A Happy Goodbye

There are different types of goodbyes. Most of them are hurtful. People tend to think of the word goodbye as an end, but I would rather think of it as a new beginning. Saying goodbye need not be upsetting. Saying goodbye can be uplifting.

As I leave another phase of my professional life, I look back at the happy memories I had with MPS. I recall the countless beautiful reminiscences that I will forever cherish. I remember the numerous bonds I formed with many of my friends in the company. And I recollect how these people helped me cope with the challenges I faced in this organization.

My previous post reminds me of how I started here with a big bang, literally! A bang that led to friendships that I will treasure – always! Chendur, Srinivas, and Joel … the names that will always be remembered for picking me up when I am down…again, literally!

 

I never felt like a newbie in MPS. On my very first week, I found a clique! I found three beautiful ladies who took me in as the fourth corner to complete a quadrilateral. What began as a regular trip to coffee kadais and bajji stalls became lunches and dinners, even cook-outs and shopping trips! Meenakshi, the queen of copyediting, is the group’s fashionista. You won’t catch her coming to office if she hasn’t shopped for a new kameez! A stockholder of Hidesign, she also owns W. She holds the longest notice period in the history of MPS! Ramya, MPS’ dancing queen, is the group’s selfie expert. With her long slender arms, she is the designated photographer using her latest model of Iphone. I had the wildest ride with her chasing projects in the O2Es. Chitra is the group’s Mother Goose. We go to her for everything – from food to fashion to fixing everything in between. She has the biggest heart and a hand that creates magic in the kitchen. She is the person I call when I needed a listening ear and an understanding heart! Thank you ladies, my stay in MPS has been a lot more fun because of you and your friendship.

Having these ladies in my first circle, I quickly developed a larger circle spanning three manager’s cabin and the production floor. Cabin One where Meenakshi and Ramya sit is where some of the kindest souls work. Rajendran, the boss, is my person to go to when I have problems with work (pricing, billing, oursourcing) or otherwise. Armed with the smartest advice, he treats everyone courteously.  Garrish is the charming lady who can be found in Emerald more often than in her seat! If not, she is often seen with her laptop on the production floor. A fine friend who I will definitely miss chatting with. Manoj is the quiet gentleman and a very nice person to talk to. I enjoyed his inquisitive questions about my work.

Just like me, Chitra sits in Cabin Two in the company of men who have become good friends of mine. Thanks to the constant invite for food and sweets! They are the people who would call Meenakshi and me for lunch-out even if they had just planned it for their team! Banshi, my “best friend” is someone who I worked with during my early days here. An unassuming gentleman from Odisha, we fought on projects and became friends later on. Raj is the Pondicherry lad who rushes to the French quarters every Friday evening. Bala is our fish-eating buddy and one who engineers his own water sprinklers at home. I will always remember the soft-spoken Sivaranjan for giving us chocolates for Women’s Day, and for the delicious treats he brought on his birthday. Ratheesan is my team’s go-to man for XML ingestion.

As for my cabin mates, I have already mentioned them in my last post (https://gemmarievenkataramani.wordpress.com/2017/03/15/thorny-rose-in-the-bush/) and I am sure they know who they are when I say, I am every grateful to them for being Snow White’s dwarves and for being the gummy bears of my stay here.

Bosses, I had the best bosses! Nigel who brought me in through “LinkedIn” was someone I admire for his wit, quick thinking, and smart ideas. He was a boss when he needed to be a boss and a friend when he feels it’s time to be a friend. Harrish is another person I look up to for his good leadership and friendly demeanor. He never fails to come say hi to me and my cabin mates when he is on this side of the RR Tower 4. I will never forget how he allowed me to take over his parking space while he searched for a new place!

And of course, my team!! I am fortunate to have the best people I can ever think of, in my team. Dedicated and hardworking, these guys are what I call, my dream team! I will always look back to the happy memories we had. Teena, Sangamitra, Prasanna, Crisbin, and Maha … I am sure we will meet again, sometime…somewhere.

On the production floor, I found really good friends who come to our cabin to bring me their home-made murukkus and other special items for Diwali, share the gulab jamuns made by their wives, and give me anecdotes that made me laugh.

The IT team lead by Anton has been very helpful. One call and they come running to assist my technologically-challenged self! Be it a faulty mouse, a request for software, or a file that I couldn’t download, they are ever ready to help.

The cleaning ladies, the office assistants, and most especially, Saran, our coffee guy … life in MPS would not have been a great experience without your support.

Knowing these people makes it a happy goodbye for me. Months well spent doing my work and earning good friends in the process. I will certainly miss you guys. Please remember me once in a while, the happy days we shared, the memories we made.

