The terror called resignation letter

It’s an epidemic. And it’s contagious. Also it brings along with it other diseases. Diseases that recent study has shown can kill one. Yes, I am talking about none other than the most dangerous illness of all time, RESIGNATION. And that too not by you but by a very close colleague of yours. It makes you feel as if you have been left behind in quicksand and you are disappearing fast.

Its symptoms itself are killing. First when this word is uttered in the company of your group, which by the way is the rope that is keeping your head above that quicksand, you will feel numbness. Cold numbness. Then you will start counting how many are left with you to bear the oppression of stale coffee and bad food? How many are left who see the man responsible for all your pimples and hair loss? How many are left who understand why even the thought of buying a dress worth 5oo bucks makes your mind a super computer (a brain that had difficulty passing math exam in school)

When one is done counting those who are still left to bear the burden of earning money, one starts wondering about that lucky contestant who has won the ticket to freedom. That one person who has broken from the shackles of comforting chairs and a pay slip every 30 days. That one person who just might get up and do what he or she really wants to do in life (that of course doesn’t happen often as once an office goer always an office goer). Anyway there is always a chance that this one person will make you feel like a mill worker for the rest of your life. There is a chance that he or she might become what you wanted to be, but could never ever save enough to say the words ‘just do it’.

Why does this happen? It’s very simple. Office is a synonym for a ‘dead mans world’. Wherever you look around there is a blank stare which is a suggestion that no one knows what they are doing here or even why? That is why terms like ‘deadline’ were coined by corporate workers. It really is a deadline. If you work in accordance with it, it’s like walking your death row, and if you don’t then even god can’t save you. So, it’s simply a matter of choosing your death really. One can either die in peace or in chaos.

And as we all know, those who suffer similar miseries make best of friends. And when one of these friends even suggests that they might just leave you alone to deal with the wretched game of earning, they inevitably pass on the burden of their misery on you.

In the past 6 months, I had to bear this additional burden twice. First time around, I had Bindi (who by the way is the BBC world of network 18 and thus have contacts all around), who helped me deal with the towering sensitivity that I had developed towards my colleagues behavior, after Bharti left. Now it’s Bindi leaving and along with her goes my daily dose of wittiness by Gayathri.

My reaction? HELP!!!! The worst part was that I couldn’t even discourage them from leaving. It’s because I have been cursed with a good heart and I knew that they were really UNHAPPY (yes in bold letters too). So, I of course had to be all supportive and understanding, when actually I just wanted to tie them in their chairs and make them stay. Till I save enough to leave with them at least.
However, since the ball is not in my court anymore, I guess all I can do is wish them the best in life and count the days till I can leave this constant pain in my shoulders and that blank stare behind.

Some of the sweet and funny moments of my life

I was in my ninth standard and had a major crush on this cute guy because I found out that he also had a crush on me. (At least I was led to believe that by my friends) So, one fine evening, after our algebra class was done (in tuitions, he was in my tuitions as well. How else do you think I got through those horrifying algebra lessons, which didn’t make sense even when I was paying an obscene amount to learn them), I walked out and stood at the entrance gate, putting my books away. He used to ride a cycle to classes everyday then. That day, without realizing I sort of bumped into his cycle while trying to put my books in the bag. He looked up, smiled and then did a 'dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge' on me. That is he circled on his cycle around me two times with this sweet plaintive smile on his face. And now the twist in the ishtory. Instead of blushing, I laughed out loud (literally) and shook my head disdainfully. Needless to say he never tried that with me again. But that moment is still one of those few precious ones that I hold within me.

Another one such moment was when I was in my 11^th grade. Three years later I again found myself fantasizing about this really cute guy, who was a friend’s friend (my friends have always been my savior. I never could become friends with good-looking guys on my own) One day, there was apparently a bomb blast somewhere in the city. We were all let off early by our college authorities. Quite unexpectedly, he had to catch the same bus that I had, to as he was visiting some relatives near my area. So, we decided to go together. However, when the bus arrived he got on it, and I wasn’t able to because of the crowd suddenly anxious to reach their places as soon as possible.

