pakistani fans as well. We wave and smile at each other. Many many people come up to us, ask us basic questions about India and exchange pleasantries.

 The Police gets us inside the stadium through a special queue (for Indian visitors). Inside the stadium, though, its all common enclosures. 

There's a college girl who is wearing a t-shirt saying 'Nothing feels better than kicking Indians'.

Ipsita walks up to her and tells her- “We have come from far to be here in Pakistan, I am sure you don’t mean what’s written on your shirt”.

The girl turns extremely apologetic. In a few minutes, she’s good friends with her. In some time, we pose for pictures with our flags.

The cricket match has started. In the stands, though, there is a lot of fun in the crowd going on.... thousands of flags, banners, musical instruments. Mexican waves going around the stadium. Flags of USA, Bahrain and the UK are visible as well. Sikhs in tri-color turbans. A man with a Ronaldo t-shirt. A guy in Pakistani green jersey gets us two glasses of Pepsi. An elderly person offers us paan.

Indian ads are all over the stadium. When the screen on the ground shows the Information Minister of Pakistan, the crowd shouts  'LOTA LOTA' (meaning double sided and turncoat, commonly used for politicians in Pakistan – could be used anywhere, I feel).

 The crowd does the ‘Lota’ chant for every politician who is shown on the screen. The Pakistani crowd is good at inveting slogans. The most common slogan is "Match tusi le lo, Aishwarya saanu de do" (take the match, give us Aishwarya (Rai)).

 When the screen shows Indian actors Sunil Shetty and Mandira Bedi, the crowd cheers like mad.

 There is a Pakistani guy who everyone calls BABA, dressed in all green, waving the flag, who goes everywhere the Pakistan team plays. He too is cheered whenever the big screen shows him. He is in the Imran Khan enclosure, adjacent to the Javed Miandad enclosure where we are. 

During the innings break, the public address system plays popular songs. Many of these are Bollywood. Many in the crowd are dancing and swaying to the beats. After a while, the song turns to ‘Dil Dil Pakistan’, a popular pop song (  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dil_Dil_Pakistan ). This one makes the crowd go crazy. There is frenzied dancing and waving of flags.  

After the innings break, the cricket continues. Good shots are cheered for both sides. The Pakistan team flattered to deceive and India won convincingly.

http://www.espncricinfo.com/series/15060/scorecard/64884/Pakistan-vs-India-4th-ODI-India-in-Pakistan-ODI-Series

The crowd is disappointed, but genuinely happy for us.

People walk up to us and say 'congratulations' and well played. A person walks up to me and offers his Pakistan flag in exchange for my Indian one. We pose for a photo. Similarly, another person asks for  my blue coloured Indian cap as a souvenir.  

I give my address and cards to scores of people. A few of our fellow spectators take our autographs as well. People are desperate for Indian souvenirs. I end up giving away all the Indian currency notes that I had in my pocket – with an autograph on it as well.

I parted with my cap, my money, and finally, even my t-shirt. In return, what I got was a massive amount of love and affection. It felt just out of the world.

The next few days after the first match was spent going around Lahore -  the Badshahi mosque, the Minar-e-pakistan, the Ravi river, Mall Road, Govt College Lahore, the Punjab University, Kim's gun and Kim's bookshop.

We shopped around Anarkali and went to Lahore Railway station. My favourite place in any city. It’s train station. Like many large stations in India, this one also has a loco outside, with the star and crescent being prominently displayed in front.

We met a number of Coolies (porters), who were very happy to have a 'mehmaan' from India visit the railway station.

There is a 'Meeting Point' at the station, quite similar to the ones in many other parts of the world. A big clock is on top of the meeting point. I buy a platform ticket, which costs Rupees 5 (Pakistani). The platform is maintained by a private party, and is quite clean.

Two big photos – one  of Md Ali Jinnah, and another of Md Iqbal (creator of the song, Saare Jahan Se Achcha, Hindustan hamara and pioneer for the demand of a separate state) adorn the entrance to the platform area.

Samjhauta Express, the train to India,  leaves from the far end of Platform No. 1. This platform also has a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut outlet. There are bookstalls on every platform, mostly selling Urdu books. English magazines in the bookstall are very costly, and range from about Rs 70 to Rs 100. English language newspapers are costly as well, approximately Rs 10-12.

As I went to other platforms, we could see the Khyber Mail. It goes from Peshawar to Karachi and was on Platform No. 5. We went inside , and saw the AC, Economy AC and non-AC coaches.

On the platform, the scene was quite similar - vendors selling all kind of stuff; the only problem for me, a lover of railway platform food, was that vegetarian food was hard to find !

 The Karrakoram Express, which is a fully AC train , is the most prestigious train from Lahore. Quite similar to the Rajdhani Express in India. This train makes Lahore-Karachi an overnight journey travel, giving the benefit of a working day at both ends.

After the station, I make a second visit to Nisbet Road and Dev Samaj Road, to the house where my parents were born. There is a lavish spread for us at both places and the current occupants of the house are over the moon seeing us. I had heard from my mother that she had fallen close to the staircase of the house and had a fracture when she was one year old. She said didn’t remember any of it (which child would remember something that happened to her at the age of 1), but the constant story telling about the incident from her elder siblings was what she had narrated.  I tell this story, of my mother’s fracture, to the current occupants. They say it’s happened to some other children in their family as well. Things didn’t change in more than 50 years. Children still fall and get injured at the same spot. We all laughed.

This was one more of the hundreds of times during the week that I felt connected to a set of unknown people in an inexplicable sort of way.   

Tonight is our last night here in Lahore. In the evening, we (all our recently acquired friends, and it totals up to around 20) had gone to the Food Street on Gawal Mandi, in a kind of a farewell dinner. 

Although finding vegetarian food wasn't very easy, people's willingness to do just about anything for their 'Mehmaan' made it a song.

That’s been the feature of the trip- wherever we have gone, people are warm and friendly, eager to meet, say Aslaam Walaiyekum, shake hands and extend hospitality. Most people haven’t accepted money for food, saying it is their privilege that they have been able to offer food to their guests. 

Every time in the last few days, people have felt very happy to meet someone from India. They have gone out of their way to extend hospitality.

Many conversations have happened as well. This includes conversations on contentious issues like Kashmir. Views range from moderate to extreme. None of these views, no matter how extreme they are, have come in the way of people taking extraordinary care of their guests and bestowing upon us the most incredible hospitality that anyone could. 

The overwhelming opinion is that Kashmir aside, WE must increase people-to-people interaction, free restrictions on Visas, allow trade, allow communication, allow each other to just be.

People say these steps should be taken urgently, and are really happy that things are looking up between the two countries. Many credit the Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee for being a visionary statesman who can bring peace and friendly ties between us.

Many people have relatives in India, and India is very much on the top of people's agenda. Indian soap operas are extremely popular, and shape a number of perceptions about India. The only time we noticed disappointment was when people realised that Indians don’t sleep in kanjivaram sarees, as some Saas-Bahu soaps seemed to suggest.

