From flying to failures-Lust and Rust

Its been a long time since I update this blog with something . So today I thought lets roll the ball again. As my caption goes on 'From flying to failures-Lust and Rust ' , it reflects the state of my mind. Its been nearly two years I graduated from REC durgapur and landed up in Cisco Systems, Bangalore. Life in college was full of fun and enjoyment ,shielded from the procs and cons of Corporate life : Reminded me of a dialogue of RDB "College vich DJ ke baadi pehchan hai .. log kehte hai ..Dj mein baadi baat hai .. Par college ke bahir acha acha DJ piss gaye " . I still remember the day when I left the college , It was hell for me as I lived a life in the college . But the day my journey finished , i understood that : The five elements (water, earth, fire,space,air) are not always equally predominant ; the four seasons make way for each other in turn . There are short days and long; the moon has its period of waning and waxing.
Joining Cisco Systems , becoming mentee of a guy who has done double PDH from stanford and working with a staff who has patents and even books published , gave me a chance to look at 'Artifice of deviation' . I tried to learn about how you can bury the past of relationship , love, emotions which REC durgapur injected in me , but as you also know the problem with approach is that the past claws its way out and I got a very good friend circle in the company .. where people work not because they are paid to but because they want to do .. where people stay late nights not because their manager told them to but because other guys are also staying late for meetings , where fun is an important aspect of professional culture. These two years of my life appeared like a whole life time journey full of experiences of appreciations , meetings, Coffee at breakout area , the mail chains , the unrelated scandals ;-p and lot more learning , hands patting my back & tousling my hair.

Aah ..!!! Now you must be thinking what the shit I am talking of . By the title it looks something else :-). Let me pen down that also . The day I joined the Co , I decided I will go for further studies and then go back to my college: REC durgapur . Now that tenure of two years is gone to dust but still I am running with lust of more and more . This lust will soon Rust me down and I will be nothing more than a dead man . Now I have to choose how I am going to die . From few months I am trying to find the answers of this question but hard luck. Then I started reading books . Trying to find myself in these books. Each time I read a book, I feel like a character of that book and I start behave like them. I started feeling the pain and joy of the characters. I still remember the day when I was supposed to meet my sister in forum and Since she was late from office so I started reading the book 'For one more day' , I don't know what happened to me , all of a sudden the world around me changed. I started feeling like I am Charley and all whats happening with him is happening with me . I felt myself like a drunkard who had been cast out of human society. But the best part of it is ,with each story and each character , I felt my presence in that situation . So all books to me looks like my story of life .
I am sure that I am boring you , but I am loving it to pen down myself . Chalo let me put some masala like bollywood movies :-). Few days back I was reading 'Kite Runner'. Personally if you will ask me , I didn't like the story in a whole , half of it till Amir was in Afghanistan , It was fine then it become like a boring to me . Anyways this part of Kite runner I loved ,where the narrator of the story 'Amir' wrote his first story :
" It was a dark little tale about a man who found a magic cup and learned that if he wept into the cup, his tears turned into pearls. But even though he had always been poor, he was a happy man and rarely shed a tear. So he found ways to make himself sad so that his tears could make him rich. As the pearls piled up, so did his greed grow. The story ended with the man sitting on a mountain of pearls, knife in hand, weeping helplessly into the cup with his beloved wife’s slain body in his arms."