And yes, call me for lunch…or dinner…or fish outing! I will be there!

 

Thorny Rose in the Bush

Three shocked expressions, three pairs of wondering eyes, three confused countenance, three men who I hardly knew … these are what I got on my second day (technically my first day, since day one was spent on orientation procedures and HR formalities) at work. Was it a baptism by fire? Nope, it was more like a baptism by a slippery floor and a sliding chair. Rescued from embarrassment as these three pulled me up from the floor, a replacement chair was arranged and I was somewhat made comfortable, though of course, the feeling of awkwardness remain for a day or two.

This was how I began my journey working with a company where I have to sit amidst men in the manager’s cabin. Some may call me a rose among thorns, but I would like to put it as a thorny rose among the bush. I have never been in this situation before, and the person that I am was not convinced that I can ever be myself again while surrounded by these serious looking faces glued to their laptops keying in codes and what-nots. My initial question was obviously, “What have I got myself into?”

Days passed and work started piling-up. I got myself busy with meetings in between projects, trainings in between building my team. The awkward situation became more at ease. I saw myself blending into the system. The serious faces started lightening up. Conversation started happening, laughter fills the room every now and then (when the workload is at its ebb.) Then, it dawned on me that these men are actually just like women. A lot less complicated, but as complex!

These guys may be of the same species, but they are definitely of a very diverse breed. Sitting in the equator, I have the pleasure of tilting on either the north- or south- pole. The north was a lot easier to explore, the south was a bit of a challenge. We at midline serve as go-between. The northerners may be on the same flank yet they are still as assorted as Snow White’s seven dwarfs. OK now … don’t let me get started on who is Grumpy and who is Dopey! The guys in the cabin already know who is who, and they are very much aware as to whom to be carefree with and most importantly, who to be careful of….yes, there’s a mole in the house! The southerners, as I have mentioned, were not as easy. It took me a while to decipher and get to know each and every one of them. But just like the other set, they are as dissimilar as the flavors of gummy bears all in one jar. And of course, I did not want to get started describing who is the orange, mango, or blue raspberry. But then again, everybody knows who the sour grape is! However different they are, however intricate their characters may be, however convoluted their personalities exist, and however complicated their minds function … they made my stay in this company a lot more amusing, interesting, and worth looking back to.

After almost a year, I have established good friendship with them. Over my baked goodies, and murukkus and halwas from their kitchen or native villages, we bonded.  A few came and visited us at home, one invited me to his house warming, another made me a unique present for my daughter, the person next to me helped me with my gadget purchases, one called me for his church activity, and others told stories of how we may have been at the same place and time, without actually knowing each other yet. With the passing days, I have almost forgotten that I am the only female in the room … I just know I belong to that cabin and they are my fellow managers and cabin mates.

Changes happen every day, and our cabin is no different. People come and go, the same is true in this space we call our own.  Some go for a few days on official visits. Some go for a lot longer period as they may have been shifted, in most cases, unwillingly. Some go for better opportunities (there always is!) Some go, because it’s time to. The men in my cabin … as oblivious as they always seem … blasé I would describe them … go about their daily routine, unmindful of the change happening.  People who left are easily forgotten.

In a few days, I will be one of those whose face will be erased, seat will be taken over, and name will be forgotten. Allow me to indulge as I would like to hope that a few of them would look back at the memories we shared as friends, as cabin mates … that there once was a thorny rose among the bush they belong to. As for me, these men will always be part of who I am … and I will ever be grateful to these guys who treated me well and respected me not just for being a woman but more, for being a professional who is on par with them.

 

Chennai is HOME

Packing our bags for a holiday brings in the excitement of seeing new places, meeting old friends and making new ones, experiencing a different culture, sampling new (and exotic) dishes, and shopping for souvenirs. For our trip early this month, the packing experience was a hurried one since I had to work late to keep things in the office running well when I am on leave for the next few days. But that did not dampen the excitement. The trip, though semi-official, was an exciting opportunity for us to see the country’s capital and finally visit the ivory-white marble mausoleum on the south bank of the Yamuna river.

The grogginess of the early morning flight was immediately substituted with elation upon seeing the swanky new look of the Chennai International Airport. The green-white-saffron decoration, remnants of last month’s Republic Day celebration, added glow to the chic look brought in by the recent renovations. The breakfast of idly/sambar, dosa, and filter kaapi gave us the much needed boost of energy.