Imagine this, I am running behind the bus and he just realizing that I am not with him anymore, leans out of the bus to see what happened. He sees me and gives me his hand, again in a dilwale dulhaniya style, I take it and fall into his arms (quite literally) and he catches hold of me with both hands. As if this wasn’t dizzyingly embarrassing (in a good way though) enough, our common friends start singing, ‘Baho ke darmiyan…do pyaar mil rahe hain’. Times like these I wonder if it really would be a sin to kill friends. Anyhow, it was another one of those precious moments of my life. The fact that the guy turned out to be a complete bore now withstanding.

Harry Horror

This Sunday I had no plans to go and watch a movie. However, just when I was settling down with the idea of being completely alone with my novel, the wretched phone rang. I would here like to add that I have a very strong sixth sense, and this incessant ringing of my phone was screeching premonition in bold letters in my head. Still, I picked up the phone and had the pleasure to hear the voice of a very dear friend of mine. After the much rushed into pleasantries, my friend asked me in a pleading voice, “Will you accompany me to watch Harry Potter?” For those who are my mere acquaintances, please note that I am a BIG Harry Potter fan. The mere mention of the name can get me started for hours. And the sound of those words, by even Hitler would make him a personal favorite of mine. However, if any information of the above mentioned epic is tampered with, it makes me see red and little demons of fury start dancing behind my eyes, shooting little thorny spikes at the ignorant git. To say that earlier conversions of this novel into a movie had this effect on me, would be an understatement.
So, although I was quite sure that this again would be an assault on my memories of the magical world of J.K Rowling, I gave into my better side and agreed to accompany my friend. As we all know, misery only brings along more misery with it, I had another thing coming at me. The theatre in which we were supposed to watch the movie only had the Hindi-version of it. I personally love Hindi as a language not just because it is my mother tongue, but also because it is so beautiful. However, hearing Gryffindor being referred as ‘garud duar’ is taking it too far. So, anyway I went in, hoping against hope that the script would be in tandem with the novel and will at least try to give the main fraction of the novel a lead.
However, not only was I disappointed in that area, but I also had to endure kids who had no clue about the book or the previous versions of the movie and a couple in making as well.
Let me first present my views about the movie. David Yates (director) and Steve Kloves (writer) either tortured J.K Rowling into agreeing with this version of her book, or they bribed her. How else could she watch in silence the brutal killing of her imagination?
The director was apparently more interested in showing Daniel Radcliff as a wannabe Casanova and not a teenager on his way to adulthood, struggling with feelings like love, unknown to him till now. This is the part in the series where Harry realizes the burden of his responsibilities while desperately trying to hold on to the feelings, which an average teenage boy of his age has. In the novel he has to constantly choose between being the 17year old and the one who is suppose to kill the darkest wizard of all. The fact that he kills Voldemort in the next part is a clear indication of what he chooses for himself. The Harry in the movie, however lacks any such complexities and is more interested in dating a girl he meets in a restaurant, than going with Dumbledore to help kill Voldemort.
Why so much of importance was given to Ron and his love life was beyond me. Rupert is good at making comical faces. However, to see the same emotion on his face from different angles, for more than an hour, hasn’t made him anymore popular with me. Emma Watson has once again succeeded in reducing Hermione to a sad looking, no expression, and no depth girl whose only aim in the movie was to crib about Ron and his love interest Lavender Brown.
The role of the potions book, which is the inspiration for the name of the novel and the movie as well, has suffered the blink and miss syndrome, thanks to the director. Tom Felton a.k.a Draco Malfoy who should have been the protagonist of the movie, came across as nothing more than a guest appearance. The story of Voldemort, his childhood, his rise to power and his apparent flaws which formed the crux of the novel were shoved under the carpet. David Yates must be mercifully in nature, for he shot a few scenes which at least suggested that Voldemort was still a part of Harry’s life when he was in his sixth year, and did not actually consume the love potion (which seemed to be on everybody’s mind, on the sets at least), thus falling in love with Harry and sparing his life in his show of love.
All in all it is a movie which can give new meaning to the phrase ‘self-inflicted torture’. Even as I was going through this torment, there was more in stored for me. A few kids sitting behind me were translating the Hindi version into Marathi and somehow they got into a discussion of Dumbeldore’s broom (something even J.K Rowling hasn’t thought about). So once the discussion on his non-existent broomstick died down, a row over whether pop corn is better than samosa started. I was already having a hard time getting over these conversations, when the guy sitting next to me started nagging his friend (whom he hopped to make his girl friend), about her family and life in general. The girl was quite uninterested in the guy, which was apparent from her nonchalant behavior, but I guess was sitting with him because he paid for her tickets. Not that she was interested in the movie. The fact that she talked to some other guy discussing every problem of her life over the phone for the next 20 minutes, was a proof of the above mentioned fact. My loud comments on how people, who talk on phone while watching a movie in a theatre defined insensitivity, went unheard. Finally I had to butt in her monologue and show her my ticket, confirming to her that even I paid for the ticket and that I would like to at least see without any distractions how badly the movie has been made. That shut her up fine.
Finally the movie ended, and I had a chance to give my friend a cold stare in the light outside, which she was very cleverly ignoring in the dark of the movie hall. She looked at me and said that she will treat me to a sandwich from my favorite joint. Deciding that I needed to sit down and eat, I forgot about the three wasted hours of my life and went for it.