He got lots of appreciations from everyone about his story . In the evening , he called his friend cum cook "Hassan"(an illiterate kid ). Hassan listened the story and also praised Amir of the story but he asked a doubt to Amir :
“Well,” he said, “if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn’t he have just smelled an onion?”
I was really amazed at Hassan's answer . It reminded of another event happened at my team-mate's home. My team mate is having two daughters - nearly 5 years and 7 years old. Everyday these kids used to play 'teacher student game' , where the elder one becomes a teacher and the younger one a student . For few days this game went on fine where Teacher checks the homework of the student and yells at the student(younger one). One day the younger one decided that No more teacher student game because she was always the Victim ;-p , but the elder one didn't agree , So after 5-10 minutes of discussions the younger one agreed to play the game . When the elder one : Teacher asked for the homework , the younger one replied "today the student is sick and here is the Sick leave. Student is absent" . The teacher was stunned with the answer and so Do I and everyone on the reply: its really very very logical reply :-) .
This was another aspect of our life . Such events lower the intensity of monotonous routines of our lives. We need something which makes us feel that we are still alive. Same is the case with me now. I don't know which way I am going . "When you don't know which way to go, any road will take you there". I think I was much more human in college than now. It reminded me Alchemist's saying " At a certain point in our lives , we loose control of what's happening to us , & our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie" and I am living in that lie now. I need to come out of the cycle of Lust : Here the lust has sentimental as opposed to monetary value.
Last week I finished Jonathan seagull, which gave me few good directions to go to but i need to work hard to understand the real pathway . Once a guy who used to dream only of flying is now lying somewhere in the sands of time , cursing himself and the whole world . But i need to understand whats True .. whats real and whats me ?? One more important point we need to understand "We need to understand what we really are , what really makes me happy Because I will radiate whats in me : If I will be sad , i will radiate sadness around me and if I will be happy I will radiate happiness around me ". So now the important question "What makes me happy ?". Few things i know :One is books which make me happy and other is My mother : Because there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all our stories is always our mother's story , because her's is where ours begin.

"What caused an echo ?"
The persistence of sound after the source has stopped.
"When can we hear an echo?"
When it is quite and other sounds are absorbed .


NOW when it will be quite, I will hear the Voice : Neither of male nor of female , neither loud nor soft, a voice infinitely kind. And the voice will say to me "When you can't go back, you have to worry only about the best way of moving forward and the best way is ................................."

Me .. me ... and me

A picture depicting the whole life . A picture of my inner self. I dont know whats in this picture which makes me feel that I am that paper man, trying to burn myself. I know most of the folks will think its some depression or frustration. But fact is that its the search of real me. Working days and night to fix bugs, to work on enhancements ,to follow up meetings , to boot up routers and test my code changes , all is well. But its not reflecting the real me . Now-a-days whenever i tell this to others, the most common reply is "I think you need a break , go .. have some vacations, enjoy with friends and family" ,but no one understands the feelings of resentment of being What I am and what I am doing . I don't know why I am feeling like this , may be 'I really need a break' or may be 'I need to break the wall' . Whatever i do , whether awake or sleep , some thoughts always keep on floating into my mind . The thoughts "Why i really exist???" "Is only earning good , spending good , working good is LIFE about" "What is that I want to be ??" "Am i really ME??" "What's MY Problem" "Why am I 'AIMLESS' ?" "Whats the real confusion?" "Don't I have guts to quit everything and find the truth about me " "What is that am I living for?" "Why .. why .. why" . These screams of "WHY" have made my life miserable . This pic seems to be me with several burnt match sticks around showing My failures to attain the ultimate TRUTH , my previous failed attempts to find me . The clock facing opposite from that paper man, seems like the clock of my life ,stopped somewhere and now pulsating only with one thought "Can this be the final attempt of me of finding ME ?? ". Time seems to have stopped for me at only one thought. Will I be able to make it this time or will it be again a failed attempt like other burnt match stick. Will it be half burnt match stick , I will find half truth and keep on struggling of the other half ... Or will i try again for this with new attempts like the unburnt match sticks.

But whatever be the future, present is "I am confused . I am searching for something which is within me .." .Dont know when this search will go away or how I will find answers of unknown questions. How ?? how ?? how ??? and When ?? . The Two words can describe my life "AIMLESS LIFE"

Maut tu ek kavitaa hai

mujhse ek kavita ka vada hai milegi mujhko
doobti nabzon mein jab dard ko neend aane lage
zard sa chehra lekar jab chaand ufaq tak pahunche
din abhi paani mein ho, raat kinaare ke kareeb
na andhera na ujaala ho, na abhi raat na din
jism jab khatm ho aur rooh ko jab saans aaye
mujhse ek kavita ka waada hai milegi mujhko

and this one

Zindagi aur maut upar wali ke haath hai jahanpanah !!!!
usse naa tho aap badal sakte hai naa mein
Hum sab tho rang manch ki kaatputliyaan hai
jin ki door uppar walle ki unngliyo mein bandhi hui hai
kab kaun kaise uthe ga ye koyi nahi bata sakta

FAMILY

F A M I L Y

I ran into a stranger as he passed by,
"Oh excuse me please" was my reply.