Red, hot, spicy … the slogan of the airline we were flying brought us giggles as it sounds like a Thai curry we used to have at our favorite resto, Kaidi Kitchen! Boarding announcement came and we embarked on a trip to New Delhi. The flight was uneventful though one thing struck me — this airline’s flight attendants fall below the usual standard for flight crews. Ok, fine … this may be a budget airline, but does that mean they can wear their hair any way they want to the extent of strands falling on the coffee they serve? Or they can be in saggy-fitting jeans topped with unflattering blouses under an apron that makes them look like a server in a local tea shop? Most of them are under 5.3 feet tall (or short!) and with make-up that gives an Indian bride a run for her money, they all looked like school girls trying to crash a party at a local club. Browsing through the inflight magazine, that seems to have seen better days, my husband showed me the airline’ ad for crew members…the only requirement is a plus-2 certificate! I rest my case.

Landing at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, we were welcomed with a pleasant 14-degrees cool breeze. The airport is nothing spectacular, nothing to complain as people dash to the taxi stand in a rush to reach their destination.  Outside is a different story.  The high level of air pollution is evident as soon as we hit the road. Grease can be felt on the skin. The noise made it difficult to carry out a conversation in open spaces. Thousands of vehicles were vying for their slots on the already congested highway.  An hour later, we reached our hotel. Again, nothing spectacular! For the price we paid, we expected better. But then, it’s just a place to crash after long days of sightseeing and meeting friends, so fine.

The first order of the trip was to get our passports renewed. We headed to the embassy where I learned that its is better not to set any expectations from your own people.  Disappointment is an understatement! We did what we went there for, and left. To lift my fallen spirit, hubby decided to take me to the mall where of course I got my bubbly self back as my daughter and I combed every outlet, and did our bit of shopping. The day was capped with a sumptuous dinner at Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurant, a bit costly but worth every penny.

For our second day at the capital, a friend helped us book a cab to take us on a city tour. After a hearty breakfast of Poha and baked goodies, we headed off to see the sights. First stop was Qutub Minar, a soaring 73 m-high tower of victory, built in 1193 by Qutab-ud-din Aibak immediately after the defeat of Delhi’s last Hindu kingdom. We had fun frolicking around the beautiful structures and edifice that reminded us of those we saw when we were in Aleppo. Next on the itinerary was Humayun’s Tomb. Built in 1565 A.D. nine years after the death of Humayun. Inside the walled enclosure are garden squares (chaharbagh) with water channels surrounding the well proportional mausoleum topped by double dome.  Awesome was not even enough to describe this place. We didn’t feel like leaving as there were just thousands of “Instagram” opportunities, according to my daughter.But of course, we had to leave as we had to pay tribute to Gandhiji at Rajghat, and visit the temple built in the shape of a lotus flower and is the last of seven Major Bahai’s temples in the world. The experience was just like visiting Matri Mandir in Auroville but a lot more relaxing. For the next two hours we drove around the city stopping to admire the India Gate, the Parliament house, Rashtrapati Bhavan, and the famous Red Fort. Tiring yet satisfying. We headed back to the hotel before being transported again to the city’s biggest mall, DLF Saket Mall for Japanese Ramen and Takoyaki, and more shopping!

We had to get up early on our third day as we have to beat the traffic coming out of the city to join the highway that would take us to Agra. At 11 degrees centigrade, the visibility was almost zero. We had to inch our way till about 8:30 in the morning when the sun finally decided to show up. After three hours, we found ourselves in awe of the Taj Mahal. Nothing could prepare anybody at the grandeur of this jewel of Mughal art in India and one of the universally admired masterpieces of the world’s heritage. Commissioned by Shah Jahan in 1631, to be built in the memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal, a Persian princess who died giving birth to their 14th child, the edifice is simply breathtaking. A check on my bucket list and we headed back home, yes…after some shopping at Agra!

The last day was relaxed. We just had an early lunch with my husband’s old colleagues and friends at India International Center before heading to the crowded Delhi (IGIA) airport where we could not even get a place to sit and wait. And then we finally boarded the flight and I found myself looking forward to landing in Chennai. My home, wherein despite the recent political drama that seems to unfold every second day … this place is still the best for me!

Faith and Hope

I AM STILL IN ALEPPO… AND WILL REMAIN … these words from a friend and former colleague at the International Center for Agriculture Research for the Dry Areas (ICARDA) linger in my thoughts. His name is Manaf and it was his birthday recently. His wife posted his photo along with her birthday greetings on his Facebook wall. I did not recognize him at once because he looked a lot thinner…a lot more mature than when we used to work together. Then I realized…yes, it was him, Manaf Haman, one of the many good nature friendly people who were among those who welcomed me warmly when I joined the Communication and Information Department at ICARDA. I was half expecting, that just like many of our Syrian friends, Manaf must be somewhere else now. Many of them have long migrated to countries in Europe, Canada, or the bordering Turkey, Egypt, and Lebanon. But Manaf and his family are still in Aleppo…and will remain!

