Love

Holy books across religions profess love as the supreme emotion – love for God and love for mankind. Great saints, have urged that we extend this emotion without restraint. Extraordinary contemporary men, from Gandhi to Bono, have exemplified the overarching consequences of willingly loving and sharing that love. And yet, it is this very emotion that is fading from our lives. Majority of us are just too busy in our lives, our chores, our vocation; to even realise the futility of our ways of existence.

Technological advances were made to increase efficiency and save time, but those innovations are causing erosion of time. The cars meant to transport us faster from point A to B are the cause of traffic jams, causing delays and gnawing on waking hours. Emails and telephones, inventions supposed to facilitate communication, keep us more engaged in work matters restricting time with those who could use and would cherish our time and love.

As some of us seem stuck in the rut, there are the older and the wiser amongst us who make an effort to suggest the error of our ways. R M Lala (one such enlightened man), in his autobiography - the thread of God in my life, illustrates the varied forms of love that he has experienced, extended and enjoyed. All those instances are heart warming, however, the most thought provoking is a simple sentence – “People do not realise that to love to adequately you have got to spare time for the other person”. It is not all the time; it is just some time spent wisely to express the love adequately.

Parents love us unconditionally, but professional commitments rob us of time. A mother at home will stay up past midnight, after having travelled half way across the world, just so that she can ensure that you are alright. But when you walk in, your mind is absorbed in a thousand other things, a peck on the cheek and you dive in to bed all set to wake up to catch a flight next morning. Siblings stand by us through our best and worst, but when they call to have a quick word, there are more important conference calls waiting and tugging us away. Nieces and nephews, who want to spend only one night tucked in bed with you listening to a story, have to be disappointed because a client on the other side of the country awaits a pitch. Friends are just as busy and occupied and those who really love us have to wait their turn. Love and its reciprocation have seemingly instilled a fear in us that giving into these emotions will keep from excelling at work, fulfilling our commitment to social causes that we believe in and living a life of fulfilment and adventure.

JRD Tata and GD Birla, two pioneering Indian industrialist, changed the shape of Indian industry – both had families that they spent time with. When they passed on, their sons took over to fortify the institutions their fathers had created. Gandhi, with all his affection for Kasturbai, did not leave her but along with her took Inida on the path to freedom. In one of his writings he says, “Had not been for her (Kasturbai), I would not have been able to forge the weapon of Satyagraha”. Bono has tremendous adoration and admiration for his wife and in his autobiography, conversations with Michka Assayas, mentions how she inspires and supports his philanthropic efforts. Needless to say that all these men have lived very fulfilling lives.

With love for every man, there will be less evil and the world will be a better place. However, charity begins at home and so does the expression of love. Without love at home, we cannot extend it outside. It seems that today might not be too late for us to rectify the fallacy of our busy lives and build a better future.

Children of Hope

Childhood, the age of innocence and the time of laughter; is it not the right of every child to enjoy that stage of life? Apparently not and there are myriad innocent angels around the world struggling to smile, forget laughing, in their first few tender years. War, terrorism, hunger, poverty; the reasons for their sufferance are innumerable. When from amongst these less fortunate souls, there emerges a hard working yet content soldier, the world suddenly seems to be a more beautiful place.

MU, the broker, and I were taking a late night stroll by the sea when we were approached by a young lad selling chocolates. Akash, the boy, had a simple an honest pitch to us – he bought Cadbury chocolates for INR 90 apiece and sold them for INR 110. The INR 20 profit he made was to help his father repay a loan. If we bought one it would be great, but if we bought two, he swore by the Lord that he would give us a discount and if he met us again would never sell us another bar. MU bought two bars and a content Akash was on his way when MU stopped him. Given the late hour MU offered to drop him home after he was done selling the chocolates.