He said, "Please excuse me too;
I wasn't watching for you."

We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.

But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My son stood beside me very still.

When I turned, I nearly knocked him down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.

He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,

"While dealing with a stranger,
common courtesy you use,
but the family you love, you seem to abuse.

Go and look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.

Those are the flowers he brought for you.
He picked them himself: pink, yellow and blue.

He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise,
you never saw the tears that filled his little eyes."

By this time, I felt very small,
And now my tears began to fall.

I quietly went and knelt by his bed;
"Wake up, little one, wake up," I said.

"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
He smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue."

I said, "Son, I'm very sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."
He said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you anyway."

I said, "Son, I love you too,
and I do like the flowers, especially the blue."


Do you know what the word FAMILY means?

FAMILY = (F)ATHER (A)ND (M)OTHER (I) (L)OVE (Y)OU


Are you aware that if we died tomorrow, the company
that we are working for could easily replace us in
a matter of days.
But the family we left behind will feel the loss
for the rest of their lives.

And come to think of it,
we pour ourselves more into work than into our own family,
an unwise investment indeed,
don't you think?

So what is behind the story?

The two Brothers

There were once 2 brothers who lived on the 80th level. On coming home one day, they realized to their dismay that the lifts were not working and that they have to climb the stairs home.

After struggling to the 20th level, panting and tired, they decided to abandon their bags and come back for them the next day. They left their bags then and climbed on.

When they have struggled to the 40th level, the younger brother started to grumble and both of them began to quarrel. They continued to climb the flights of steps, quarreling all the way to the 60th floor.


They then realized that they have only 20 levels more to climb and decided to stop quarreling and continue climbing in peace. They silently climbed on and reached their home at long last. Each stood calmly before the door and waited for the other to open the door.

And they realized that the key was in their bags which were left on the 20th floor!!!

REFLECTION

This story reflects on our life...many of us live under the expectations of our parents, teachers and friends when young. We seldom get to do the things that we really like and love to do and are under so much pressure and stress, that by the age of 20, we get tired and decide to dump this load.

During our youth, from the age of 20, when we become independent and full of freedom, we begin to feel much lighter from our burdens of previous stress and pressure, and thus we work enthusiastically and dream ambitious wishes to fulfill them, especially all our desires.

But by the time we reach 40 years old, we start to lose our vision and dreams. We began to feel unsatisfied and start to complain and criticize. We live life as a misery as we are never satisfied.

Reaching 60, we realize that we have little left for complaining anymore, and we begin to walk the final episode in peace and calmness. We think that there is nothing left to disappoint us, only to realize that we could not rest in peace because we have an unfulfilled dream ...... a dream we abandoned 60 years ago.

So what is your dream?

Follow your dreams, so that you will not live with regrets! Do what you love to do in life and start NOW, as only that gives you the complete satisfaction and a sense of fulfillment, when you sit back and reflect in your old age, about the life you have lived all along.

Sparrows----My Fav Story

Sparrows

(K. A. Abbas)

The sun was setting behind the mango grove which fringed the western extremity of the village when Rahim Khan returned from the fields. Broad and strong despite his fifty odd years, with the plough on his shoulders, and driving his two oxen, he walked through the main street of the village with a haughty and unfriendly air. As he approached the chaupal where a dozen or so peasants were collected for their evening smoke, the hilarious tones of gossip died down to cautious whispers. It was only when he had vanished round the corner and the heavy tread of this footsteps was heard no more that Kallu, passing the communal hookah to another, remarked, 'There goes the hard-hearted devil!' To which Nanha, the fat sweet-seller added: 'He is getting worse and worse every day. Only yesterday he beat poor Ramoo's child for throwing a pebble at his oxen.' Ramnath, the officious zaildar, volunteered further details of Rahim Khan's recent cruelties. 'And the other day he very nearly killed my mare for straying into his field.' The zaildar, of course, thought it quite irrelevant to mention that the straying of his mare had been specially planned by his mischievous sons. The old grey-haired patel was, as always the last to open his toothless mouth. And as usual, his words were prefaced by a pious invocation to the Almighty. 'Hari Ram!' he muttered, 'I have never seen such a cruel man. He has compassion neither for a child nor for helpless animal. No wonder his own sons have run away from home.

