Ignorance is bliss, or is it!

“You know what happened?” asked my daughter on phone from  Bangalore where she is staying as a paying guest.

“What?”

“Our helper found there was no kerosene for the stove. She went to buy that and returned with petrol.”

“Oh my,” I got scared.

“All well. We told her about the danger. She is innocent.”

“What else did she do?” I asked.

“We told her to warn our neighbour about high TV volume. She bluntly told the neighbour about it. When the neighbour was screaming in anger, she kept correcting her, “My name is Vanita, aunty, not Vinita.”

Well, ignorance is indeed bliss, or so it seems.

I remember the guard of my building. He used to do workouts in the gym. One day, I said “Hi” to him while he was holding a dumb-bell high. He tried to return the greeting by saluting, only to lose balance and almost let the weight fall on his feet.

Desperate thieves

When my building cleaner entered my room, he was a visibly downcast.

“What happened?”  I asked with genuine concern.

“You will not believe what I say. From early morning I am disturbed,” he said.

“What happened?” I repeated.

“Some rascal has robbed the garbage bin from the footpath,” he replied.

“What?” I shouted in surprise.

There are people who are so desperate that they can even steal a public utility drum.

Similar such freaky thefts flashed in my mind.

Once, the owner of a building in Mumbai surreptitiously carted away the wooden footsteps in his building. He wanted to teach a lesson to his tenants who refused to vacate and in the process literally left them hanging in the air.

Last week, my friend’s office toilet cleaner complained to him that someone had robbed the door knob and cleaning tools from the rest room.

When I met a labourer-friend and admired his bicycle, he replied: “This is the fourth one. Three have been stolen.”

Have I ever lost any possession?

Once I attended a marriage in Chennai. When I returned, my shoes had vanished. I have been hunting for the thief ever since– to thank him.

Catching up after 3 decades

I started my career in Free Press Journal, Mumbai, in 1983. Suresh Pattali (Centre) was my colleague and dear friend during that year. We caught up yesterday (after three decades) in Sharjah Sahara Centre. We were joined by our senior colleague during that year, K. Kumar. We talked, talked and talked. Those initial challenges, gains and losses, pleasures and pains in the happening city of Mumbai - the trip down memory lane was absolutely nostalgic. At the end, we had a clear consensus: Give us a chance and we will go through it all over again. 

Customer is king

Business is all about money. Add a little goodwill and profits multiply; play petty and calculations go haywire.

I recently went to an optician’s shop in Sharjah. It was humid and the moment I entered the outlet, the attendant offered me water. The first impression was pleasing. He paid personal attention to my demands and made me feel like a king. I mentioned about him to my friends and three of my colleagues became his customers. A courteous attitude got him free advertisement.

PG started life as a cook in a Mumbai roadside restaurant. He started an eatery of his own in 1992. Now, he operates 45 outlets in India and seven in three countries, including the UAE, Oman and New Zealand. When I met him recently in Dubai, he was the same, simple person I had seen initially when he started his first restaurant. His perseverance and humility paid dividends. 

In contrast, I know an office canteen owner. One of his customers for 10 years had forgotten to pay for a cup of tea one day. The owner caught up with him after a week and rudely asked for the money. Ten years of association meant nothing for this businessman.
Just remember a joke: Two strangers had an argument.
“Mind your own business,” shouted one.
“I am doing that, moron,” replied the other. “I am a psychologist.”

Thanks Adnan

My designer friend Adnan suggested a new header for the blog. Thanks Adnan

Take it or 'leave' it

Article in The Executive Qatar, May, 2013.

Technology’s deadly punch

Technology has delivered its next fatal blow and the victim is none other than India’s 162-year telegram service, which will be laid to rest on July 14, 2013.

I remember how during my school days, the very mention of the word “telegram” used to bring shivers among the recipients.

Mostly, the messages were negative and highlighted the death of an elderly person in the family in a far-away village or city. Of course, there were the occasional positive messages, where near and dear ones who could not make it to a function, like marriage, used to send greetings through telegrams. It is another matter that the telegrams invariably reached after the function. Whatever the content, telegrams were the fastest mode of communication, as there was no concept of mobile phones. 

India’s first telegraph lines were laid by the East India Company in 1851 in Calcutta, stretching 40 kilometres down the Hoogly River. Work proceeded on amazing speed and four years later, 6,400km of cables had been laid. In 1985, 60 million telegrams were being sent and received a year in India from 45,000 offices. Now, only 75 offices exist. For an industry that once employed 12,500 people, now there are hardly a thousand.

As a journalist, I have seen technology devouring several traditional jobs and systems. The trunk calls, telex, teleprinters were among the earlier ones to go. Thousands of proof readers lost their jobs when spell-checking computers made them redundant.

I remember a lawyer-friend who used to show off his huge collection of Encyclopaedia books. When I met him recently he said his grandson had compressed the huge books in tiny CDs.

The hefty phone directories are not a necessity anymore. Mobiles double up for cameras and remind me of the days I used to run around looking for expensive camera colour film rolls.

Technology will continue its killing spree. Change is the only constant, as Heraclitus put it.

But there is one aspect that makes me wonder: The personal touch of a handwritten love letter. I do not know whether youngsters get the same feeling receiving an “ILU” message via email.

Why me?

"Why me?” my friend asked with tears in his eyes.

“What happened?”

“My dad passed away, dearest pet dog died and my sister lies paralysed in hospital. All in one year. Why me?”

I did not know what to answer, but had to say something.

“This ‘why me’ question is asked by 6 billion plus people on earth at least at some stage in their lives. Just yesterday, a friend told me about his dad’s expensive heart surgery and asked ‘why us?’ Accept the situation with courage,” I suggested.

“Advising is easy but to face it is different,” he reacted.

I narrated a story that I read in a magazine. A drunken father battered his wife in front of his three children and killed her, smashing her head against a wall. He landed in jail and the kids did not know where to look for the next meal. “Are we in a worse situation than them?”

Instead of pacifying him, my story annoyed him.

“Why do you compare people’s situations? You are lucky your life is smooth.”

I did not take the bait and unfurl my sob story. As they say, the ship is safe at the harbor but is not meant to be that way. It is supposed to sail and face all kinds of weather challenges. A soldier with wound marks on his face and yet smiling shines. Right?

“What will you do if you were me?” he threw the final question.

“I will look at the mirror and ask myself how should I look – a defeated face or the Buddha serenity.”

“Boss, you overact,” he said turning the discussion into a war.

I could not smile. I realized I am another one in the six billion. I parted without a smile then.

Now at home, when I write this, I understand. The war is all about inner peace. Neither he nor anyone can snatch it away from me. Here I go: Say cheese.