Smart Begging

Location: In a Mumbai local train, between Ville Parle and Andheri at approx. 12:30 pm on a workday

Who: Two teenaged girls in school uniforms, satchels, a poster with a photograph of a baby and a transparent and sealed donation box standing at edge of a compartment, facing each other

The Speech: “May I have your attention for 60 seconds. This is the photograph of Shiv who is suffering from blood cancer and we are students from XYZ School (name changed). Shiv requires 30 lakh rupees for treatment, but belongs to a poor family, and we are trying to collect the money for them.

For you, an amount of 20 rupees or 50 rupees is not a big deal, but the sum of all your blessings will give life to a 3-year old boy. It could easily have been your child. Can’t why help him out? It is a sincere request to all of you to please give a small donation to save a dying life.”

The same speech was repeated in Hindi by the second girl.

What was really interesting was that it was a refreshingly new way to have people donate money in decent amounts. There was an element of surprise that helped catch everyone’s attention towards the act- people actually stopped texting on their phones, put their newspapers aside and even woke up from their naps, to lend an ear. Singing devotional or emotional songs by physically challenged was normal. This was new and thus, deserved attention.

Next, was to establish credibility. The whole idea of the school attire- uniform, satchels, two chottis demonstrated that the girls were school-going and were educated. Also, we Indians, are usually, in awe of people speaking in English. The communication was first done in proper refined English- well rehearsed and well prepared to have everyone listen. However, since some people will still not understand, the whole thing was repeated in Hindi by the other girl. Also, there was no overdoing in pleading to make the donation. That would have jeopardised the credibility.

Further, there was an emotional connect with the audience the whole time of the act. Since the girls stood facing each other with the posters, at all times, the audience could see the struggling and dying boy, his name and his poor family in a another side photograph on the same poster. The words used about the same situation applicable to one’s own child struck chords well. I could observe people twitch at that moment. The chosen time was such that the trains are not crowded and usually, the office going people and businessmen still travel for lunches, work, etc. This allowed time and space to understand the plea properly. Also, the child’s name was Shiva, a Hindu deity.

Lastly, the girls set a reference benchmark of what amounts they were expecting. No change of denominations less than 10, even 10 was considered as not applicable. The donation box (was sealed, to establish more credibility) contained notes of Rs 20, 50 and 100 denominations and was transparent for everyone to see and understand that other people are believing in them and are donating a fair amount to them.

Now, the Tata Memorial Hospital is a well-established and well known cancer hospital in Mumbai and there are several institutions that donate money to cancer patients through it. This act was, in itself, not as credible as others. No one would have heard of Shiva before or after this. There was no receipt given and the girls might never be seen again. They may have been true, one can never be sure. However, one sure thing is that credit to the girls or whoever behind this, to come up with this idea using concepts from marketing and human behaviour.

The result: The girls collected a cool Rs 250, one Rs 100 note and three Rs 50 notes in one act that lasted 60 seconds.

Welcome to the new age of begging.

Appreciation

On a regular day at ISB, I visited the laundry room to gather my clothes. While the housekeeping staff was busy looking for them, I just glanced through a mail on their PC. It was from Anushka (name changed) and read somewhat as the below:

“Subject: Balaram’s Reco

Dear Sir,

I am a very private person and do not like people to enter my room. But BALARAM has found his way in.

He is hardworking and dutifully cleans the room from the mess that I leave behind to a live-able place. He even helped my mom, when she visited me, to set up the room and clean it as per her guidelines. He does not hesitate in going the extra mile if he has to.

I thank him and highly recommend him for his services.

Best,

Anushka”

Nice! I thought, and suddenly a realization dawned upon me. I know a certain Virat (name changed) who is often rude to the housekeeping staff. He rather ‘expects’ them to clean his crap, and even fold his clothes and put them in a nice way in his cupboard- a job which might be part of the housekeeping staff’s job description, but is not usually asked for, by all. And might I mention, his room almost always stays in a mess. And there is not a word of appreciation, often rude talk, on the other hand.