For almost six years now, Syria has been facing major destruction because of opposing forces staking claim on this beautiful land. The President’s army is fighting against the People’s army, and other forces from outside and within.

Aleppo was home to us for two years. And those two years gave us some of our most treasured memories. Our little one attended most of her primary schooling at the American International School located at the heart of Aleppo next to the President’s residence, my husband worked with the most renowned agriculture scientists at ICARDA sixty kilometers from the city, and I made numerous friends from all over the world with my association with the expat group and my colleagues at work.

Our days in Aleppo were among my happiest. I felt privileged to be given the opportunity to live in such a beautiful country. The history written on every slab of its solid walls made me look back and appreciate the glorious times gone by. The kindness of its people made me felt safe to walk on its streets even at midnight. Recalling our blissful days and notable experiences in this part of the world made me realize that those will have to remain just memories … Aleppo will never be the same again.

We left Aleppo months before the war broke. Our expat friends and colleagues were relocated to places like Turkey, Egypt, Jordan, and Lebanon where they continued to function as international staff of ICARDA. A few of our local friends moved to countries in the northwest. But some of them, like Manaf, stayed … armed with faith and hope.

I sincerely admire people like him who stayed to stand and fight for their country, for the land that is their own, the society they belong to, the culture they grew up with, the religion handed down from generations. I am sure it was not easy living with bombs being hurled at the city any time of the day, soldiers firing their rifles any direction they decide to, uncertainties as to where to get the next meal (as most of the big supermarkets would have closed down) or how to educate their children (as most schools would have been destroyed!)  My prayers go to Manaf and his league, that they may see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. I pray for peace to reign in my beloved Aleppo, and that war no longer becomes an option for the Syrians and every other person on earth. I pray for a new tomorrow for all Syrians, and a new lease of life for Syria as the country rises from the devastation and rebuilds the magnificent country it once was, restoring the glorious success of its people whose faith and hope did not fail them.

All photos are borrowed from the internet, specifically the one from UNHCR-Syria.

Mother’s Pride

Walk slowly, carefully. I could almost hear the whisper of the mother as she keenly observes every movement of her little boy who is serving as an altar boy for the first time.  We have seen this little boy many times before, the eager beaver who used to sit next to his mom and dad at our church. Sauntering back and forth, noting each and every aspect of being a server in the mass. I knew he would be one of those cute little “mini-priests” one day. In the opening procession, he almost tripped on his new crisp white long gown. But this did not deter his spirit. He quickly lifted the edge of his gown and followed the bigger and more experienced altar boys as they took their appointed seats to the right of the priest. The mom motioned for him to keep his hand on a prayer stance at all times. She also signaled that he should not smile and be serious. The boy who was keen on looking around was gestured to focus on the mass instead. At one point, I thought the mom would rush to the altar herself, when the boy failed to kneel when it was time to do so.

Sitting on the pew opposite ours, the mom had her eyes fixed on her son during the entire 75 minutes that the mass was going on. The boy, on the other hand would, every now and then, check on her for approval. I couldn’t help but venerate on the sincere bond quietly happening between the mother who is filled with pride (and anxiousness) and the son who is assured of his mother’s guidance every step of the way.

Mothers! When I was young, I never understood where my mom gets all the energy to support and protect me any time…all the time, to see that I am at my best and that I get the best. I can never forget the time she worked overnight to make me a “parol” that won me the first prize, most symbolic category, in a lantern making competition at school. When I went up the stage to claim my prize, I glanced at her and saw the brightest smile of pride. Though to be honest, she should have been the one awarded that prize!

I saw the same smile again when I participated in the “Awit ni Maria” singing competition in high school, when I received my NCEE score, when I passed my college entrance examination, when she came to see my first theatrical performance, when she came for my graduation, when I got my first job, when she first heard me on radio, when she first saw my name in the newspaper, when I got a fellowship abroad … the list is endless. But one thing is certain … my mom takes pride in anything and everything that I do. As a teenager and young adult, my mom’s smile is a stamp of approval that I am on the right track. But of course it was not always a smile, I had my share of “kalokohan” that made my mom cry. I was never perfect, you know. On those occasions, I made my silent vows to behave myself and be a better person, and never make her cry again.

