Mumbai to Pune - The Journey of a Lifetime

Every morning I engage in a fight and everyday I lose.. a fight against 'Sleep'. Not something very different for a whole lot of us. All kinds of promises made to ourselves as we hit the bed, come to naught when we wake up and look at the clock. Almost never ever have I been able to get up at the time I planned to.

And I must acknowledge us, sleep-loving human beings. Inspite of all kinds of innovations that mankind has come up with, we have always been a step ahead.

First they found the alarm bell. Poor folks.. they also had to add a button to shut it down.... we did exactly that and went back to sleep. Then they came up with the Snooze. We still used the earlier button to shut it down. Then came the funny, crazy alarms (the one that sprinkles water onto you, etc) If ever I get hold of one, I would love to use them... to play pranks on others. All said and done.. my quest for a victory went on...

So one day, when I had to travel, I sensed opportunity.. for my long desired win. That one, very rare moment when I could show a thumbs down to 'Sleep'. I booked myself an early morning train for Pune. Offcourse I wasn't gonna miss my train just for sleep. Finally, came the day and I indeed won. Unfortunately, there are repercussions to anything and everything rite. My joy was short-lived...

I somehow got to my seat on the train and as I was about to doze off, a voice, calm and sweet, seemed to re-transition me from the world of sleep to those of the conscious. I turned to see an old man, dressed very simply, enquiring for his seat no. He had this huge posture, indeed very fit and healthy for his age. He wore thick glasses, so thick that I couldn't even see through into his eyes. His movement was slow indicating his elderly age. A mobile phone hung from his neck, tied around with a strap just to ensure that no one could slip it off. Supposedly so, his seat was the one rite next to me.

I helped set up his luggage and once again prepared to fall asleep. But before I could, the old man started talking to me. This time, he was trying to strike a conversation... enquiring about me, telling a bit about him, so on and so forth. These long train journeys with nothing to do, at times can get quite boring and so to cut through time, quite often, people would get into a conversation with those around. I immediately sensed, the old man was trying to do just the same. Warning bells!!! I told myself... Beware... Sleep is first priority. I kept my answers terse, if required at all else gently nod and give a smile.

But this man wouldn't give up. It seemed he could talk endlessly not even requiring any response from me. He would keep intruding every once in a while, waking me up from my half-asleep state which was now becoming irritating. However, thinking of his age, I felt it would be a tad too brash and arrogant to tell him to shut up and let me sleep. So I listened.

This sequence of events continued for a while. By then, I was feeling desperately sleepy. The overnight lack of sleep had started showing up. I thought.. maybe if I pretend to keep my eyes closed... maybe he will see and understand.. maybe he will stop. Unfortunately the adjacent seat that he was sitting on, didn't help. He would keep looking straight rather than at me, and talk assuming that .... offcourse I am listening. And the huge thick glasses - I doubt if he could see me crystal clear. To add to my agony, he had this peculiar habit - everytime he began speaking, he just wouldn't start.. he would first tap you around the shoulder... which was more like tickling than a gentle tap... one that would wake you up in a manner more reactive than if someone was to throw a bucket full of water onto you. I somehow held my patience.

Over time, his topics became more intense. The train happened to pass a bridge across a river... almost dried up but with some industrial effluents flowing through. He made me notice that and spoke of industrialization and the environment. He spoke of the extreme poverty that people were going through in different parts of the country and which over time, if not controlled, would lead to acute shortage of food and water, followed by a sky-rocketing inflation. For a man of his age, this level of knowledge was definitely more than impressive. While my eyes still getting shut, I now atleast made an effort, to listen. Somewhere, a lot of frustration was getting a vent out.

Finally he spoke of his times, when one human being would care for another. When love and affection were the highest in the hierarchy. Today, he said, all that has changed. The evils of money and self-interests have taken over the warmth of relationships. Families are fighting for property and what not. Everybody is thinking of benefitting ones ownself at the expense of others. The love is all but gone...

The conversation had become extremely pessimistic. I said to myself, maybe he is just resigned about the world, maybe he has gone through a bad phase in life. maybe he just needs a vent out.. someone to listen.