In all, the last few days have been an overwhelming, out-of-this-world experience. It has helped that we were up-front with everyone about the fact that we come from India and were polite and courteous.

 Finally, I would recommend to all Indians – please visit Pakistan, meet people, talk to them, interact and get to know this place better.  We carry a lot of myths about Pakistan, and it is only when we interact more, talk more at the people level that we can have a brighter, less bitter, and more friendly future. The people level interactions are totally separate from the politics of it all, and has no resemblance whatsoever to what we read in the papers or watch on TV. There is a huge gap that exists between perception and reality, on both sides of the Radcliffe line, an artificial divide.  

My visa prohibits me from going out of Lahore, but I hope there will be a time when I can experience other cities and historical sites as well. Mohenjodaro, Harappa, Karokoram highway…

For now, I feel fortunate that I have been to Lahore, and as they say in Lahore, I have been born (Jine Lahore nahin takeya, o jameya nahin = the person who hasn’t seen Lahore, hasn’t been born)

I hope to be back here soon.

 

With best wishes, 

Deepak 

Neymar ends suspense - Signs up for Royal Challengers Bangalore

Neymar jr thinks about his mega-money transfer

(This is a work of fiction - also on faking news) 

Amidst widespread speculation whether he would join Real Madrid or stay on in Paris , Brazilian soccer star Neymar surprised everyone by signing up for Royal Challengers Bangalore, the Indian IPL franchise that finished bottom of the world's richest cricket league in 2017.

The 26 - year-old Brazilian striker signed a three year deal for an undisclosed amount with the Bangalore side in the presence of Kingfisher boss and RCB owner, Vijay Mallya,in London. He was flanked by Mallya's charismatic son, Siddharth and three kingfisher models.
"At this stage in life, i needed a new challenge. Having scored dozens of goals for Barcelona, PSG and Brazil, i wanted to test myself against the best in the world in an altogether different arena. I read in the papers that no one under performs like Royal Challengers Bangalore. Hence, I thought that this would be the right move for me to lift the side's fortunes", said Neymar at a press conference.
When asked whether he would play a batsman's role or a bowler's, Neymar said - "It wouldn't matter. I am confident my presence would get top brands like  Nike, Volkswagen, Santander to enhance their endorsements for RCB. I can always try the bicycle shot while fielding and score runs through leg byes".

"We have players from all continents- Gayle, De Villiers, Kohli, Watson. The only continent missing was Latin America. With Neymar's coming in, RCB will become the world's first global sporting franchise, with players from Bangalore, Brisbane and Brazil", said Mallya.
"Above all, its a meeting of minds. In his illustrious career, Neymar has been known to have put money above everything else, has been involved in tax fraud cases in Spain, and has violated contractual obligations. These are the lofty values that the founding father of our franchise has stood for, and we feel Neymar would be the perfect fit", added son Siddhartha.

Meanwhile, the Spanish News Agencies of Marca and Don Balon have reported that Lionel Messi had a meeting with Chennai Super Kings boss Srinivasan and Luis Suarez was finalising a loan move to Kings XI Punjab. Poor Ronaldo might just feel left out. 

Getting ready for take off

It has been a ritual from the time I started using a mobile phone , from the year 2000. I would speak to my mother before and after each flight. 

This would always be the case - it never mattered if the flight was of a long or a short duration. Just like getting ready for take off involves the crew giving safety instructions , my readiness involved completing the phone call. 

My mother would be on the ball , no matter what time of the day, what time of the night , making sure of my travel plans, no matter where in the world I was. 

While long flights were always very diligently taken care of, it was even in the short hauls that she would never forget to make the calls. This included short duration flights like Kalamazoo to Chicago , Mexico City to guadalajara , São Paulo to buenos aires , Tokyo to Osaka, Amman to Tel Aviv , Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg . 

The conversation was pretty diverse. But there were some standard points every single time - both before and after the flight. These were - 

Before the flight - 

Sleep well

Eat well

After the flight - 

Did you sleep ? 

Did you eat ?

There were only a couple of times when we did not speak prior to the flight taking off . 

The first time was when I was on an Aerolineas Argentina flight from São Paulo to buenos aires in 2009. It was about 3 am in india when the flight took off and possibly, that's why I think she missed calling. Looking at the time in India, I too did not call. 

It was a scary flight .  Full of bumps, some twists and a few turns. Seat belts were on for the full flight, there was no service, the cabin crew did not present a comforting look. Many people on the plane were in the prayer mode. 

It was on that flight that I made the calculation of the amount of time it would take for a person to hit the ground if the plane crashed mid air. Assuming a height between 30,000 to 40,000 feet with g assumed as 10 m/s2 , it would take between 40 to 45 seconds. 

The second time I went on a journey without speaking to my mother was last year, in 2016 - on a KLM flight from Amsterdam to Milan.  It was late night in india and we didn't speak before the flight . The plane was hit by lightning mid air and it was like flash photography in a Pitch dark room . The pilot was very confident and steered the plane safely on to Milan. I had also thanked the captain on Twitter ( screenshot below). 

In the thousands of plane journeys I have undertaken last many years, i have always felt comfortable and secure because of the strength that love provides - the love from my parents, my family, my friends. The pre take off phone call was a manifestation of this love and the strength that comes from love. 

This strength is so warm and comforting , it's like a shield, it's like the Kavach and Kundal that Karna had in the Mahabharata. It protects , it guides, it gives confidence. 

While there was confidence in the Kavach and the Kundal , I did have the preparation done for the contingency - just in case , the plane crashes, my prayer was that in those 40 to 45 seconds that it would take to fall to the ground, i should be able to switch on my phone and make two phone calls - to my mother & my father , and to Jaadoo & Ipsita.  I would wish for enough mindfulness to be able to make these calls . 

In a couple of days, It will be three months from the day my mother transited from this world. In these three months, I have been on scores of flights . Scores of flights WITHOUT that phone call. Every time , however,  before take off and on landing, I look at my phone and make a silent connection with my mother , telling her of my journey and the answers to those two standard questions on sleeping and eating . And every time , I feel her inveterate love seep through . A deep sense of warmth and assurance comes over me. 

You don't need a phone to connect to the people you love.

And I wish myself Bon voyage ! 

Answering the world's most difficult quesiton

The most difficult question to answer in the last few weeks-  
How are you ?


A standard phrase in my vocabulary for many years now has been this very question, "How are you?"
I would use this phrase almost like a punctuation mark. Often, it would be amongst the first couple of sentences in any conversation I had.


My answers to this quesiton in the past would be one of the following-
1) Very well. And you ?
2) Great. How about you ?
3) I am fine. How are you ?
4) Life is good. How are things at your end ?

However, last few weeks, having gone through the most intense experience of my life ( losing my mother, the person i loved the most in this world ), this is a question i shudder to hear, struggle to answer and hesitate to ask. 


So, what happens when i am asked the question, "How are you?"


First of all, i feel uncomfortable.