The subject of their conversation, meanwhile, had reached his hut which , almost symbolically, stood gaunt and aloof, at a distance from the neighboring cluster of houses. Leaning the plough up against the low wall of his house, he proceeded to tie the oxen to a pair of big wooden stakes embedded in the ground just in front of the doorway.

'Bhai Rahim Khan!' an obsequious voice said behind him as he was about to enter the house.

'What is it?' he gruffly queried, turning round to address the old woman who had come out of the house nearest his own. As she hesitated to speak he fired a volley of questions: 'What is it? I won't eat you. Why don't you speak, woman? Has your son been arrested again for revenue arrears or has your daughter-in-law delivered another baby?'

As she stopped for breath, the woman summoned up all her courage to utter two words, 'Your wife...' '....has run away'. He completed the sentence with a grin which broadened with the realization that he had guessed right.

'No, no,' the woman hastily explained with an apologetic look, as if she herself were responsible for his wife's absence. 'She has only gone to her brother at Nurpur and will be back in a few days.'

'Bah!' he flung back at her, opening the door. He knew that his wife would never come back.

Seething with inward wrath he entered the dark hut and sat down on the charpoy. A cat mewed in a corner. Finding no one else on whom to vent his anger he flung it out, slamming the door with violence.

There was no one to give him water to wash his dust-laden feet and hands, no one to give him supper, no one whom he could curse and beat. Rahim Khan felt uncomfortable and unhappy. He had always been angry with his wife when she was there, but her absence angered him still more.

'So she's gone,' he mused, lying down on the cot, having decided to go to sleep without his food. During the thirty years of their married life he had always felt that she would leave him one day and, at one time, he had even hoped she would. Six years ago, his eldest son Bundu had run away from home because of a more than usually severe beating. Three years later, the younger one, Nuru joined his brother. Since that day, Rahim Khan had felt sure his wife too would run away to her brother's house. But now that she had gone, he felt unhappy--not sorry , no, for he had never loved his wife--but only uncomfortable, as if a necessary piece of furniture had been removed. With her gone, on whom could he shower the outpourings of an embittered heart?

For thirty years his wife had been both the symbol and the target of all his grievances against his family, against society, against life.

As a youth there had been none in the village to beat him in feats of athletic skill--in wrestling, in kabadi in diving from the canal bridge. He had loved a girl, and wanted to join a touring circus which happened to pass through the village. In the circus, he had felt, lay the key to his ambitions--a career after his own heart--travel-fame. And in Radha, the daughter of Ram Charan, the village banya, he thought he had found this soul-mate. He had first noticed her watching him at a wrestling match and it had been the greatest moment of this life when, standing up after vanquishing his adversary, he had found Radha looking at him with the light of love in her eyes. After that there had been a few brief and furtive meetings when the unlettered but romantic youth had declared his love in passionate though halting words. But his parents had killed both ambitions. Circus work was too lowly and immoral for a respectable peasant. Anyway, his father, grandfather and all his ancestors had tilled the land, so he too had to do it. As for marrying Radha, a Hindu, a Kafir, the very idea was infamous and irreligious.

For some time, Rahim Khan, with youthful resentment, toyed with the idea of open rebellion. But the tradition of centuries of serfdom ran in his blood and, however, indignant he might have felt at his father's severity, he could not summon enough courage to defy paternal authority and social traditions. After a few days, the circus left the village without Rahim Khan and the furtive romance with Radha, too came to an abrupt end. Rahim Khan's father slyly suggested to Ram Charan that his daughter was now fifteen and ought to have been married long ago, not failing to hint at the disastrous consequences of late marriages. Within a few weeks Radha was married to Ram Lal, a middle-aged, pot-bellied banya of the neighboring village. With a few sad tears shed in the solitude of the night in memory of her hopeless romance with Rahim Khan, she quickly reconciled to her fate and proceeded forthwith to be mother of half-a-dozen children.