On the way to drop him home, MU and I started a conversation with Akash, who spoke fluent English. I was impressed and asked him if he went to school or was he self taught. He explained that he indeed attended school, and a good one at that (Don Bosco in Matunga for those familiar with Bombay). Further he informed us that at fourteen years, he is the youngest of five. His father has a small grocery shop and took a loan so that Akash’s grandmother could fulfil a vow she had taken. Now to help the family, all the children studied and worked. In Akash’s words, “I go to school, come back and help my parents, the sleep for an hour; get up and study, then play for an hour and then come here to sell the chocolates. Is it not nice – I get to study and help my parents.” A very interesting view at that young age!

Before we could reach the fishing village where he said he lived, Akash asked us to stop by a police booth and got off. He said his brother would come to get him. That struck me as weird and I remarked to MU that it was rather strange for the boy to have not taken a lift home, especially as he had mentioned that he would have taken a cab home if he found two more customers after us. MU‘s response was stirring – “whatever be the reason, he must be desperate to sell chocolates at this late hour. Don’t give it further thought.”

While I thought no more of it as we drove through the night, sitting at home, my thoughts keep going back to Akash. How does he manage such poise with all the hardship surrounding him? Where does he get the strength and stamina from? And then, was he being honest about his family or is he being exploited by a gang that uses children to make money?

I sincerely hope that he is not being exploited. And for all his composure, honesty in trade and hard work – well he is a real Indian hero. It is people like him who give this country the different touch that it has, and it is unrelenting soldiers like him who make this country run. We, the privileged, can definitely learn a lesson or two from Akash and his kin. Someday I hope that children like Akash, in India and around the world, can have a carefree and laughter filled childhood. One that they deserve.

A Prayer for a Miracle

There are believers and there are non-believers. I would categorize myself as the former, and have always believed that the scales of universe’s justice balance out sooner or later. However, today, I am left wondering about the absurdity of this justice and am praying for a miracle.

After almost seven years of marriage, she had a baby girl; a child that she had longed for and doted on as soon as she whimpered into this world. This child today is four weeks old but instead of being cuddled in the mother’s lap, she is in cradling in the ICU, pierced with needles all over. Her little body is being fed with antibiotics via an IV and the prognosis is gut wrenching. This little angel, who seems to be sleeping in peace, is supposedly suffering from a congenital bone marrow disorder. While the doctors are waiting for the reports for a final diagnosis, they suspect either a rare form of leukaemia (ruled out just yesterday by other physicians) or an auto immune disease which could slowly start impacting her spleen, liver and lings one by one. The only course of treatment would be a bone marrow transplant, which cannot be undertaken on an infant of her age. She is going to go through an agonising biopsy later this morning and that in itself is going to be tricky given her soft still forming bones.

The little angel is suffering pain that she cannot even express. The mother is crying and suffocating within but expression of her grief is not helping. There is one thing other than medicine that could help; and that is prayer. I believe in the power of numbers and in the strength of sincere prayer. As I am praying for a miracle, I humbly request all those reading this to pray that the one above us waves his magic wand and cures this little child. There would be justice in this world when the little one can return home to her naming ceremony, play with her parents, grow up holding their hands and finally become a young woman that the parents can be proud of.

It might be rare but it is not impossible, nothing really is; and I would like to believe that her recovery is possible. I bow my head and await the justice

Friends

Randy Pausch, in his Last Lecture, spoke about the Parent Lottery; the sweepstakes where some of us win the bumper prizes of supportive parents who nurture their children into independent, aware, seeking and compassionate individuals. In addition, I think, there is a second lottery that everyone plays in their lives and that is the Great Friends lottery. The winner earns friends who through the years help her in becoming a better person. In times of need they stand by her like the rock of Gibraltar. When she makes a mistake they do not shy away from telling her that she was wrong but do not judge her for that error. And even after each one of them is on their individual life paths they are still there for her, unconditionally.