One night...

The night that fell around her was as dark as her thoughts. The occasional passing by of headlights sent a shiver down her spine with emotions ranging from panic to relief, jostling for space in her heart and brain. Finally she spotted a garage a little off the road.

There were eerie voices coming from the jungle on either side of the road. Or maybe she was imagining it. Resolutely ignoring the erratic thumping of her nerves she set towards that poor imitation of a garage. It was basically a rag pulled over three bamboo sticks and tires and tools all around. The light that fell on those truck tires all around somehow made her realize the smallness of her frame. The small yellow light glowing inside was laced with smoke of ‘bedi’ and cheap cigarettes. Her smelling senses were sent for a toss with sweat and liquor mixing with piss and grease. Her eyes stung remembering the ‘evening in Paris’, a gift from her father which was on the dressing table at the inn.

A sudden flash of arms and teeth brought her back. The panic which was jumping up and down in her body, quietly settled in her stomach making her feet and arms immobile. With wild eyes she looked at the mane of long dark hair on a high forehead and kohl rimmed eyes. “Are you ok Madame?” he asked, “Is your car broken”? Somehow she managed to mumble, “Down the road”. “Well there is a mechanic here, Raj will send him”. He said something to a relatively small person in the local language, which she took to be instructions towards her car. “Where do you want to go? You are not from here”.

“I am a tourist. I live in a nearby hotel,” she replied a little haltingly. “Come I am going that way. I will leave you in my truck” he said and gestured towards a giant black figure. The sheer mass and meanness of the vehicle seemed to make it much darker than the night surrounding it. The exhaust pipe seemed to be going directly into her heart and creating a holocaust of emotions inside it. Not sure if or not she should tell this stranger about where she lives, she stood rooted to the ground wondering how in the name of god she can politely but firmly reject him. “Don’t worry Madameji nothing will happen.

here are two kids in the back of the truck. You can sit with them” he said and smiled. The genuine smile wrapped with those words spoken seemed so true to her that her fears if not evaporate did subside a little. She went back and indeed there were two small boys there. She sat with them and the truck started with a roar. Those kids sat in a corner staring outside in the night with a comfortable but firm silence pushing everyone in their own worlds. She followed their gazes and stared at random things. Tress, small shops, headlights, stars, legs, moon, road. After a while the truck stopped and she realized that she has reached her hotel. While she was about to get down her eyes fell on s few markings on the legs of those kids. They were moving a little on the side and she realized with light falling on their right side from the lamplight outside, that there was frozen blood on their hind side. That blood was all she could think of while she stood on the curb of her inn and saw the truck dirver leave after passing a broad smile..

Life's about Eternal Optimism

He Speaks in a voice that suggests a rare mixture of politeness and authority, which also defines his personality. His face has lines of experience etched on it and a smile that promises its charm even in tough times. I was interviewing ajai Chowdhry, the cofounder of HCL and Chairman & CeO of HCL Infosystems.