Rahim Khan also married. He had, of course, no choice in the matter. His parents selected the girl, fixed the date, ordered some gaudy clothes for him and some silver ornaments for his bride, sat him on a horse, and to the beat of a brass band, took him to the girl's house where the Nikah was duly preformed. To the Kazi's formal questions Rahim Khan mechanically nodded his head. Any other course was impossible. Nobody, of course, cared to ask the shy little girl who sat huddled in a dark room only dimly conscious of the fate to which she had been condemned. After the ceremony, Rahim Khan's father, in a mood of self-congratulation, boasted to his wife: 'See how meekly he obeyed me. You always feared he might refuse to fall in with our arrangements. I know there youngsters. They apt to be restless if their marriage is delayed. That is why our father's believed in marrying away their children early. Now he will be all right!'

At that very moment, standing on the threshold of the room where his wife awaited him much as a sheep awaits the butcher, Rahim Khan made a terrible resolve to avenge himself on his parents, his family, on society. He held them all responsible for the frustration of this life's dreams. And in his confused, illogical mind he regarded his bride as a symbol of this persecution to which he had been subjected. On her he would wreak his vengeance. Iron entered his hitherto kindly soul as he rudely pushed open the door.

That was thirty years ago, Rahim Khan reflected as he lay there on his cot in the dark hut. And hadn't he had his revenge? For thirty years he had ill-treated his wife, his children and his bullocks, quarrelled with everyone in the village and made himself the most hated person in the community. The thought of being so universally detested gave him grim satisfaction.

No one in the village, of course, understood or tried to understand the reasons for this strange transformation of the cheerful and kind young man into the beast that he had become. At first, their attitude towards him was one of astonished hostility, but later it changed to indifference mingled with fear. Of understanding and sympathy he received none. Shunned by everyone, with a bitterness ever gnawing at his heart, Rahim Khan sought consolation in the unquestioned authority over his wife which society allowed him.

For thirty years his wife had submitted to his persecution with the slave-like docility that is the badge of her tribe. Lately, indeed, she had become so used to corporal chastisement that it seemed unnatural if a whole week passed without beating. To Rahim Khan beating his wife had become a part of his very existence. As sleep gathered round him, his last thought was whether he would be able to endure a life without having an opportunity of indulging in what had now become his second nature. It was perhaps the only moment when Rahim Khan had a feeling, not exactly of affection for his wife, but of loneliness without her. Never before had he realized how much the woman he hated was a part of his life.

When he awoke it was already late forenoon and he started the day by cursing his wife, for it was she who used to wake early every morning. But he was in no great hurry today. Lazily he got up and, after his ablutions, milked the goats for his breakfast which consisted of the remains of the previous day's chapattis soaked in fresh milk. Then he sat down for a smoke, with his beloved hookah beside him. Now the hut was warm and alight with the rays of the sun streaming in through the open window. In a corner they revealed some cobwebs and, having already decided to absent himself from his fields, he thought he would tidy his hut. Tying some tags to the end of a long pole, he was about to remove the cobwebs when he saw a nest in the thatched roof. Two sparrows were fluttering in and out, twittering constantly.

His first impulse was to wreck the nest with one stroke of his pole, but something within him made him desist. Throwing down the pole, he brought a stool and climbed up on it to get a better view of the sparrows' home. Two little featherless mites of red-flesh, baby sparrows hardly a day old, lay inside, while their parents hovered round Rahim Khan's face, screaming threateningly. He barely had a glimpse of the inside of the nest when the mother sparrow attacked him.

Next day he resumed his daily work. Still no one talked to him in the village. From morning till late in the afternoon he would toil in the field, ploughing the furrow and watering the crops, but he returned home before sunset. Then he would lie on his cot, smoking his hookah and watching with lively interest the antics of the sparrow family. The two little ones had now grown into fine young birds, and he called them Nuru and Bundu after his lost sons whom he had not seen for several years. The four sparrows were his only friends in the world. His neighbours were still frightened of him and regarded his recent peaceful behaviour with suspicion. They were genuinely astonished that for some time no one had seen him beating his bullocks. Nathoo and Chiddoo themselves were very happy and grateful and their bruised bodies had almost healed.