Here is why-


If i answer any of my usual four answers (listed above), it is untrue. I do not want to be saying anything untrue. So i do not pick up any of the four options above (Very well, Great, Fine, Good) .


If i say i am the opposite of the four mentioned above (for example- not good) , there would be an element of truth in it. However, it is moree likely to open up a conversation (usually, with - Why, what happened ?) and its likely to be a long conversation. Many people continue this conversation ( most of them do so out of genuine concern and empathy; some do so for politeness, some oters for sharing something similar from their life experiences ), some others quickly move the conversation to something else, as they themselves are uncomfortable conversing about loss and death.


Often, the time for a conversation is short. So i just reply to the "How are you" with a "How are you".


On some other occasions,  what i also do, is to reply this with the subject of some other topic (for example- what happened on this, whtat happened to that ). This helps to keep the mind focussed on the ISSUE and not get into discussions that bring out regrets of the past or anxities of the future. As i re-collect the times i have done this (and there are several such occasions), this seems like a hurried, discourteous response.


So what am i doing these days when i am asked the question, "How are you?"


I just let things flow. I am truthful about my situation. Often, I am vulnerable and share my vulnerabilities openly. At times, I am philosophical. On occasions, especially when time is short, i just get to the point and divert the question to some other discussion.


As i reflect upon the uneasiness and difficulty of answering the world's most common conversation question, i feel very strange about the loose, almost frivolous manner in which i used to ask and answer this question in the past- a past which belonged to another world, just a couple of months ago.


At the same time, i am beginning to get more comfortable in answering this quesiton by being a reflection of my present by letting my thoughts and words flow, while ensuring that my words are in sync with my feelings.


This gives a sense of lightness, and helps me in my recovery process of  picking up the threads.


It also gives me a greater sense of consciousness and responsibility in using the world's most common conversation phrase, but perhaps, the most difficult one to answer -  "How are you?"
 

What should I do, Mom

Should I mourn you , Mom 

Or 

Should I celebrate you

Or

Should I manage logistics 

Or 

Should I be of assistance to my father

Or 

should I be a shoulder for my sister

Or

Should I enable my son to re-focus on school

Or 

Should I be a supportive spouse 

Or 

Should I manage office and work 

Or 

Should I spend more time on prayer and God 

Or 

Should I seek comfort in family and friends 

I have no answers, Mom

But what I will do is 

I will make a START

To replace OR with AND 

With faith and prayer 

With Love and care 

Give me your strength 

To be  IN the moment 

And to take things up 

One thing at a time 

This seems like a mount 

But I promise Mom, 

I will be on my way 

And make every step count 

Living with death

I have lit two funeral pyres in two months. 

The first - in February 2017, for my 88 year old aunt ( Usha Masi, my mother's elder sister , who was like a mother to my mother  ) . She had been ailing for two years after suffering a series of debilitating brain strokes. 

The second- exactly two months from the first - for - unbelievably , my mother - my Ammji - three days before she would have turned 72. Unbelievable Because of the way events happened on that fateful day. Everything was fine when the day started, she got ready , I spoke to her on the phone, she was cheerful and affectionate as usual , Then she did her regular morning routine, had her breakfast , was reading the newspaper ( Speaking Tree) when she apparently had a silent cardiac arrest , and in the course of 2-3 minutes, passed away. 

As I write this, I am getting the shivers because that day, the 18 th of April, is coming back to me. My fingers are shaking . The grief and shock from this unexpected happening has been overwhelming. 

It seems incredible that something like this should happen. And happen to me. 

One was an expected death, the other an absolutely unexpected one. I never imagined - after speaking to her on the phone when she was nice, relaxed and cheerful - that my world would  change forever in a couple of hours. 

These life altering events have given me the following lessons - 

1.  There is impermanence , there is a massive amount of unpredictability about life .

2. It's a fact that everyone will go. Including the ones we love the most. 

3. Everything comes to naught in the face of this ultimate truth - death. all the things we hold so dear , our worldly possessions , our clothes, our gadgets, our bank accounts, our real estate , our precious metals, our stocks , our property , our vanity, our big egos.... Everything just simply vanishes and becomes absolutely irrelevant when the one breath distance between life and death is covered. 

4. When something like this happens, nothing Matters, nothing counts . When you lose your mother, you lose the most loved and precious relationship that has been with you from day zero. There is no greater a loss that can be. All that remains  are the memories of moments that have been shared. 

As I try to come to terms with this overwhelming loss, I experience two things - 

1. A feeling of pain and regret

2. A feeling of happiness

Regret for the things I could have done that could have given me more time with my mother. The times I wasn't attentive enough , the times I wasn't with her because I was doing something else or going someplace else. In the last two weeks, I have scrolled through my phone's photo albums numerous times. When scrolling through the photos on my phone for the last two years , I was ruthlessly swiping away the photos that did not have my mother - more out of a sense of anger at myself for doing all  the other things that I did. Added to the angst is the feeling of Pain at  - " Why me ? " "why did I have to lose my mother when she was JUST 72 and in good health, when she could have easily carried on for another 10-15 years going by general statistics ? " 

On the other side of the spectrum,  lies the feeling of happiness. 

Happiness for all the wonderful moments that I shared with her. For The vast multitude of experiences with her. For The numerous journeys of thousands of miles I undertook just to be with her for a few hours. For The thousands of phone calls from all over the world at all kinds of times just to listen to her voice for a few minutes. 

Happiness as I reminisce about the affection, love and care that I was fortunate to receive from her. Happiness while reminiscing about all the love she shared with the others I love - my father, my sister, my aunts, uncles, cousins , friends, colleagues . Happiness at the love she shared with her grand children- Jaadoo, Meher, Divit. 

Happiness at the joy and laughter we shared , the things we did together. 

Happiness at the thousands of conversations we had together, her straight-from-the-heart take on all things at all times. 

Happiness at our playful interactions in which  she would run after me with with food saying I eat very less . 

Happiness at the games of cricket, carrom, badminton, snakes & ladders we played so often. 

Happiness at my first ( and last ) cricket triple century ( as a six year old ) with Ammji as the bowler in our verandah in calcutta. 

In all these moments of happiness , there was Her absolute, blind, unconditional and humbling faith in whatever I did - and in whichever way I did....

In the first few days after her death, I see her everywhere. There is someone walking in from another room, there's someone entering through the door, there is someone standing in front of the fridge - every time I feel it's Ammji who's just round the corner . 

A few days later - I am conversing with her . Conversing with her picture . Conversing with her image in my mind. 

There is a photo of hers  that we have kept on the dining table and in the living room . It's a real, life like picture. I keep talking to Ammji whenever I see the picture . I keep Saying things like - I have woken up, I am going to eat this , I am going there, someone is calling, someone has come, I am thinking of doing this.....  And i frame a response as  she would have - in her own loving , sweet and caring manner .  

I also recall her other pet sentences numerous times  - " Never refuse anyone who asks you for something". She lived the credo - as someone who gave everything and took nothing . 