Is this any different from our regular work life. A true appreciation from the boss might actually work wonders to one’s confidence and motivate one to perform even better. On the other hand, perhaps smarter employees may never give their best. What for?- is what they ask. Most employees bitch about their bosses, and maybe rightly so. However, is it not expected for the boss to be tough and demanding, and not exactly friends with his juniors?

Hmm… Being a manager is tough, and I guess, I will discover soon. However, I still believe that true appreciation needs to be demonstrated at the right time, whenever possible. Couldn’t find my clothes, the laundry guys might have misplaced it, but I left with an important lesson. Thanks, Anushka!

My Role Model

I was asked in my ISB interview who was my role model. I gave it a thought for the first time and said it is my pappaji. Why- they asked.

He has been a person with huge ambitions and has strived extremely hard all life to achieve them. His early work that required him to stay in Africa and travel to India on a consistent basis has a story in itself. He used to stay away from home for months at end, and one day he asked himself- what is the use of all this money if it cannot satisfy my one major priority: being with family. And he at one left everything back in Africa and decided to start afresh in Mumbai: with a wife, four daughters and a son.

I was born as a gift to him, only that, as usual, I arrived late, this time by two days! I was his favorite, he told me, and played with me so much when I was little. He used to cross my arms and legs as ‘kasrat’ and I used to giggle lots. That long route to Rajawadi Garden from Rajkamal would somehow feel a lot shorter in his company.

He always walked with such brisk pace, that it was difficult to catch up. So once, I asked him panting, “How do you walk so fast?”

“We have to finish all these tasks in 1 hour! Why waste time?”

“But why 1 hour?”

And he bent down and told me, “So that we can save time for ice cream, and return home quickly!”

As a kid I did not realize the gravity of his words. It was such a simple definition of Work Hard, Party Harder! And he always has. He worked till he could, in the share bazaar, till he fainted in the office and was escorted back home by a colleague. And yet he always found time for his favorite ice cream and bhajans and with the family and friends.

Family is above all is the second lesson he taught me. Once in a garden with his elderly friends, when it suddenly started raining, he called me up and asked for umbrellas. I was in such sleep that did not figure out that his friends might also need them, and just carried just two. I reached the garden and handed him over one and kept the other to myself. His friends reprimanded me of my naivety, and lack of thinking the situation over. There I stood, amidst all strangers, hearing those harsh words for seemingly innocent ‘mistake’. And then he spoke, “It’s my fault, I mistakenly told him to get one. But he got two, maybe there aren’t more umbrellas! Here, take them. I’ll rest at his place till the rain stops.”

Back at home, I asked him, “But, pappaji, you knew we have at least four umbrellas, for the four of us, if not more….”

“Yes! But for such a small mistake, they were shouting lots. That too at you, who are part of my family. I was not just going to stand there. Remember, family always comes first and you should always stand by them.”

He taught me to live for the family, with the family and die with the family. Even in his last breaths, he wanted the whole family beside him. Five children, and nine grandchildren he has seen, played with and raised, and started life in a 1BHK flat at Rajkamal.

He taught me to be passionate. You should see his eyes light up when he used to work. And also when we had ice cream. It was the quest to prove him my capability that I used to learn pressing his legs and head and improvise by learning acupressure and use of fingers.

He taught me to be letting go, and go easy on others’ mistakes. Shares worth lakhs had been disposed of as ‘raddi’ as a mistake by mummyji. After some searching and hard work, he forgot about it with a smile. “Bygones are bygones, Devu”, he told me, “There is no point pondering over it.” I went to B school and learnt the very concept of ‘Sunk cost’ which he had taught me 10 years ago.

He has lived his life to the fullest, seen generations grow under him, seen both great times and torrid and deserves rest and peace.

I would have liked to press his head and legs one last time, and hearing from him, “You have improved, as always. Getting better. Good job!” I tried to that, but he did not say it. I tried a little harder, a different technique, went a step further. But there was no reaction. I didn't cry, he would have wanted me to not do that in front all. I realized he is gone.

But here, I promise you, pappaji- your principles, your values and whatever you have taught me, will stay with me. Always. And I will keep improving, and try, albeit I know in vain, but still try, to become like my role model. Like you.

So Why Dream?

“Don't stop chasing your dreams, because dreams do come true.”