One monsoon evening, when the sky was overcast with threatening clouds, Rahim Khan returned from the fields a little earlier than usual. He found a group of children playing on the road. They ran away as they saw him, and even left their shoes behind in their haste. In vain did Rahim Khan shout, 'Why are you running away? I am not going to beat you.' Meanwhile, it had started drizzling and he hurried homewards to tie up the bullocks before the big downpour came.

Entering his hut, Rahim Khan lighted the earthenware oil lamp and placed some crumbs of bread for the sparrows before he prepared his own dinner. 'O Nuru! O Bundu!' he shouted, but the sparrows did not come out. Anxious to find out what had happened to his friends, he peered into the nest and found the quartet scared and sitting huddled up within their feathers. At the very spot where the nest lay, the roof was leaking. Rahim Khan took a ladder and went out in he pouring rain to repair the damage. By the time the job was satisfactorily done he was thoroughly drenched. As he sat on the cot, Rahim Khan sneezed, but he did not heed the warning and went to sleep. Next morning he awoke with a high fever.

When the villagers did not see him going to the fields for several days they grew anxious and some of them came to see what the matter was. Through a crack in the door they saw him lying on the cot talking, so they thought, to himself. 'O Bundu, O Nuru, who will feed you when I am gone?'

The peasants shook their heads sympathetically. 'Poor fellow,' they said, 'he has gone mad. we will send for his wife to look after him.'

Next morning when Rahim Khan's wife, anxious and weeping, came with her sons, a group of neighbours collected in sympathy. The door was locked from the inside, and in spite of loud knocking no one opened it. When they broke their way in they found the large and gaunt frame Rahim lying in the brooding silence of the room, broken only by the fluttering of four sparrows.

Story of Life

Apparently, they are there to file a divorce.Lawyer was very puzzled,

after having a chat with them, he got their story....




This couple had been quarreling all their 40 over yrs of marriage nothing

ever seems to go right.They hang on because of their children, afraid that

it might affect their up-bringing. Now, all their children have already grown up,

have their own family, there's nothing else the old couple have to worry about,

all they wanted is to lead their own life free from all these years of unhappiness

from their marriage, so both agree on a divorce....







Lawyer was having a hard time trying to get the papers done,

because he felt that after 40 yrs of marriage at the age of 70,

he couldn't understand why the old couple would still want a divorce..




While they were signing the papers, the wife told the husband..




"I really love u, but I really cant carry on anymore, I'm sorry.."




"Its o.k, I understand.." said the husband. Lookin at this, the lawyer

suggested a dinner together, just 3 of them,wife thought,

why not, since they are still gonna be friends..




At the dining table, there was a silence of awkardness.




The first dish was roasted chicken, immediately, the old man took the drumstick

for the old lady.."take this, its your favourite.."




Looking at this, the lawyer thought maybe theres still a chance, but the wife

was frowning when she answer.."This is always the problem, you always think

so highly of yourself, never thought about how I feel,

don't you know that I hate drumsticks?"




Little did she know that, over the years, the husband have been trying

all ways to please her, little did she know that drumsticks was the husband's

favourite. Little did he know that she never thought he understand her at all,

little did he know that she hates drummsticks even though all he wants is the best for her.




That night, both of them couldn't sleep, toss and turn, toss and turn...after hours,

the old man couldn't take it anymore, he knows that he still loves her,

and he cant carry on life without her, he wants her back, he wants to tell her,

he is sorry, he wanted to tell her "I love you"...




He picks up the phone, starting dialing her number....ringing never stops..he never stop dialing....

On the other side, she was sad, she couldn't understand how come after all these years,

he still doesn't understand her at all, she loves him a lot, but she just cant take it anymore....

phone's ringing, she refuses to answer knowing that its him...

"whats the point of talking now that its over...I have ask for it and now

I wanna keep it this way, if not I will lose face.."she thought...still ringing...

she have decided to pull out the cord... Little did she remember,

he have heart problems...




The next day, she received news that he had passed away...

she rushed down to his apartment, saw his body, lying on the couch still holding on to the phone...

he had a heart attack when he was still trying to get through her phone line....