A couple of decade later, here I am seeing myself in the shoes of the little altar boy’s mom. Someone who is anxious to see that her child succeeds in even the littlest things she does and plans to do.

I am praising God because my little one has given us nothing but smiles and we have always been proud of what she is and what she has achieved at her age. The truth is, I don’t think I have achieved even half of what she had, even until now. My husband and I take pride in all her achievements – big or small. We celebrate every inch of success she brings … from the highest honor she got in first grade, a trophy for a sports event, a newspaper article, an award for her painting, winning a declamation contest, coming first in an exam, getting the highest possible score in her IELTs, her Youtube channel, her blog, shining in Model United Nations … the list continues, but more than anything … we celebrate her being a good person – loving, kind, and compassionate.

OK, ok …the fact still remains that I will always be as anxious a mother as the little boy’s mom … afraid that she might stumble and fall, terrified that she may choose the wrong path, fearful of what life has in store for her. Fret not! … says the voice from behind. I say, remind me again in September.

The world may have forgotten, but they have not

It was the morning after Christmas, my mom (who was visiting us for the holidays) and I were coming back from a walk on the beach. People were rushing outside their homes in panic. A photographer friend of ours, on his scooter, drove past us adjusting his lenses while trying to balance his ride. Reaching home, frantic calls from our relatives sent us shivers. A tsunami just hit the coast and it is hardest at the Indian Ocean.

Switching the news channels on, bulletin of the impending series of killer wave were being announced. Tsunami, a Japanese word meaning a series of long and high sea wave caused by an earthquake was like Greek to us. No one knew what it actually was. No one knew what to expect. No one knew how to prepare for what is going to come next.

There was calm after the first wave. People went back to their routine. It was a Sunday, so we prepared to go to church. Sitting at the pew seven rows from the altar, on the right wing of the Saint Anthony’s Seashore Shrine, we felt the thud. The priest stood motionless waiting for the next thing to happen, and then after a silent prayer, he requested all of us to vacate the church and move to safety. Curiosity kicked in the journalists in us. Grabbing his camera from the back of the car, my husband drove slowly, inching our way to a safe distance from the shore atop a hilly area where we caught sight the second big wave that washed a few houses away. The scene was nothing like I’ve seen before. People were in pandemonium. Everyone was in panic, hastily moving in all directions.

The next few hours kept me in shock. I didn’t know how many people were killed, how many people lost their loved ones, how many people lost their properties … but one thing is sure, I now know what Tsunami is and how devastating it can be.

Twelve years later. The day after Christmas, which happen to be a Sunday. Everyone went back to their normal chores. I went to office early only to be greeted with numerous “out-of-office” email replies. Did my work, checked out deadlines, and was free most of the evening. A few colleagues gathered for a chat until we decided to venture out for an evening cap. The choice was unanimous – Besant Nagar Beach for a seafood treat!

A friend and I were the first to reach the destination. Parking was difficult so I took the first free slot. Getting out of the car, we noticed that the beach was packed, there are people everywhere… but it was dark! Gone are the bright lights from vendors selling all kinds of snacks from bajjis to golas, masala peanuts to giant papadums, the seafood stand that we were planning to head to is nowhere in sight. Vendors and fisherfolks decided to refrain from doing business for the day in observance of that fateful day, in remembrance of their families and friends who perished from Tsunami more than a decade ago.

I stood in awe watching them as they offered flowers and garlands to the makeshift memorial displaying photographs of the vast devastation brought about by Tsunami and the people whose lives were lost in the tragedy. The whole scene gave me goosebumps. Palpable sadness and grief can be felt everywhere. A few women were wailing, many were quiet … the entire scene is gloomy.

After a hushed prayer, we went on to join our friends. But I couldn’t fathom the fact that the world seems to have forgotten what happened twelve years ago, me included. I somehow felt a tinge of guilt seeing people like those in Besant Nagar beach who willingly let go of a chance to earn a living, during a busy day at the beach, in order to pay respect and pray for the victims of a past calamity. Millions like me, never even looked back as we get entangled with countless distractions of life.

 

 

(All photos are sourced from the Internet.)

Talk to Speak, Hear to Listen

An all-time personal favorite song of mine is Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence. Many would not understand the meaning behind the lyrics of this masterpiece, but somehow I find very deep connotations in its every line and verse. To me, it is a narrative elucidating a conscious analysis of humanity in the modern world. I especially like the lines:

People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening.

These lines, to me, speak volumes. In this fast-paced world of modernization and technology, paying courteous attention to anything or anyone has become a rarity. People are blabbering without making sense and are exposed to clatters that are nothing but noise to them.