- Sachin Tendulkar

And how many don’t?

According to the traditional Indian norms, every child born is given a name by their parents based on some great personality, some God, something holy with a dream that he will justify the name when he grows old. He is raised with love, care and a hope that he is brought to this world to make it even more beautiful. It is not easy. For nine months, the mother bears him in her womb, undergoes extreme pain and gives him birth, the father toils hard in the field, under the wrath of the hot sun- a little more effort, a little more sacrifice and our dream will come true. And then one day, they see a news channel flashing about the death of his child.

People are ambitious. People have dreams- once, I will become a millionaire, I will run my own firm, I will bring the world an innovative gift in the future. They work hard. Study hard. Get a job and work till late hours. And then after a satisfied day, one inch closer to their long term goal, travel home. And get raped. Scarred for life.

So why dream? Won’t the burden of carrying your dead son’s corpse be lighter if you didn’t dream? Won’t the brutalities and mental torture be less severe had you stayed at home, and not worked so hard? Has one thought how many Sachin Tendulkars’ and Indra Nooyis’ dreams in the making were broken abruptly? What is the point, truly, to have these growth rates and numbers, GDPs and revenues, pride and honour, if one can’t protect innocence and avoid wrong?

And what’s your fault, anyway? Going to school? Working hard to raise your child? Becoming self-dependent, and chasing your goals? Dreaming? Why? To see them shattered? Don’t.

PS: Context:
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-30491435
http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/delhi-uber-cab-rape-case/article6675680.ece
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape

The Prisoner’s Life

On my visit back to Mumbai taking a short break during my MBA, I saw my school’s bus, picking up kids to school. I smiled thinking I must be just like one of them, many many years ago. A small boy was being helped by his dad to climb the stairs of the bus. He turned around and with a small tear around his eye bid him bye. The father, around about 35, gave him a flying kiss and started off to his office on his scooter. It was certainly, if I may term, not a happy feeling for both of them to be apart from each other, particularly the kid. Well, that’s the way a typical human life will be- school, college, then masters, then getting settled and working hard and sending his kids to school to continue the cycle! But why?

During a recent debate at ISB on Gross Domestic Product vs Gross National Happiness as a measure of a nation’s prosperity, it was firmly established that happiness is important. The parties had different views on the measure itself, but both accepted one fact, that all the money that one earns is 'assumed' to get one, happiness. So, why sacrifice happiness to work hard and ‘not be happy’ for a major part of life? Won't the availability of just the primitive needs of food, clothing and shelter suffice?

I always toyed with the idea that if human beings had chlorophyl in their blood, they could make their own food, and do nothing more. Laze around in the sun and be truly free- like the myriad of birds I see around. But say, in theory, everyone gets the amount of food, as much shelter and clothing that is required; will it work?

At another time in ISB, I was preparing my resume. It was as simple as it could be, to the point and as per relevance to my past work experience and achievements. As expected by many others, it was outright rejected in the first review. The reason was that that was not how it is to be written. It needs to be blown out of proportions with ‘gas’. It is a popular joke that the amount of savings and earnings that all students at ISB have achieved, would be greater than India’s GDP! One thing was clear- from our economics learning- if one person does it, all have to do it, else it will be perceived as inferior. Further, the companies know this. So over a period of time, they anyway perceive the person a little less capable than what the resume shows. So everyone has to jack up one’s resumes, even further.

So, in the pursuit of being the best, the child needs to go to the best school, to beat everyone else. But everyone else follows. So, he takes up higher education. But everyone else follows. So he will inflate resumes, and get a great job. But everyone else follows. So he will work still harder, sacrificing those little things that bring him happiness. But everyone else still follows.

What is this life then? Another classic case of the Prisoners’ Dilemma! Oh MBA! What have you done to me?

Want versus Need

                                            Abhinav Bindra, India’s 10 m Air Rifle Champion

-          2000 Sydney Olympics: Lost in qualifying. Ended eleventh.

-          2004 Athens Olympics: Scored 597 in qualifying (599- Olympic record). Ended seventh.

-          2008 Beijing Olympics: Gold Medal. India’s first individual gold medal in Olympics.