I listen to her favourite things - the shabads , the Juthika Ray songs, the Gita second chapter , the Gayatri Mantra, the Mahamrityunjaya mantra. 

I try to put the earlier question of "why should this happen to me " in another perspective - I tell myself - I am the chosen one - I have been extremely fortunate to have been born to Ammji, extremely fortunate to have been raised by her and to have been with her all these times. 

And with that thought , I begin to see reflections of my mother in people around me - reflections of hers in every mother, in every place where there is affection and love. 

I repeat to myself the words she always told me every morning after our phone call - " Ab ache se apna kaam kariye " (Now do your work very well ). That charges me up. It builds a kind of layer around me. A layer that loves, a layer that protects and a layer that gives warmth . It inspires me to live up to what she wrote on a whiteboard for me this year on the 26 th of Janauary , Republic Day. It was on the lines of the famous song - she wrote - Saare Jahan se achcha, Deepak Hamara, Hamara.. ( Our Deepak is the best in the world )

I haven't ever felt more warmth , more love. At the same time , having lived through death so closely in the last couple of months, there is no more fear. I haven't felt more fearless in my life any time before.  And I have been thankful to God for having blessed me with Ammji- maybe for a million times in the last couple of weeks. 

Feeling Loved, fearless and blessed. What else would anyone want ? 

That is why, in spite of having lit two funeral pyres in the last two months, I am eternally grateful for this extremely fortunate life. 

Usha Masi

The Delhi airport entry door is made of glass. It shows a reflection. It's me. 

I am a picture of focus. Absolutely clued in to the situation , on the ball. Knowing every alley , every little turn to optimise my time at the airport and be as efficient as possible. 

Where to eat, which counter to go to, which queue to avoid. 

Friends and family look up to me for all kinds of travel advice, from places as far as Patagonia to as near as Punjagutta. My word, is pretty often, the last word on the 6w s of travel. 

I have done many trips for thousands of miles, sometimes just to meet someone for a few hours. 

In Satyajit ray s movie, 'goopy gyne bagha byne ', the King of the ghosts gives three boons - one of which is - jekhane ichcha jaite pari- I can go wherever I feel like. People look at me a little bit like the one who has been blessed with that boon , sometimes with admiration, sometimes with envy. 

However , this piece is not about my accomplishments as a traveller . Nor is it about what people might think of my travels . 

It's about Usha Mehta. My aunt, Usha Masi. My mother s eldest sister. And someone whose skills in efficient travel are far superior to mine . 

About fifty years ago, Usha Masi, became a principal at a Delhi government school. Her brother, my uncle, was living in Calcutta that time. Any weekend that would have a Friday or Monday as a holiday attached to it, Usha masi would be on the train to calcutta. 

If, for example, a Monday would be a holiday, She would board the Deluxe express ( now called Poorva express ) on Friday evening , be in calcutta on Saturday evening , spend Saturday night with her brother in calcutta, and board the Kalka Mail back to delhi on Sunday evening from Howrah station. Back in delhi on Monday evening, morning on to her school next day. 

Did she make her Reservations in advance ? Trains were always crowded , you needed months of planning to get a ticket reserved . That's true even now, but there are more trains , there is Tatkal, and there are flights which are more affordable. 

She would care two hoots about trivialities like train reservations  , and she would just get to the station , buy an unreserved general class ticket, and make her way into the coach like a woman possessed . 

Fiercely strong willed and independent , she would optimise every available minute of her time to be with her family. 

And a strange family it was. 

Usha masi was born in Lahore, in 1928, the eldest of six children, four sisters and two brothers . My mother is the youngest of the sisters and eighteen years younger to usha masi. 

My grandmother, Usha masi s mother was a religious lady, a staunch devotee of Lord Krishna. She would greet people with the words 'Jai Shri Krishna' instead of a namaste . My grandfather was the first person from his district ( Sargodha- now in Pakistan ) to study and pass The matriculation examination . He then went on to passbhis higher secondary examination with flying colours. And then his graduation. And then his post graduation. He qualified for the Indian civil services examination but did not join. His zeal for learning was unmatched. He became an entrepreneur - he set up an insurance business in the early 1930s, and it did great initially. 

Not the one to save money or worry too much about the future , he would earn handsomely over eight months of the year , and blow it all up on travel - often taking his family to Kashmir for the remainder of the year - about four months , and living there in great style . His wife, my grandmother, gave birth to a dozen children. High infant mortality in those times meant only   50 percent of the children survived . The four sisters and the two brothers. 

For a few years, life continued like this. Then, the horrible event of the partition of india happened. The family had to leave everything - their large house on 7 Nisbeth Road , near Gawalmandi in Lahore, all their belongings , all their valuables - and run for life in what was to become India. 

Reaching Delhi after an arduous , life threatening journey across Punjab, the family s life turned upside down. 

After the catastrophe, A start had to be made. The threads of life had to be rebuilt . All rebuilding would have to start from scratch. 

Lahore was where all the network, all the acquaintances were. In Delhi, there was nothing. The good business that usha masi s father had in Lahore pretty much evaporated in Delhi - he continued to stutter from one unsuccessful venture to another . 

The onus fell on Usha Masi - the eldest daughter , to shoulder responsibility . She concentrated on her studies , offered tuitions to younger children , completed her undergraduate Bachelors of Arts studies in English, then her post graduate studies in English literature. She wanted to do more, but the financial condition of the family stopped her in her tracks. She completed an education course and became a teacher. That became The family s first stable source of income in post partition India. And that started to turn the tide . 

Education was, and continued to be , the most important thing for everyone in the family. All sisters and brothers focussed on it. Ramjas College, Mirinda house, Hindu college were some of the institutions the siblings went to . 

Usha masi s job as a school teacher was the primary source of funds for all of this. Over time, her hard work , her grit , her very high sense of discipline and unflappable integrity was recognised and she quickly moved up the ranks. She became a Principal very soon, one of the youngest principals in Delhi at that time . 

at school she got the image of a no-nonsense person, pretty similar to what her younger siblings thought of her . 

In contrast to that image, Usha Masi was her father s favourite . The father daughter bond was remarkable for its mutual respect and love. Sometimes, the daughter would play a motherly role. At other times, the father would mentor the daughter and give her life s lessons - from the Vedas to the Arya Samaj to history of the world. They shared a beautiful bond. 

The Indian tradition makes it almost imperative for father s to marry off their daughter s in the 20s so that she can start a married life and a new family. 

many attempts were made for Usha masi s marriage as well. She rejected every prospective match saying the potential groom was either less educated or less professionally accomplished than she was. 

Then, one match came - an Air Force officer . All was well in the meeting between the families and it seemed things might just happen for Usha Masi s marriage. 

As the meeting was coming To a close , someone cracked a joke . The Air Force officer laughed . Usha masi noticed an artificial tooth - that too gold plated. Hell froze. She refused the match saying the guy has a gold tooth. 

When I asked her a couple of years ago - Why did you not marry - she said - she wanted to take care of the family, and marriage would have certainly come in the way. So, usha masi never married . 