As sad as she could be...she will have to clear his belongings.. .when she was looking

thru the drawers, she saw this insurance policy, dated from the day they got married,

with the beneficiary being her... And together in those file, there was this note...







"To my dearest wife, by the time you're reading this, I'm sure I'm no longer around,

I bought this policy for you, though the amount is only $100k, I hope it will be able

to help me continue my promise that I have made when we got married, I might not

be around anymore, I want this amount of money to continue taking care of you,

just like the way I will if I could have live longer. I want you to know Iwill always be around,

by your side... I love you"




Tears flowed like river......




"When you love someone, let them know... You never know what will happen the next minute....

Learn to build a life together.. Learn to love each other. For who they are.. Not what they are..."

The fallen Tomato Cart

I pass through this very intersection every morning with so much ease. Today, the
pace is skewed. There is a sense of disarray as motorists try to push past each other
through the traffic light. The light here always tests their agility because if you miss
the green, you have to wait for another three minutes before it lets you go past
again. Those three minutes become eternity for an otherwise time-insensitive nation
on the move. Today, there is a sense of chaos here. People are honking, skirting
each other and rushing past. I look out of my window to seek the reason. It is not
difficult to find because it is lying strewn all over the place.
A tomato seller’s cart has overturned. There are tomatoes everywhere and the
rushing motorists are making pulp of it. The man is trying to get his cart back on its
four rickety wheels and a few passersby are picking up what they can in an attempt
to save him total loss. Though symbolic in the larger scheme of things, it is not a
substantive gesture. His business for the day is over.
The way this man’s economics works is very simple. There is a money lender who
lends him money for just one day, at an interest rate of Rs 10 per day per Rs 100
lent. With the money, he wakes up at 4 am to go to the wholesale market for
vegetables. He returns, pushing his cart a good five miles, and by 7 am when the
locality wakes up, he is ready to sell his day’s merchandise. By the end of the
morning, some of it remains unsold. This his wife sells by the afternoon and takes
home the remainder, which becomes part of his meal. With the day’s proceeds, he
returns the interest to the money lender and goes back to the routine the next day.
If he does
not sell for a day, his chain breaks.
Where does he go from here? He goes back to the money lender, raises capital at
an even more penal interest and gets back on his feet. This is not the only time that
destiny has upset his tomato cart. This happens to him at least six times every year.
Once he returned with a loaded cart of ripe tomatoes and it rained heavily for the
next three days. No one came to the market and his stock rotted in front of his own
eyes. Another time, instead of the weather, it was a political rally that snowballed
into a confrontation between two rival groups and the locality closed down. And he is
not alone in this game of extraneous factors that seize not only his business but also
his life. He sees this happen to the “gol-gappa” seller, the peanut seller and the
“vada pao” seller all the time. When their product does not sell, it just turns soggy.
Sometimes they eat some of it. But how much of that stuff can you eat by yourself?
So, they just give away some and there is always that one time when they have to
simply throw it away.
Away from the street-vendor selling perishable commodity with little or no life
support system, the corporate world is an altogether different place. Here we have
some of the most educated people in the country. We don the best garbs. We do not
have to push carts; our carts push us. We have our salary, perquisites, bonuses,
stock options, gratuities, pensions and our medical insurance and the group accident
benefit schemes. Yet, all the while, we worry about our risks and think about our
professional insecurity. We wonder, what would happen if the company shifted
offices to another city? What would happen if the department closed down? What
would happen if you were to take maternity leave and the temporary substitute
delivered better work than you did? What would happen if the product line you are
dealing with simply failed? In any of those eventualities, the worst that could happen
would still be a lot less than having to see your cartful of tomatoes getting pulped
under the screeching wheels of absolute strangers who have nothing personal
against you.
All too often we exaggerate our risks. We keep justifying our professional concerns
till they trap us in their vicious downward spiral. Devoid of education, sophisticated
reasoning and any financial safety net, the man with the cart is often able to deal
with life much better than many of us. Is it time to look out of the window, into the
eyes of that man to ask him, where does he get it from? In his simple stoicism, is
probably, our lost resilience

By : SUBROTO BAGCHI
(Subroto Bagchi is co-founder & CEO of MindTree Consulting)