Having been in the field of information and communication in the last two decades, I have had a lot of experience about – and been exposed to – people who talk just for the sake of talking and people who listen in order to talk more.  My world is full of opinionated people whose opinion doesn’t really make sense, in most cases, but because they are in the industry, they are listened to and believed.

WE are the author of what we say and do. Working as editor (of a newspaper, magazines, books, and other types of publications) … for as long as I can remember, I have never had a writer, by-liner, or author who was not keen to see what I did to their article or manuscript. They would insist on seeing their copy before it goes to print. No one is willing to compromise their repute on what is going out with their name on it. It could be the “Sarojkumar” who writes about the neighborhood sorties, the doctor who sends in his regular magazine column on health and fitness, or the biggest name in the field of Psychology publishing a new edition of her book.

Pondering on this, I wonder why people are not bothered about what they say and do in their everyday lives. Drawing an analogy, I would say that there is no difference between something that is published and something that is said and done. Everything is traced back to the person who said and did it. The publication may be printed on paper, but the words and deeds are etched on the heart and mind of the person who heard the words and experienced the action. Ok, there are people who don’t remember what happened yesterday or what was said to them the other day. But there are people like me who can recall every word and recollect how it made me feel.

To me, words are to be treated as gold. Not that I am the quietest of the lot but I try and follow a dictum that tells me not to speak up unless I have something nice to say, less I hurt someone’s sentiment. It is NOT easy at all. There are times when I had to pinch myself and kick my leg just to stop saying something that I am sure to regret in the end. As I have said, it’s not easy! Many a times, I end up blabbering something stupid that puts me in trouble or made me look like a total fool. So, like writers and authors, I vow to speak only when necessary and speak only when it would make someone happy or at least, not feel bad.

Words of wisdom tell us that in life there are four things that we cannot take back. A stone after it is thrown, word after it is said, action after it is done…and time after it has passed. Think before speaking and ruminate every action.  We are the author of what we say and do, and when things go wrong … we have no one else to blame but ourselves.

Listen to understand, not to respond. The modern times allow us to learn and experience new things that would not have been possible a decade ago.  And we are all so eager to talk about it. Listening as another person speak, our thoughts run wild with all the things that we can talk about when our turn comes. But are we actually listening or are we just hearing while busy formulating our own stories to tell? Conversation is a two-way process, and that process involves understanding each other in a way that leads to knowing the other person better. If we are simply hearing the person speak and do not actually understand what he/she is talking about, we are not in conversation. In order to be a good conversationalist, we need to be a good listener. A good listener actually listens. Show interest in the person and to what he/she is saying. Ask thoughtful questions. Follow-up on their responses. Focus on the way things are said as it could give a more interesting view of the person you’re talking to. Understanding what the other person is saying gives an insight on how we should speak in return. And lastly, conversation is not a competition. It is not who can talk more with an intention of impressing the other. Conversation should pave way to better understanding and sustained interest in each other.

Just like with speaking, we must take responsibility on how we hear things and what we choose to listen to. The way we listen can actually give an insight on what kind of person we are. In everyday life, people tend to gravitate to people who they know will listen to them and try and understand what they are saying and not merely to respond and jabber about themselves. Let us speak instead of talking, listen instead of hearing. Otherwise, we are better off giving company to the sound of silence.

The Art of Receiving

I love giving more than receiving. Ok, don’t get me wrong here. I am no Mother Theresa nor am I a rich maiden who has everything in life that I no longer have wants and wishes. I am as normal a person as the one sitting next to me. But I would rather give, than receive. I like festivals, I like occasions, I like birthdays, anniversaries, and even those days people say were invented by Hallmark in order to market their greeting cards – doctor’s day, houseplant appreciation day, secretary’s day, daughter’s week, national hat day, maid’s day, love-thy-neighbor day – I love them all, for these, according to me, are opportunities to appreciate the people and things around us.

Every morning, as I wake up, I receive the gift of another day and for that I am always grateful. Knowing that I have roof on my head, clothes to keep me warm, and footwear to make me comfortable, sure that I have food to eat, a vehicle to drive me around, and a job to take me through months … are more than enough reason to be thankful, and more than enough reason to feel the obligation to share. This is where I am coming from. This is why I like giving.

Growing up we didn’t have much and because of that I always cherish that wonderful feeling of receiving something – be it a candy or a plastic doll, a 5-peso pen or a small notebook. It is such a nice feeling that I want everyone to experience and feel. But then, that feeling can only be felt when the person receive with gratefulness.