She ensured her siblings did the best they could - education, profession , their families . Her brother became a civil servant . She continued to take care of her father and the father - daughter duo lived a nice life in Delhi. After her father s passing away, she continued to live in Delhi, by herself, living life on her terms . She continued to be fiercely devoted to her brothers and sisters, who were all living in different cities and in different parts of Delhi. 

Her commitment to the family never wavered. It was that commitment and steely will power which led her to make the arduous trips by crowded trains to spend a day with her brother. She was supremely focussed and sharp in navigating stations , coolies, crowds, train timings , connections and most of all, rowdy co-passengers who would often try to make things difficult for a single woman travelling on crowded night trains .

Today, when I am writing this, I am writing after spending a few days with Usha Masi. She is now 88. Her fiercely independent spirit had ensured that she has been living alone for all these years . Until last year, that is. In the last one year ,  she has suffered two debilitating brain strokes . The first one , about a year ago, left her bed ridden and her right side paralysed . The second one, about a month ago, has severely impacted her speech and cognition . 

 A nurse takes care of her 24 hours. Even the most basic of activities like cleaning , washing need assistance from the nurse . 

Her speech has been severely impacted - cognition down to an extent that she is unable to recall her own name on many occasions. The doctor showed me the MRI - he showed the area where the impact is maximum. That is the area from where speech, language and cognition happens. The doctor said it's difficult to predict anything. Some neural connections might get re- wired with the right stimulus , he said. Her overall physical condition keeps getting weaker - she now weighs perhaps no more than 30 kgs. 

 Her condition has trudged along since this event , mostly downwards. Her speech has become incoherent and blurred and the expression of even simple objects like spoon, glass , plate does not translate into the right words. 

At times , She continues to show signs of her steely will and determination - continuing to practice moving her limbs slowly to ensure they retain movement and not get locked . She started re learning counting with me three days ago . We covered upto 10 on day one. By day 3, she has moved up to count up to 29. The only mistake she is making is that in her current world, 28 comes after 29. Big deal ! 

She keeps reciting the Gayatri mantra. We have done a couple of rounds of A,B, C. She repeats. But she does not remember the sequence. 

On another occasion over the past few days, She wanted my favourite food to be prepared. So she said - Maharaj. She meant Rajma. 

Today, she relearnt the spelling of her name USHA. 

I asked her to repeat what I was saying. 

U, I said. She said- U. 

Then I said - S. She repeated . S. 

I moved on to H. She repeated - H. 

I decided to take the chance- instead of saying the next alphabet , I asked her , what next after H ? 

She looked at me for a moment - almost incredulously , as if I was the king of morons. 

A - she said, without any prompting. 

The A - It meant much more than the spelling. It meant a certain rekindling of the bond between cognition and language. 

I cried. And cried. 

That was perhaps the most important A I have ever heard in my life. 

As I get back to my present world , in the queue for boarding my flight after a few days with Usha masi , I cannot but feel overwhelmed by what TIME does to us. One of the most independent and strong willed women I know is battling for survival, she is battling for the A that will complete her name s spelling. 

As much as I feel overwhelmed by what Time does , I also feel a great sense of pride and joy in being able to share some part of Usha masi s journey over the last few years ! 

Yahoo and my life in cyberspace

My first email account was a hotmail account in 1996.
On a trip to Bangalore, I went to a cyber cafe on Brigade Road, paid Rs 120 for an hour of usage and managed to get a hotmail account registered . A year later, I signed up for a yahoo account and it seemed like a God Sent thing - it was so much sharper, user friendly and colourful compared to hotmail.  Hotmail was what it was ( and largely, still is - a boring blue email), but Yahoo was super cool. Then came yahoo messenger. Yahoo was the word to say when online .  One of my friends in India started chatting with a girl in Germany on yahoo messenger. A few years on, they ended up getting married. It was an unbelievable world that yahoo had opened up. 

Then , in my cyber life, in 1998 came a search engine. I read about it in a magazine and tried it out. It went by the name Google. It was very efficient and did the job nicely. 

Then followed the sequence of events in the Silicon valley, which had an impact on the cyber life of many many millions like me. ( I got these dates from a whatsapp message, and notwithstanding the accuracy of the dates and the numbers, the essence of the message stays)

1998: Yahoo refuses to buy Google for US $ 1 million

2002: Yahoo realizes its mistake and offers to buy Google for US $ 3 billion. Google wants US $ 5 billion. Yahoo refuses.

2008: Microsoft offers to buy Yahoo for US $ 40 billion. Yahoo says no.

2016: Yahoo sold to Verizon for US $ 4.6 billion.  

On a related note, Google's market cap today is $ 500 billion. 

It's fun to speculate, which will be the next one to fall - Google, Facebook, Apple , Amazon ? 

Like in the case of yahoo, Something which seemed impossible a few years ago, becomes a painful reality in some time . 

The sequence of events explains it all.
Timing is everything.
And being ready to embrace and drive change is what counts the most. 

Mohd Shahid - a genius and a gentleman

Two days ago, Indian sports lost one of its greatest heroes , Mohd Shahid, Olympic gold medal winner 1980 Moscow olympics. 

I was fortunate to meet Mohd Shahid in 1997. At Diesel Locomotive Works in Varanasi. I was a probationer on Indian railways and had requested him for time, for which he willingly obliged . 

 His office table had a hockey turf instead of the usual glass top. I asked him about it - he said it is a reminder of the game that he loves the most. We chatted for about an hour - spoke of the 1980 olympics, 1984 Los Angeles disappointment , of the 1982 Asiad , of Zafar Iqbal, Hasan Sardar . The stick work. The rivalry with Pakistan. Astro turf. 

 Chai followed. 

Just when it was time to leave, I made a request - can I see the Olympic gold. His eyes lit up . He got up and walked up to the almirah in his office, opened the safe , took the medal, closed his eyes for a second, and showed it to me.

 Can I touch it- I asked . 

He put it in my hands. 

So, here I was. Holding an Olympic gold medal in hand. Even now, the last Olympic gold that india has won in a team sport. 

The enormity of the occasion got to me. I hugged Shahid. I kissed the medal too. It was quite a heavy thing. Literally. And the moment was heavy too. 

Some seconds later, I handed it back to Shahid with both hands. It was one of the most electrifying moments of my life. 

when I heard of Shahid s passing away, that day came back. One of the most cherished days of my life. 

Be well, Shahid and God bless you- wherever you are. We will miss you

Laughter and shrieks - A Sunday evening saga

Sunday The 27 th Of March, a horrible terrorist attack at a park in Lahore killed 70 people, including many children. The pain and anguish can be felt by every parent in the world - not just because taking our children out to a park on Sundays is something many of us do. 

My sister Radhika ( Rinky ) has written a poem on this incident which is heart wrenching. The poem is below 

Sunday Evening- 

By Radhika Mehtani 

Fun on the swings, thrill on the rides was all that they wanted,

A visit to the amusement park on a Sunday was all that they demanded.