-          2012 London Olympics: Lost in qualifying. Ended sixteenth.

“In my mind I had a medal in 2004, but I didn’t have anything to show for it. I went back with a vengeance (to Beijing in 2008): I wanted to show I could do it. I was desperate.

“In London (2012 Olympics), I was relaxed, composed and calm. Theoretically it should have worked well. But it doesn’t work that way. You have to have rage. You have to be desperate. A part of your mind will be anxious, fearful….

“In Beijing I needed it. In London I wanted it. There is a difference. ….But that’s the difference between going a little bit further.”

It’s truly commendable how everything changes when the desires change from a backdrop of want to need and vice versa. Consider a scenario when you participate in a running race and another when you are being chased by a predator. In which case will the timing be faster? Given a task to two individuals with similar skill set, one of them rich and well-settled and another poor and hungry since days, who will win the loaf of bread as the prize? And when do you perform your best – when you already have something worthwhile in hand or when you have nothing?

So, is desperation good? Is the fear of losing an extremely vital- if not essential, entity towards the path of success? Or it’s always a calm mind that makes sensible decisions that lead one towards the ultimate goal? Or is it situational? And on what basis?

I leave the questions open to all. Your inputs are most welcome. Till then, enjoy my favorite scene from the 2012 movie, The Dark Knight Rises.

Mumbai Local

When I think of Mumbai and its wonders, it is very difficult to avoid the Mumbai local train. With 7.24 million daily commuters, amounting to 2.64 billion annually, it is truly the lifeline of Mumbai. One day’s disruption of its services during Mumbai’s atrocious monsoon leads to several empty offices and huge opportunity losses. All through these years, I have had a gamut of experiences which I share here.

My First Swear!

I would be 7 then, when my parents and I had to travel to Borivali. We took two full and one half tickets and were waiting for a train at Ghatkopar station. At that time, I realized that there was a separate ladies’ compartment, which Mom would board. She asked me to join her. I refused- “I am a boy. I can’t travel in ladies’ dubba!” She smiled. I would soon realize the reason behind the smile. As Dad and I stood, a crowded local arrived. My Dad, being him, tried to board it [missing a train would hurt his ego (something which is probably in my genes!)].

Ok, the train was crowded, but not as crowded as the picture above. However, I was so tiny that as I stood, I could barely breathe and had to jump to gather some air. “How many stations”, I asked. “5!” Kurla gave me a few seconds to breathe, but it was short-lived, as more people got in than got out! I started sweating. No air. Like a little warrior, I pushed people aside to make some space, but in vain. And in midst of all this, one man stamped on my foot, and I uttered the then unthinkable, “Saale! Kutte!!"

I quietly followed my Mom into a ladies’ compartment at the changeover of trains at Dadar!

“Pudhil Station: Ghatkopar….

Agla Station: Ghatkopar….

Next Station: Ghatkopar”

-         -  Oh!! Shut up!!!

I know many of you would have slowed down and recited the above lines in the typical sing song way it is announced in trains! It’s irritating, agreed, but yeah, useful. But I don’t understand why the same station is differently named in the three languages- Vandre, Bandre and Bandra, the last one pronounced as Ban-draa, almost with an accent! Also, the platform announcements about delay/ cancel of trains is only in Marathi. So, some foreigner who wishes to travel independently and waits for a train scheduled at 5:07 will never know it is delayed. But then, the Railways will ask me two questions:

1      Why the hell will a foreigner risk travelling alone in Mumbai trains? He’ll either be robbed, or will never dare board the train!

2       Has the 5:07 ever arrived at 5:07? He can catch the next one!

Cheating!

Ok! This one I have observed personally and regularly. I was once waiting for a fast train to Thane, when there was a platform announcement (in Marathi only, of course) that a slow train to Thane is arriving shortly on another platform. Now, the difference between the travel time of a fast train and a slow train is merely 10-15 mins. But these are 10-15 mins of a Mumbaikar’s life! So I inferred from the announcement that the fast train might be delayed and it’s better to catch the slow one. I climbed up some 30 stairs to the bridge, climbed down 30 stairs to the other platform and what do I see? The fast train had arrived! And the slow train arrived a good 10 mins later. 