Now while I got lucky in the Parents Lottery, I also struck gold in the Great Friends Lottery. I am currently absorbing the magic of this luck of mine and am wonderstruck by the enormous amount of love and affection all around me. It is not big gestures that drive the point home, but it is the small stuff. It is the little things such as taking a delivery 2:00 am gladly, sharing the limited time to be with the better half with the friend, taking a day off just to spend some time together, ensuring that you have enough to sustain you on a two hour journey and even though you are old and independent enough not to leave you alone on your way in to the train station. There is such indulgence showered so spontaneously that one cannot but humbly acknowledge that one is not just well looked after but also amply looked out for. And yes in between all of this there is loads of laughter, fun and the small conversations that address the questions that life poses in front of each one of us. No wonder they say that it is the small stuff that matters!

This year my annual holiday has enriched me with the memories of a precious family holiday in some of the world's most picturesque mountains and a priceless realisation of the fact that some of the world’s most wonderful people are the ones I call friends. So is there anything more that I should be asking for?

Professionals at Work

A few years ago I fell quite ill and was in the Incentive Care Unit (ICU) for a few days. After my discharge from the ICU, my situation had deteriorated compared to what it was before I was admitted. However, somehow, miraculously, I recovered. My doctor must have been surprised, but to my chagrin, he told me quite as a matter of fact that he had given up on me and was glad to see me alive and kicking. All the while I had been under the impression that medical professionals struggled to save lives!

Fast forward a few years and my parents and I were in the consulting room of a leading cardiologist, to discuss my father’s health. Admittedly nothing was serious and it was a routine check up, yet I was disgusted when the doctor deemed it fit to attend to a call (in the time that we were paying for) to argue about his fee not being paid. He glanced at the reports while on the phone and dismissed them. Of the time that we were there, there was little satisfaction of having been heard. Needless to say we have never been to that specialist ever again.

These are but two incidents that I have had first hand experience of and I am sure they are not the first or the last. We have all at some stage or the other read about the controversies surrounding drug formulation and clinical trials. Many of us have suffered an impact of negligent medical care. Many authors have widely written about malpractices in hospitals. Medical profession is the one entrusted with the lives of the world, unfortunately it is these lives that have become guinea pigs today in the hands of their own trustees.

Another profession entrusted with the shaping up of lives is that of education and it is rather sad to see that globally, the face of education is blemished with greed and incompetence. I have attended a dozen educational institutes (as a student), in varied parts of the world, and yet to my dismay there are very few teachers that I can remember making an impression on me. The one person that I do remember to date is my geography teacher in grade ten, Mrs Jaya Rajagopalan. Teaching for her was not a need, it was not a profession; teaching was her desire and her passion. Her engaging classes not only taught the class the lesson that the curriculum warranted, but she also showed us the way to become good human beings and women of substance. It was entirely her doing that even a restless student like me, who preferred analytical subjects, started taking a keen interest in geography. In fact she highlighted the analytical nature of the subject which had previously been hidden from the front view.

In stark contrast to Mrs Rajagopalan, I have had teachers criticising their mothers-in-law during lecture times or teachers who have had such little hold on their subjects that their lectures have flown out of the window even before hitting the ears of the class or teachers who have outrageously flirted with students during class. A number of these teachers are still teaching and that too in institutions of good repute. From the primary to the tertiary, the standard of education is falling and it is no surprise that a number of parents are opting for home schooling, especially in the west. For those who can afford, education comes at a premium, sometimes necessitating two incomes to support the household. Quality education should be the right of every child but apparently the economics ridden world seems to disagree.

Who should one turn to if one has suffered the ills of the medical profession? Who should one look to fight for ones right to education? While the simple answer would seem to be a legal professional, unfortunately even in that arena, there is little respite. Counsel and solicitors hesitate in taking challenging cases, scared of tarnishing their career record or in fear of standing against an opposing counsel they dare not irk. Even if some do take up cases, the client is serviced based on the interest of her lawyer and not her own. So when justice via the court of law becomes a near impossibility, there are people who seek justice in spite of the court.