Rolling up the roller coasters and jumping on the bungees,

The little ones were a happy lot, hiding in the bushes and climbing up the trees.

They jumped and they laughed and looked as adorable as bunnies,

In between the running and scampering, they also kissed their mommies.

What a lovely sight it was, the little ones beaming with joy,

Alas, to end it all, in place was already a ploy.

BOOM went the explosion, 

a deafening noise it made,

Bodies whirling up in the air, 

red became the green grass's blade.

Tiny limbs and millions of dreams lay scattered all around,

Cries,wails and shrieks were the next sounds.

Then there was blood and terror and an eerie silence,

Moments ago where echoed countless laughter's had now become a haven for tyrants.

Stop this insane bloodshed and stop spewing venom, 

for heaven’s sake,

Spreading hatred and taking innocent lives will be your gravest mistake.

For there is a God above watching all that you do,

You will achieve zilch and pay for your inhuman deeds,  

a heavy price too.

No matter who you are - alpha, beta or gamma; ask the question - what is your DELTA

India is in the midst of a debate on privilege, meritocracy , affirmative action, reservations , ideology and nationalism. In the midst of it all, there is the underlying theme about class, caste and privilege . 

I am reproducing below an article I wrote on LinkedIn in January 2015 on the measurement of career success. Found it more relevant than it ever was ! 

----------------------------------------------

How would you measure career success ?

Through-

A designation: (CEO /CXO/ President / Chairman / Head/Big boss/Captain)

Or

A recognition (Nobel Prize winner / Best Business Leader)

Or

A nice bank balance

Or

A good balance between work and other aspects of life

Or

A state of being where you do what you love

All of the above ? None of the above ? Something else from the above ?

Every person would define, and measure, career success in a different way. Given this divergence, it is important to understand whose views should count when you assess your career.

Not your colleagues, not your bosses, not your juniors, not your friends, not your relatives.

What counts the most is the person you see in front of the mirror.

I have tried to define career success in a simple way. This works for me, and I hope it will be useful for you as well.

This definition is- If you are creating a positive delta, you have a successful career. (Delta is the Greek alphabet, Δ, which denotes the ‘change’, and is the difference operator)

How do you know you have a positive delta- here are a few ways in which i try to figure this out –

1) What is the direction of your career’s curve? Are you creating a delta ?

From where you started to where you are, how has the journey been ? Are you doing something worthwhile, meaningful and valuable ? Of special importance is the point where you started; the frame of reference; the direction of the curve.

Let me illustrate- I have a very close friend who was a batchmate at one of the most prestigious institutions I have been fortunate to go to. As a child, he used to live in a one room urban shanty, with electricity available for just a few hours a day and his parents struggling to make ends meet for him and his two siblings. On the other hand, I have been fortunate to have grown up in a setup in which my parents were very conscious of the need for education and made sure the best was available for my education. Both of us landed up in the same institution as batch mates, so it might seems like a common level of achievement. Truth is that my friend’s journey is far more impactful and commendable than my own, given where he started from, and the odds he had to overcome just to get there.

2) Are you learning ?

It is possible to measure your delta every day through the lens of learning. Did you learn something new today? Did you progress on your skillsets, understanding and way of doing things? Without constantly learning new stuff, we would be unable to progress on our journey. It is imperative to keep learning to keep a positive delta.

3) Are you helping others create a delta ?

It is not only important to progress, but also to help others progress. To help create leaders, help create people who can create impact. These could be people from anywhere in your operating network, or even outside. The people you nurture will carry (amongst other things) your legacy forward.

These are some of the ways you can easily measure your career delta,and through it, career success. Make sure you are honest and true to yourself in your assessment of the person in the mirror, so that you can face her/him confidently once your assessment is done. And if you can do that, you are well on your way. Good luck !

The mindlessness of war

I write this in pain

I write this in anguish 

I cry in sadness 

Hanumanthappa, an Indian soldier , posted in Siachen ( one of the worlds most treacherous terrain, in the Himalayas ) , succumbed to multiple organ failure at a hospital in Delhi . He was amongst the group of 10 soldiers who got buried under an avalanche . All others had succumbed earlier. 

Hanumanthappa lay in the snow for six days , at a temperature of -60 degrees C .  He was found. Alive . Rushed to a hospital in Delhi. Multiple organ failure . And he joined the rest of his mates who were buried under the Avalanche and had succumbed more than a week ago. 

Like most of us, and his mates who succumbed, Hanumanthappa had a family. Parents, spouse , a two year old daughter .  

Unlike most of us, he was working in a war zone which has been the most difficult place unearth to guard borders. The Siachen glacier.  

Many of my friends from school joined the army. Several of them are still posted in the region. They lead a life which others can not even imagine. A -15 degree C  day is a warm one. Their families live thousands of miles away. They put In their Everything, make a huge load of sacrifices. They do so with their utmost dedication to duty. They endure pain .  They do it  with a supreme sense of pride, honour and esprit de corps. They are supremely committed and competent individuals. And they do this job with all their heart and soul. 

When I look at incidents like those of Hanumanthappa, when I look at the huge amount of challenges that my friends ( and like them, thousands of other soldiers , on both sides of the border ) face , it seems to beg the question - is it worthwhile. 

We all know, but seldom recognise, that Nature knows no borders . An avalanche is not constrained by they Radcliffe line or the supposed LOAC, the line of actual control. An earthquake doesn't follow border protocols , the Tsunami did not seek permission to move from Indonesia to Thailand to india and on to Sri Lanka. 

But then, we are not nature. It is unreal to expect us to NOT honour borders, no matter how treacherous they are . We are india. We are pakistan. It is of course, best NOT to fight. To live in peace. To not attack neighbours. To not kill , to not encourage killing, to not send people to kill. 

However, being India and Pakistan, aren't we supposed to fight. We are supposed to score political points over each other. We are supposed to be the masters of precision in diplomatic quid pro quo. And most of us who take these decisions do not have to endure the terrain of Siachen, Drass or Kargil. 

Even if we still have to fight, my fervent request to the people on both sides is - get out of places like this. Let nature reign supreme in these areas. Do not try to fight nature. Let us stop any more incidents like this is from repeating.  

Map out where he positions are today. 

Technology or satellite monitoring could keep a virtual border in place. Let violations be penalized every month through hefty fines. 

I don't know if such a mechanism can exist. Or whether it is feasible enough to not get lost in the technicalities of such an arrangement . 

But what I know  is that Hanumanthappa will never return to 18 month young child.  the other soldiers who lost their lives will never ever return home. This happened on the Indian side today, it could happen on the Pakistani side tomorrow. It would be just as unfortunate. 

Let's stop this. Let's not drown this in rhetoric. Let's not challenge nature. 

Hanumanthappa dear - may you rest in peace . And may your unfortunate death lead to the stopping of this mindless war

Making Mathematics Real - and interesting

As Jaadoo gets into a phase where mathematics begins to become a very important piece of school life , I have been wondering what I could do to make it interesting for him and for other children like him. 