I wondered what is it that makes this man tick? Who are the people who can in-fluence such a person? So,when I ask him, he takes a moment to ponder and replies, “I don’t think I can attribute it to any single person. However, the person who comes closest is my co-founder, Shiv nadar. It’s quite impossible not to get influenced by his charismatic personality.” So, what is it about nadar that influences him so much? “He always believes in looking ahead and has a positive attitude,” he says. Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory, said George S Patton. So what are the challenges that Chowdhry faced? “There have beenmultiple challenges. For example, how do you set a growth trajectory in a particular time? Sometimes it is through organic growth, on other occasions through joint ventures and acquisitions. We have done it all,” he says.

So, what are the learnings in these phases? “In the 1990s, when we went for joint ventures, we learned from global leaders and scaled ourselves up. at that point in time, we felt we are a passionate company. We soon realized that passion alone was not enough and that processes and qualities are as important as passion and people,” he says. Every company or an individual plans for the future. But, Chowdhry has a different take. “you can make a five-year plan but it’s never going to be sufficient. From being a hardware company addressing B2B, we went on to address B2C segment, and then we decided to go for systems integration as well,” he explains.

It’s said that time tests everybody. For Chowdhry it was the year 1991, when there was limited foreign exchange in the country. “During this period, our products were dependent on the components that were imported. So that was quite a challenge for us,” he says. To grow a business, it takes time and effort. To grow faster, it takes more time and more effort. But, it’s imperative to strike a balance between personal and professional life. “I have a methodology by which I detach myself from work the moment I reach home. One needs to train oneself. Despite the fact that you have a mobile and a laptop, you need to keep away from these devices. I believe

I have done a fairly good job in mastering this skill,” he adds with a smile. His smile is contagious and I smile back. Before I could stop myself, I ask him the question that was burning in mind. What makes an entrepreneur successful? “an entrepreneur’s biggest skill and strength is to be optimistic at all times, particularly during crisis. He has to be an eternal optimist. even at difficult times, he should talk about growing and not give up hope,” he says.

A leader is a dealer in hope — something that napoleon Bonaparte said so many years ago. It’s fascinating to know that someone follows his advice even today.

Books, Business and Bhagwad Gita

When I walked through the door less cabin, with paintings adorning the walls and a glass pane overlooking a beautiful garden, the ambiance impressed me. The man who entered after me impressed me even more. Witty, calm and someone with a sense of humor is how I will describe P Rajendran, co-founder and COO of NIIT. An IIT graduate, he can talk about politics, movies and spirituality with as much clarity as about computers and engineering. Reminiscing about his IIT days, he says, “I always wanted to be an outstanding engineer. I wanted to invent something”.

His passion for engineering can be traced back to the influence his uncle, the first engineer in the family had on him. “I was very much influenced with his strong ethics His professional attitude impressed me much”, adds Rajendran. So, was his uncle the biggest influence in his life? He thinks for a moment and replies, “No, he inspired me in a way, but not completely. I don’t think I have ever been influenced completely by anyone or anything”. He takes a moment before he goes on, “However, there is this book by W.Somerset, Razor’s edge. It made a lasting impression on me and opened my horizons to bigger world outside my own”, he says, suggesting me to get a hand on that book myself. I promise him to do that as soon as I get a chance.

His love for books is apparent from the way his eyes twinkle at the mere mention of the word. An avid reader, Rajendran has read everything from Ayan Rand to Bhagwad Gita. “I have marked some paragraphs in Gita red and put some tags on them. I sometimes go back and read those verses”, he adds. Influenced by Howard Roark, Rajendran believes that everyone should have an idol like him and think differently and respect and understand the other side of the story, without leaving the faith in one’s own belief.

Ask him about the toughest time in his life and he replies with a resolve in his voice. The same resolve that got his company through some of the worst times in the history of IT in the country. “I think 2001; the last slowdown was the toughest time for us. India was just starting to understand IT. ‘After 20 years IT dies in India’ was the general story going around”, he says. Someone who believes in the concept of FOF, fight or flight, he fought all right. “We went into aggressive marketing. There were 14 centers and rest franchise of NIIT around the country at that time. Some partners got scared and pulled out. So we went ahead and invested our own money and from 14 we went on to have 50 centers in the country. This reinstated faith in other partners and gave the message that we are going to go on”, says Rajendran.