But no ... as if he had read my thoughts and to falsify them, he suddenly turned the conversation upside down and as if getting things to a climax like in a rollercoaster, he now embarked upon his real hidden agenda...

He said, I say all this to you not because of any problems in my life... but becoz....

You youngsters are the Next Generation...

You are the ones who can make a difference...

You are the ones whom we can depend on ....

You are the ones this Country can depend on...

You are 'The Future'

A sudden silence fell upon the atmosphere, a lull, like the one before a storm.....

After a while, he apologized to have disturbed me, if at all, and thanked me for listening to him. He then went off to sleep. I couldn't get any, anymore....

Price is what you Pay, Value is what you Get

Zoomm !!! As the rickshaw driver made his way through the city traffic, taking sharp turns, we swinged from one side to another. I couldn't help, not looking out. We were traversing the same old route from college to train station and I could still identify with shops on both sides of the road, quickly picking up on the new ones.

The occasion was an informal gathering with old friends. Meeting them after two long years and still sitting with one of them inside this rickshaw, reminded me of the good old under-grad days.... made me feel nostalgic. It was a full four years since then, having studied engineering... one of the best times of my life. We would study in groups, attend college fests and most of all, play cricket bunking the morning class most of the days.

But now it was different. It had been a month since I had come back to India after completing my MBA, an expensive one. Recession was still at its peak, stock markets had fallen off a cliff, layoffs were rampant and there were no signs of jobs till far off. In short, times were tough. Life seemed to have come to a standstill. The atmosphere was gloomy, my mood.. sombre.

Suddenly my friend interrupted. It seemed to him as if a small plastic bag had fallen off the rickshaw from the open end at the drivers feet. Not wanting to come out of my now 'Resigned' flow of thoughts, I just ignored it and asked him to do the same. But this guy would not budge.

In the next instant, he was asking the rickshaw driver, if he had a bag along. The rickshaw came to an abrupt halt. Indeed yes. There was one, which the driver couldn't find anymore and he seemed to be grossly disturbed about it. Amidst all this, we had gone a good distance forward and the first words that came out of the drivers mouth were to keep an eye on the bag if we still, could see it. A quick U-turn the next moment, and before we could understand the situation, the rickshaw was speeding in the opposite direction, desperately trying to get to that bag.

Having reached the bag finally, picking it up, the driver expressed a sigh of relief. While I felt proud of my friend, the driver went on explaining how this bag was so important for him. What it contained was... a newly bought bedsheet and a towel - in all costing some Rs 150 (US$ 3) but more importantly, the fruits of a whole days labor of driving that rickshaw.. from morning to night.

He kept talking on and on about it, thanking my friend time and again till we reached the station. As for me, I was feeling guilty not just for ignoring the incident, but for something much more deeper. I was thinking about how I walk into a restaurant and blow up Rs 200 on fast-food (the Doctors have a better term for it - Junk Food). I felt sad, not for the rickshaw driver but for myself.

Truly indeed, Price is what you Pay, Value is what you Get....

Payment Paradigms

Giving in to my extreme laziness as much as I could, I finally dragged myself out of home as the cellphone bill payment deadline approached the last few hours. (surprisingly so, I still dont pay it online). As I closed in towards the 24 Hrs Vodafone Payment Kiosk, a human figure began to emerge, though blunt, behind the moisture covered glass door. It seemed to be a young guy attending the Kiosk, cramped in a chair, fast asleep. He had well-adjusted himself though in an awkward position and with somewhat difficulty, in a place where there wasn't enough to even stand comfortably.

With the usual disgusting look (as to how such employees behave at work), I opened the door. In an instant, he got up, straightening his clothes which had now got all wrinkled and immediately started attending me for my mobile bill payment. His gestures seemed very humble which made me reconsider my early formed opinion about him.

As he continued with my payment, I questioned, "Dont you get bored sitting all the time when there are no customers? Why dont you read something and add value to yourself ?"

Handing over the receipt to me, he spoke hesitantly, eyes still not meeting mine and staring down at the floor. "Yes, I do. I have my study books in my bag." His voice felt soft, as if there was a sense of excruciating pain behind it. I decided to extend the conversation further.