Can i make something that links mathematics to the real world ? can I create something which allows the child to link mathematics to his day-to-day life ? can I do something which encourages the child to grow his interest in this beautiful discipline ? 

What can be done to make mathematics less of a problem subject and more of a fun subject ? 

As a first step, I've decided to create some situations from real life which involve the use of mathematics and which do not appear to be a drag on the child ( certainly not like  a problem in a text book ) 

Some of the questions from that are written below . I would welcome your ifeedback and similar such questions to build a repertoire of such day to day life situations which can facilitate and enhance the understanding of this beautiful subject of mathematics. 

Q1)  Every morning , at Jaadoo s house, three alarms go off at 7 AM. The Nokia alarm , the  iPhone alarm and the Blackberry alarm. The snooze time for the nokia alarm is three-minutes, the snooze time for the iPhone alarm is five minutes,  and the snooze time for the Blackberry alarm is seven minutes. 

After 7 AM when will it all the three alarms go off together again assuming they are continuously snoozed ? 

Q2 )  draw a triangle with a scale and compass having sides of 3 cm 4 cm 5 cm. 

After you have finished drawing determine the square of each of the sides and check what is the relationship between them. Can this take you to ancient Greece ?

Q3 ) in an El  classico match between real Madrid and Barcelona , the real Madrid team is playing very rough. Messi and Neymar are both in the starting line up. 

Neymar is injured after 5/18 th of the total match and Messi is injured after 11/18 th of the total match. 

How many minutes did Messi and Neymar play in all in this match and how many of them were together ? 

Q4) Jaadoo puts Rs 23 in his piggybank every day starting from his birthday in 2014 ( the reason for this is that Jaadoo s birthday is on the 23rd of March ). How much money has he collected till the day of Harry Potter's birthday in 2014. How much will he collect till Superman s next birthday ? 

Q5) Jaadoo had Rs.3600 in his piggybank . his mama and papa want to borrow money from him for the uber cab as they have no cash in their wallets and only have cards.  His mamma  borrows 1/6 of the money and his Papa borrows double of what his mama borrowed . how much money is left with in his piggybank ? 

Q6) Jaadoo s school collects Rs.20 lakhs as total fees every month from its 500 students. If the number of students becomes 575, how much money every month will it collect in fees ? How much will be the collection of fees in a quarter ? 

Q7) draw a football field of length  80 m and width 40 m clearly showing the penalty area with distance of 20 m from the goal-line. At what angle would a corner need to be taken so that the kick directly sends the ball into the goal

Q8) draw an isosceles triangle in which The unequal side  is 6 cm and is one and half times of each equal side. What is the relation of the sum of its angles to the duration of a football match. 

Q9) draw a triangle in which one angle is 40° and the other angle is double of it. 

Q 10 ) Jaadoo Has 22 TinTin books at home. He also has 18 asterix books, 50 Amar Chitra katha s and 10 chacha chaudhuri s. 

What fraction of the total books are asterix books ? 

Then, he is gifted 6 Harry Potter books. What fraction of the total are TinTin books ? 

Keynote address - IIM Bangalore - Shah Rukh Khan

My favorite movie star , Shah Rukh Khan, was at my alma mater , IIM Bangalore, delivering the keynote address for a leadership summit the day before.

I am putting it here on my blog for two reasons -

1) It is 'Straight from the heart'
2) The previous post on my blog is about a keynote address at IIM - by me !   Its good to be in Shah Rukh Khan's company on my blog pages.

Here is what he had to say -

Thank you to Saif and team to put all this together. Good evening to the Alumni of IIM, the faculties, students and distinguished guests.

I was so pleased with myself when Mrs. Shaw requested me to give the keynote lecture for this alumni conclave until I saw the alumni list. My mind suddenly froze up like the icebergs in Iceland where I have just shot my latest song, and I thought, “What will I say to all these wonderfully wise people?”