The calm confidence in his voice suggests that he is someone who knows well how to balance his personal and professional life well. Ask him about this and he asks back quizzically, “I didn’t know the term personal life existed”, breaking into a chuckle the next moment. “I do not believe in partitioning my life in different compartments. It’s all integrated. If my wife calls me in a middle of a meeting I will pick up her call and if someone was to call me on a Sunday afternoon, I will pick up his call as well”, he adds.

So how does he handles difficult situations?“Depth of knowledge about the problem is of utmost importance. Also there should be a sense of urgency in tackling the problem and a laid-back attitude is a complete no-go,” he replies. His body language is a testimony that he believes in what he preaches. A straight back, alert eyes and a quite voice gives an impression of toughness and agility.

War movies, music and theater are things that relax him. “When my daughter was born, she was my stress buster till the time she was growing”, he adds.

Once I am done with the interview, he saw me take out the batteries of my Dictaphone and said, “You doing that to save energy right? I will give you a better idea, take a cloth and put it between the connection and the batteries, it will save both time and energy” and winks at me. I smile back; take my bag and leave, a little wiser and extremely satisfied with the meeting.

A day's deaparting gift...

I was coming back by 492 as usual this evening. However, there were no ‘Ladies’ seat, as where it is generally written that it is allotted for our sex, was painted in white. I personally think that the conductor of the bus believed very strongly in non –discrimination on the basis of sex funda. Or maybe he was just done with resolving the many man-woman clashes over this particular issue. Whatever be the case, I ended up sitting next to a man on a seat, where usually a woman is seated.
Don’t get too excited we barely looked in each other’s direction, and completely forgot the existence of the other when the bus started to move. I was engrossed in my music and sometime while I was listening to some random song, I looked in his direction. He was crouched in his corner of the seat. He probably thought that if he dared to come on ‘my side of the seat’, I might just pounce on him and eat him raw (I strictly refuse to believe that my dead expression was the reason for his peculiar behavior, and strongly believe that either he has a very demanding lady boss or girlfriend, there isn't much difference either way, or else he must have been abused by a woman some time in his life). He also had his bag clutched close to his heart. It looked like his heartbeats were being pumped directly from this bag of his. I went back to my dead expressions and ‘Dard-de-Disco’ (One can only listen to this number if one is either drunk or drugged or has sat from 9-6 in his/her office with three meetings, with two different bosses who don’t see eye to eye. With me it was the latter one).
And then I smelled a very familiar smell for a fraction of five seconds. I must here inform anyone who is reading this that I have a strong olfactory sense. Perfumes, flowers are therefore my preferred options for any sort of gift giving or receiving occasion (those close enough to present me with my birthday gift please take note of this fact and for a change give me something that I really like. Also those who know my address are hereby given a chance to do some good in life by making someone else that is me, happy. :P) Coming back, this particular smell is actually from a perfume called ‘Charlie’. The last I smelled this smell was, when I was I guess 13 or 14 and my neighbor, Jigna, was learning how to make perfumes. She had made this particular one which she presented to me (my mum actually, but she never used it). I used to wear that perfume almost on a daily basis and was very fond of the smell. Anyways, this fragrance turned my attention to the person sitting next to me, as I thought he might be wearing that perfume. This man or rather a boy on his way to becoming a man was fair, wavy black hair with a touch of brown and an extremely peaceful face.
Night formed the background with light thrown from the yellow bulbs rushing past. This contrasted so well with the still image of a milky white face with barely smiling lips, white shirt, brown half sweater and blue jeans. That image gave me my first genuine smile of the day. I didn't like this guy in absolutely any way. I wasn't even thinking of him. But his presence somehow helped me relax. And that smell took me back in time when a whiff of perfumes on strangers used to make my heart flutter and flowers were known to me by their scent. I thought it was the day’s departing gift to me.