I have been reading a lot on the subject Art of Appreciation and realized that we have a lot to be grateful for but we always choose to focus on what we want more. The old proverb tells us that it is better to give than to receive but people are wary of giving because of the prevalence of ungrateful and ungraceful receivers.

Giving does not mean material things alone. It could be time, effort, or simple words or gestures. And when it is given with utmost sincerity, a small amount of expectation from the receiver is in order. Another proverb tells us to give without expecting anything in return … this one I don’t agree. It is not that we are expecting a return gift from the person we give to, but what we are talking here is gracefulness of acceptance on the part of the receiver.  Many are just delighted to receive but they do not know how to receive gracefully.

Gratitude need not just be heard, it must be felt. Saying a simple “Thank You” is more than enough when said with all sincerity.  These two words can connect people in manner we may not understand, but it can pave the way to a more sustainable relationship.  Sincerely uttered, this expression of gratitude is more than enough to give back to the receiver. There are thousands of ways and words that could be used in expressing someone’s gratitude for what they give or do for you. Those simple acts and phrases can actually change someone’s life and make a person’s day a lot more pleasant. A simple greeting of “Good Morning” could lighten up your security guard’s day. A swift “How are you today?” could make your garden sweeper feel a lot more important that he thinks himself to be. A modest “Thank You” to the young man who serves coffee in the office could lighten his heavy load. A meek smile as you send your maid off could revitalize her weariness. Doing these little things is certainly not a requirement on your part but they are little ways of showing gratitude to people around us who makes our lives a lot more comfortable.

Complement each compliment with poised graciousness. We Asians are very uncomfortable in accepting compliments to the point that instead of acknowledging that someone is genuinely in approval of the good we have done, we try to downplay by saying that the person is just being polite. There are ways to graciously respond to compliments without sounding too perturbed.  If someone complimented the changes in your appearance due to a weight loss, smile and say, “It’s nice of you to notice the hard work I put in!” If your boss applauds your impressive presentation, say, “How kind of you to acknowledge that!” If your husband raves about your cooking, say “I am grateful to you for saying those nice words!” If a friend praises your choice of wardrobe for a party, say “You made my day!” If you are still too shy to say more, a simple and earnest “Thank you” will do.

Write it … keep it … go back to it! One of the things I like doing is keeping a journal where I write all the things I am thankful of/for. Some people may find it silly because my list contains the most mundane of things. It could be the beautiful sound of the chirping birds outside my bedroom window, a piece of candy handed to me by my office colleague, an ever-smiling cop managing the traffic, a hand-written note from my daughter, a steaming cup of coffee, a call from my mom, a pack of my favorite garlic peanut, a photo of my nephew, a new mousepad, a scoop of ice-cream that my husband brought home for me, a crunchy masala vada, a message from my sister, a scratch on
my car, an unexpected visit by an old friend. To me, this is life’s abundant blessings that make living a lot more worthwhile. Going through my list at the end of each day, I feel lucky to be in a position where I don’t want to be at the receiving end but instead, I want to be giving more.

Vardah – the devastation is real!

Just as Chennai is getting back from the harsh effect of last year’s flooding … just as gutters are cleaned and streets are relayed … just as homes are fixed and vehicles are restored to running condition … Vardah came. On December 3, Vardah was just a low pressure area near the Malay Peninsula until it was identified as a depression on December 6^th and finally declared a cyclonic storm on December 8^th. But it was not until December 11^th when we get to know who Vardah really is. The name means Red Horse. And when it started galloping toward Chennai with a landfall that shook the entire city, he made sure his name will be etched on our minds and memories, forever.

It was a Monday. I was keen on going to work since Monday is always a busy day for us in the publishing industry. But my husband prevented me from going because it has started raining heavily and the news channels have already announced the time of Vardah’s landfall which is around 2pm. I quickly checked on what our “Tamilnadu Weatherman” is saying, and bang on! He was just warning people not to venture out as this cyclone may prove to be stronger than expected.

I thank God I listened to my husband and decided to work from home that day because as the day progressed, the wind became more intense and it became more and more apparent that Vardah is no ordinary cyclone.

I began moving my precious bonsai plants to a safer place, checked on all windows, and gathered some candles as I am quite sure electricity will go off. My husband and I thought of going out to stock on provisions but then we decided against it because going out, even to the closest store, could be tricky. Thank God for Maggi noodles and Marie biscuits we had stocked.

A little after noon, the wind showed its prowess. The tree in front of our house began swaying in a manner we have not seen before… and as we checked, it was just 67 kph. The news announced that it would get worst, and it did. At around 3pm, I couldn’t take my eyes off the windows watching how our trees are moving wildly. It was like someone is slapping its face from all direction. The wind was moving at 130 kph. Battered, tired, and hurt, a number of them fell on the road as the winds took a break around 5pm. The second spell came, more trees fell, electricity went out, and darkness enveloped the city.