What the @#$*! 

At another instance, when a friend and I were waiting for a fast train, a similar announcement was made. He asked me to change the platform. I asked him to hold his ground. 2 mins passed. He got fidgety. He almost climbed up 10 stairs and literally pleaded with me to change my mind, as we were getting late. And then, Voila! The fast train arrived first! 

You may be smart, Miss Platform Announcer, but experience makes one smarter!

Virar fast

My love with fast trains landed me on a Virar fast once, when I wanted to reach Borivali. So there is an unsaid understanding for the Virar fast- the long distance train stops at fewer stations and saves a helluva lot of time for people boarding from Borivali. So if you were to alight at Borivali, better board a train whose last stop is Borivali, as such a huge number of people board the Virar fast at Borivali that it is virtually impossible to alight there.

Naturally, I didn’t know this! “Borivali, which side”, I asked a guy, who twisted one of his eye brows and reverted, “Want to get down at Borivali? This is Virar Fast! Get down at Virar!” 

Me, “???” 

And then he explained me the situation. So what did I do? I made the cutest puppy face I could, brought small tear droplets to my eyes and pleaded to be allowed a chance to get down! I stood right at the door, as Borivali approached. Loads of people waiting for this train. Shit! I jumped out when the train reached a comfortable slow pace, but still running. Moments later, I gathered myself and my twisted glasses, reached out to my pocket to see if my wallet was in place. And it suddenly dawned upon me- I had done the impossible!!

Disclaimer: These stunts are performed by people riding on mere luck. Please do not try this!

Ticketless Travelling. Really?

I love fast trains! Not this time, though… A friend and I ran and caught a fast train at Dadar towards Dombivali and had bought tickets to Ghatkopar. Now, usually fast trains stop at Ghatkopar. This one didn’t. We realized it, when the word after ‘Pudhil station’ was Vikhroli instead of Ghatkopar. (Ya! I actually prayed that Agla Station and Next Station were followed by Ghatkopar, but weren’t.)

We helplessly saw ourselves zoom past Ghatkopar station and alighted at Vikhroli. The station master caught my friend and asked for his ticket. Now, he asked just him while I was quietly walking past, as swiftly as I could, when the little Einstein called me, “Devarsh! The TC is asking for ticket.” 

Me: “……”! 

We paid a fine of 200 rupees, as the TC wouldn’t listen to our ‘story’, despite me explaining him that if we truly intended to travel ticketless, why the hell will we buy tickets till Ghatkopar as well? Sigh! I’ll never forgive the two!

Amazements!

The Mumbai local is an epitome of efficiency. An unbelievable number of people stand on a 5 feet 6 inch width’s space. The three-seater bench is almost always occupied by at least four people, the fourth guy saying, “Thoda baaju jao na!” and placing half his ass on the seat.

Mumbai local has taught me how to sleep while standing; there is no space for you to fall! There are advantages as well: you don’t wear any perfume before travelling and would smell of at least three different perfumes when you get down. Getting down, despite being in a crowd compartment, isn’t a problem though- just ask the guy in front, “Utarna hai?” and ask the guy behind you- a typical affirmative answer will translate to “Utaar denge tumhe!” 

The railway station is also a primary address for many singing beggars, coolies and shoe-polishers, not to forget pickpockets, typically thriving on mobiles, chains and wallets. But hey! If caught, the Mumbai crowd vents out its frustration of the delayed train on them vehemently.

It’s truly an experience travelling in the Mumbai local. Witnessing a Hindu and Muslim in an almost hugging posture, the relationship of wave-buddies who know each other just because they travel in the same train and same compartment every day, the interest unknown by-standers show on your cell-phone game while secretly praying you win, the representation from almost every strata of the society – beggars to mill workers to students to job-owners to businessmen in a single compartment is really unique

Mumbai Locals show you struggle, help you understand the value of time, make you realize how small you are in the scheme of things, ultimately teaching you the way of living life. 

I love you, Mumbai Local! Muah to you!!
Uggh! What’s that taste?
Tobacco? 
Yuck! I hate you!!