With limited educational opportunities, the avenues to earn a living also constrict. With frugal earnings, access to medical care becomes restricted. With low incomes and poor health, incidences of crime increase. And then with limited legal support to set the wrong to right the increase in crimes is not a rationale surprise. So whether it is economics or it is ethics, in my view there needs to be the return of professionalism in the three fields of service mentioned. Otherwise equality, peace and harmony in the world will just remain dreams for the population at large.

The New Nomadic Life

A recent article in the Financial Times (http://msittig.freeshell.org/articles/FinT_TribalWorkers.html) labelled the current generation of ambitious achievers, “Tribal Workers”. It was not a belittling tag nor was the phrase used derogatorily. The author was only attempting to describe, how today’s youth, just like their tribal ancestors wants to have as little roots/commitments as possible. However, while the tribes were nomadic to hunt for food to satiate hunger, today’s youth is looking for greener pastures to satisfy intellectual curiosity. Be it relationships or be it jobs, all is meant to be transitory, teaching one in the process.

I happened to discuss this with a friend, a bright and successful hedge fund manager, and he did not accept the point of view that myriad experiences are necessary to satisfy intellectual curiosity. In his words “there is more to life than a job”. I was surprised, as in my interactions hedge fund professionals are probably the most ambitious, driven and intelligence seeking individuals around. Clearly this person, despite his life and education on three continents, seems to have a different view. I tend to agree with my friend when he says, “God has been gracious and given us a lot. It cannot just be a free lunch that we are supposed to eat and forget”.

So if I hear my friend; we need to have a life outside of the work place. But what is that life? Is it a cause that we are committed to (but that is again sort of work right?)? Is it a hobby that we are devoted to? Is it a family? Is it friends? What is that which will make life wholesome? As the weekend draws to a close slowly, I think I am starting to look for the answer leisurely.

Credit Worthy vs. Credit Worthiness

Having lived and travelled across a large part of the developed and semi-developed world (clearly my brush with the developing countries other than India has been limited), I am accustomed to the use of plastic money and on many occasions it has been a saviour. However, on all my travels back home to India, I have consciously always carried local currency; just this once I forgot and landed with a measly hundred rupees on me. And it is today I realised how over reliant am I on the plastic card in my wallet.

The driver coming to fetch me at the airport had an accident and could not make it. I decided to take a pre-paid taxi but had no cash and the taxi company accepted no cards at all. The only ATM machine at Mumbai International Airport was broken and no money exchanger would give money against a credit card. So I was stuck; till a lady behind one counter told me that I could take one of their cab company’s cars and pay on reaching home. I heaved a sigh of relief even though the fare charged was three times the normal fare; at least I could get home in time and proceed to work.

As I sat in the car, staring out of the window, I thought that maybe I could have exchanged some of my pound sterling into rupees. However, looking into my wallet and scratching me sleepy brain, I realised that I had none; I had bought gifts at the duty free and so I was out of foreign currency as well. It was a first time situation and I was a little peeved with myself.

However, thinking about this morning, now, a few hours later; I am beginning to realise that short term credit in India is an integral part of daily life. Just like I got the credit from the airport to home this morning, I could get credit from my local grocer to pay him in 30min and he will even send his errand boy over to collect the amount. The chemist has no problem in delivering medicines to the flat and keeping a monthly record of his receivables. The milkman, the newspaper vendor, the vegetable man; all of them are happy to run with monthly credits. They have no problem in accepting my word of honour as my credit worthiness; however, the plastic card in my wallet to them is no guarantee what so ever!

In the developed world my bank and my bank cards define my credit worthiness; but in India I am credit worthy to those who have known me for some time. So maybe the facilities do not abound here, but human interaction and personal relationships do. That to me is sufficient, as life is because of the people in it and not due to the comforts that one has at hand.