For a second I contemplated sending a stunt double but then I read a joke about the wisdom of all you amazing achievers from IIM. The joke made it clear to me that all of you are extremely wise, but your wisdom is of a different kind from us lesser mortals. It went something like this….it was about a kid who claimed he was too good for the standard 1 that he was in and should be promoted to the fourth standard. He was marched to the principal’s office and for gender equality reasons; obviously the principal was a lady. She thought the kid should be given a fair chance, as ladies are always fair and said she would ask him a few questions and if he will answer them right…he will be promoted to the fourth standard. Her first question to him was…what does a cow have four of that I have only two of? Boy after a moment…Legs.
What is in your pants that you have but I do not have. Boy…pockets.
What does a lady do sitting down a man does standing up and a dog does with his one leg raised. Boy…shake hands.
What starts with F and ends with K is a four letter word and if you don’t get it, you have to use your hand….boy confidently…A Fork.
The principal looks at the teacher and tells him, send him to the IIM…he will fit in there just perfect.
That gave me some confidence to stand before you all. Maybe in your quest for knowledge, you all might have overlooked some very basic and simple truths…so here I am…to widen your sphere on how normal mortals would have answered those questions.
I am no guru in creative leadership so please bear me with some compassion and patience and do excuse my humour.
The essence of creativity is the ability to channelize imagination into expression and build from it something new and possibly ingenious. Whether it is an art form or a scientific invention or discovering a new way of doing the same old thing…it begins in the mind. A mind that does not function within the framework of boundaries but constantly searches beyond them is a mind that is able to create anew. The cornerstone of leadership, I believe, is nothing more than cultivating the discipline and courage to nurture and sustain such a mind while constantly calling the bluff of the illusory limits imposed by life.
See I am fifty. An age where you most likely are making retirement plans not romantic plans. But here I am still coochie cooing girls my children’s age. And no they don’t look up to me, actually they can’t because they are all taller than me, they treat me as their age/equal having been put in the position of someone who is a romantic hero, I have cultivated a belief that I can love them back as beautifully as any man can age notwithstanding. With respect dignity and put in my own experiences of life, which younger heroes won’t have. Though I must admit girls having a bit of a father fixation, comes in handy with my endeavors.
Leaders are able to assimilate experience in order to reframe the world around themselves on their own terms. They use the very structure of life to dismantle it. They are not afraid to question, to imagine, to dream and to believe. They are also not afraid to act even if their actions might not result in success.
There is an old song I always turn to, when I am faced with adversity. Being a public figure most of my actions and intentions are questioned, reviewed and sometimes loved and sometimes even distorted. Ranging from praising my sexiness to questioning my sexuality, I get it all. But whenever I feel thwarted I think of this song…Hum to ACT karega. Duniya se nahi darega. Chahye ye zamaana kahe humko deewana kahe hum toh ACT karega.
Many books have been written on leadership skills, on methods and models for it but in my view, it really isn’t all that complicated. To be able to dream unencumbered, to imagine and hang on to a boundless mind filled with ideas so that you never stop renewing yourself and the world around you whether it is your inner world, your consciousness or your outer world that encompasses your profession and your relationships is essential to leadership. But dreaming is not enough, its also important to be able to dismantle the old, the frameworks that are laid out before you, the ideas that you yourself cling to, the ones that hold you back and prevent you from growing. It is by disassembling your fears of failing, of losing (not just things, but people and positions), and most of all- of change that you can be truly creative not just in the things you choose to do, but in the way you view your part in the world you inhabit.
I meet many successful people in the world of business and I often find that while their ideas are very clear, the way they speak of them is oddly dispassionate. The madness and passion are missing. I get the sad impression that business often becomes numerical: about millions and targets or it ends up being so goal driven that there is a stark loss of inspiration from it. I think the emphasis on organizational goals and efficiency has clouded the poetry of creating. Perhaps because of the artistic basis of the work I do, it is difficult for me to relate to this starkness. I feel it lacks life. Creation cannot be a managerial concept/notion, no matter how good the idea is, it has to be an “imaginerial” conception. To lead means to inspire, and you cannot inspire people mechanically or through numerical (with all due respect…unless they are stock brokers or bankers!!). Inspiration is an emotional construct. To make people believe in anything, whether it is a product, a story, an idea, or you: you need to connect their ability to imagine and dream with your own.
You can’t create within a box with unbending walls. It is an open process, one that is welcoming and wild. To abandon that inclusive wildness for a narrowly defined goal is illusory. I have never set one- truly. I have never set out to earn a particular amount, to count the crores at the box office or to compare my worth with anyone else’s. In fact I would go as far as saying that quantifiable goals are indeed illusions. The only reality is hard work.
Diligence is imperative to both creativity and leadership. Making the mistake of thinking that your dreams will take flight without you having to flap madly at those wings to get up into the sky is plain silly. In my experience, its great to delegate, but there’s no short cut to working hard. To know and to understand what you are doing, to be open to learning about it and from it, every single moment requires diligence. It requires work. If you want to excel at something there shouldn’t be a single person around you who can claim to be more familiar with its mechanics than you are. Its non negotiable to strive and to be familiar with your trade. Life remains ordinary if you are unable to sustain the capacity to work hard on your dreams. If you aren’t determined to get there- you won’t. And this is a paradoxical thing because I’ve heard many people say that you need to know where you’re going to be determined about reaching there but it hasn’t been the case with me. I never knew my destination, I can’t even claim to know it today…Now that I am on the cover of Forbes India, is that where I wanted to be as a businessman.
My IPL team has won the championship and its profitable, is that the dream I had for a sporting franchise venture. I have a film running in a cinema hall for the last twenty years…should that be the attempt in terms of achievement for my next film. No I don’t think so. I believe goals actually limit our ambitions and desire. I don’t mean that don’t have goals, but call them milestones…think of them as a passing moment of excellence and keep on striving harder for a place which can’t be defined or confined by names or numbers. I have never set goals but I have truly never done a single thing that I wasn’t determined to do the best. I had no idea where it would take me for the most part of it, but I had the idea that I would do whatever it was with a determination that would scare everyone else away.
No matter how hard we work, however, leadership implies being prepared for disaster. And it will come. If it doesn’t hit you like a tsunami washing away your house and home…it’ll show up some other way, as failure maybe, or then by taking away something (or someone) you loved and believed in… so what are you going to do about it? You can cry and wallow. I do that often and I am not ashamed to admit it. I do that in a special corner reserved for tears in my huge golden bathroom. Somewhere between the Jacuzzi and the steam room, I sit on the floor and shed huge tears of self pity, persecution and how the world doesn’t understand my genius and effort….but then I take a hot and cold shower and walk out wearing my limited edition cologne… ready to embrace disaster. So a bit of wallowing and crying is ok… but the thing to understand is that if you learn how to welcome disaster you overcome it. So what if everything gets turned on its head, change your perspective- do a hand stand- don’t sit there staring at the ruins, start getting bits of you together and rebuilding yourself. That’s what leadership is about after all. Besides a “perfect life” is a farce. God isn’t making utopian ad films and screening them on the clouds to sell it’s USP to you. It’s a man made idea and we’re buying into it all the time. Actually, there is nothing more beautiful than the imperfection of life. Creativity is about taking this imperfection and translating into something beauteous. In my trade, life serves as a fertile ground for innovation and ideas. We use its imperfection every moment. In fact there is really nothing that allows us to create better or to live better than trouble so why not embrace it and embrace ourselves too in the bargain. And while we are embracing, lets embrace destiny too ( in my case I will embrace Kajol, Madhuri and Alia also, which unfortunately doesn’t come in your perks package whichever company you join or create…ha ha) because Destiny isn’t what it’s rolled out to be either. Accidents happen (I am a living proof of an accidental movie star/entrepreneur/speaker at an IIM gathering. I wanted to be a sportsman. Represent India hopefully as a hockey or a cricket player. Suddenly I hurt my back. Didn’t have the resources to get the best treatment. Joined a theater group to fill in time and overcome my sadness of not being able to play at a professional level. Father died and we were evicted from our rented house. Mother went looking for a smaller place and the dealer’s father in law was making a series, called Fauji. My mother sent me to him and he cast me as Abhimanyu Rai in the serial. Things went ballistic from there. I got film offers and one thing led to another, and I became a movie star. By the way we never took the house from the dealer, Mr. Dhawan who actually got me on the road to stardom. And my mother didn’t live long enough to see my work either). I realize now that hurting my back wasn’t an accident, being here speaking to you all is the larger happier accident. So destiny plays a part for sure and no one can teach us either how to find it or how to chase it. Just like disaster, it will come your way but if you don’t have the courage to ride its wave when it does, it’ll toss you right back on the beach and all you’ll get to see is the sunset of a tired and weary life (plus your backside will be sore!). So I would advise keeping your eyes open for life’s magic and not turning away from it citing practicality and good reason. There isn’t one. Be brave enough to face your destiny, to sacrifice for it and compromise for it if you have to. It will always be worth it. To imagine that you know better than life is the silliest (and possibly the most costly) mistake one can ever make.
To conclude, I’d like to borrow from my latest endeavour of creativity- Dilwale and say that unless you live by the heart, unless you are Dilwale, none of this will truly translate into the splendour that life is capable of unfolding before you. The mind is the seed of creativity but the heart is the soil. That seed cannot grow without an open heart. To be able to love, to give, to share, to nurture, to take others along on your journey with as much goodwill for them as you have for yourself is the basis of all creative endeavour, of all real success, of all happiness and of true leadership. If you close up your heart to the world, if you choose to live your life on parameters that let you forget how to love, you will dishonor life and disallow it from honouring you. There is no greater creativity in life or leadership than the ability to touch each moment that you are living with the beauty of living it by your heart, to give back to life the fullness that it has had the generosity to give to you.
And that joke I cracked about the little kid…giving all abnormal answers to basic questions….was just a joke. I really think all of you from IIM are very sexy and cool. Actually I must admit it’s really next to impossible to find such a combination of smart and sexy in so many people together. It’s an honour to be amidst you, and talk with you, for it does get lonely just talking to myself in the corner of my golden bathroom.

Thank you.