We woke up the next day with the sun peeping through dark clouds. Opening our windows, the sight of those lifeless trees tore our hearts. Wires strewn all over, metal scraps from we-don’t-know-where, broken fences … destruction everywhere. We are disconnected from the outside world — electricity has not been restored, internet connectivity was cut, phone networks ceased to work … and we could not even open our gates to go out! Literally trapped! And so, we spent another day indoors not knowing how the rest of the city is.

Wednesday, I HAD to go to work. It has been two days and work surely filed-up and emails were waiting to be replied to. Thank God for Good Samaritans who moved the fallen tree in front of our house, giving space for the movement of pedestrians and two-wheelers. With great difficulty, I managed to take the car out of the garage. And as I inched through the maze of fallen trees on the way to work, I realized that the devastation is real. It was like Apocalypse.

Along the ECR, some residents were standing on the road as the roofs of their house were taken away by Vardah. Passing through the Taramani Highway, the usual buzz of vehicles were not there. The four-lane highway was reduced to a single lane where v
ehicles had to carefully thread through the spaces in between big and small branches scattered all over. Climbing the flyover gave me the visual horror of seeing how IIT, CLRI, and Anna University lost most of its green covers. Crossing Raj Bhavan, I prayed for those beautiful deer and other animals in the compound, they must have been terrified! Going through Anna Salai, I saw how even the biggest of building were not spared. Shattered glass windows, cracked walls, smashed metal structures, damaged roads, all very difficult to look at. Reaching my office, which is surrounded by huge trees, I was just relieved that I could safely park my car. The building did not have any damage, but the trees surrounding it bore the brunt. During the day, news of people who lost their homes, cars and buses that flip over, damaged crops, missing pets, accidents …

That night when I drove back home, I was stuck in traffic for almost two hours. But I did not have the heart to complain. My family and I have a lot to be thankful for.

I distance myself from people for a reason…

No man is an island, no one can live alone. This I agree, very much!

But there comes a time in our lives when we learn to choose the people we want to keep and those who we want to skip. This world is full of choices and choosing to surround ourselves with people who make us happy is one of the choices we must make.

I was never part of big gangs in school and in college, but I always had a circle of friends who I cherished up to this day. As a professional, we had cliques … and the people in those cliques remain friends till now. Moving here to India, I easily made friends. I have had several circles from every company I worked with. Many of them are still in touch with me and we get together once in a while. Outside work, I made friends with some people who have remained an integral part of my life as an expat here. They were and are still a great help in making me feel at home in a country not my own. Apart from these people, I came across thousands who I simply call acquaintances – officemates, neighbors, mothers of my daughter’s classmates, wives of my husband’s colleagues, friends of friends, relatives.

As time passed by, many things have changed and I made some choices. One of them is to weed out people from my life. In doing so, I have this philosophy to follow: “If your presence doesn’t add value to my life, your absence will make no difference!”

We may come across a lot of people in our journey through life, but not all of them are worth keeping.  I am done being the Nicey-pansy female that I use to be. I have decided to live for myself and my family, minus the unnecessary complications and pointless drama that other people parade themselves with. I have decided to steer clear of all the negativities and be free from all who lack the enthusiasm to live a life of true happiness.

Decades of being myself — a daughter, a friend, a student, a professional, a wife, a mother — I learned that people are different. Some of them can be toxic and they defy logic. Here’s my shortlist: JUDGEMENTAL, they are the ones who have something negative to say about anything that you are and anything that you do; JEALOUS, they are those who can never be happy for you. They mock your achievements and pretend like they don’t care; MANIPULATIVE, they are the ones who make everything about them. They would use all kinds of techniques to get what they want. They make you believe that they are the victim and that we should feel sorry for them; UNGRATEFUL, Oh I have a long list of these types of people. They would pretend to be such a friend until they have squeezed all that you can offer, and then they stab you in the back.

Everyone deserves to be happy, and I am no exception. To be happy, I have to stay clear of people who weigh me down, people who cannot be happy unless they have taken you on their road to being miserable themselves. Weeding out people who never give a damn about how I feel is the first step. They do not have a place in the life that I want for me and my family. They have no right to call me a friend. They are not welcome in my circle. Saying YES to happiness means saying NO to things and people that stress you out. We may not be able to control someone else’s behavior, but we can choose not to be part of it. There it is … the reason why I distance myself from people!