"So you are a student?" And.. he started murmuring that went on for quite a while. He said, he studied in Class 12 (which would make him about 17 years old), would attend school in daytime and work in a nightshift (8 hrs) at this kiosk. By this time, I had already started feeling ashamed for the opinions about him, that I walked into the Kiosk with.

He went onto explain how his family had gotten into financial problems and continuing studies had become a question mark. But he wouldn't budge. So he took up a night shift and would bring his books along, studying late hours when there were no customers. He went on speaking as if nobody had ever bothered to ask him about his life. There seemed to be liveliness entering into what I had seen, only a few minutes ago, cramped in a chair and half-dead.

He spoke further, as to how today being a Sunday he would have to do a double shift - 16 hours (which explains the sleepy state in which I faced him). Slowly and steadily the frustration started coming out. He talked about the weekend before, how he had come in on a Sunday at 3 pm and was working for 30 hours at a stretch, till Monday 9 pm. Reading the look of 'Why' on my face, in a very resigned manner, he slowly added, "the guy to replace me never came."

By now, I had developed the highest level of respect for a 17 year old, someone I had looked down upon, only a few minutes ago. Not to mention how I felt about myself. Feeling ashamed was only a softer version for it.

Quickly bringing myself back into the situation I was standing in, I spoke a few words in his admiration, reminding him, how he was different and well above others of his age and far more than that, setting an example for people who want to study. The deeply distressed face gave in to a small smile. Guess, that was the least I could do....

Fixing a Lock ... and a Life

Having heard about some burglaries in the locality recently, we felt it was high time to get an additional locking system at home, a Rim Lock.

With all the drilling and filing required to fit these locks, it was definitely a call for a carpenter. However, given the frivolous nature of the job from a carpenters viewpoint, I felt it was best to get a run-of-the-mill guy. Now, it is not difficult to find such guys given, Mumbai being termed as the 'Land of Opportunities'. Every year there are hordes of people migrating from various parts of India in the hope of finding work and making a living. A lot of such guys who haven't been fortunate enough to undergo formal education happen to pick up the occupation by learning from others in bits and pieces. I found one such person for my work.

As I got him home, he got rite onto the job, finished it in a few hours and asked me to inspect. While I checked, though the functioning looked good, the alignment seemed a bit distorted. When I brought this to his notice, he started arguing with me (indirectly saying, that as long as it is working, gimme the money.)

At that very moment, my thoughts went back into the past.... the setting was that of our B School case-room, students seated rite till the back, many more standing on the sides, eagerly waiting for a very prominent figure to arrive... Infosys Chairman and Chief Mentor, Narayan Murthy, also one on our School's Board of Governors. The setting was that of a 'Q and A' where we could learn from his experiences over the years. His response to one such question still remains vibrant in my mind and something that I can never forget.

He said that he instructs the Sales people of his company to sell their products to the Client for 105 when the competition is selling it for 100. Astounding silence!!! for a moment everyone was left wondering until he followed it by saying, 'And give them value worth 110.'

I narrated these exact same words to this carpenter. Pin-drop silence. No more dialogues exchanged.. followed by the sound of the drilling machine. He dismantled the whole thing, refitted it a couple more times until he got it perfectly aligned.

He had gotten the message... not just for the job but for his life. Thank you Mr Narayan Murthy!!!

the All Rounder that I was

With a water-filled pot on his head, some five times the size of his minuscule face, he walked towards me with great ease, perfectly balanced. His head looked dusty with the desert dust having caught onto the oily hair. The nice little shirt that he wore with a belt tightly tucking his pants made him look like a perfect little Gentleman.

As he came closer, the pace slowed down. There seemed to be some kind of a fascination in his eyes. Naturally, I looked

like some kind of an alien to him with glares on, a digicam around my neck and a backpack with the strap buckled on my waist. To this eight year old, the rural surroundings we stood in, my native place Rajasthan, was all that the world could be.

He stopped right before me. The curiosity turned into a smile. We got talking. I asked him whether he goes to school. 

"Yes, English medium". Wow, I was impressed. With the variety of languages in India and the scarcity of able English speaking teachers especially in the countryside, this definitely seemed like an achievement, given the importance of English in the business world. This child certainly seemed to be onto something. 

The conversation went further. I asked, What else do you do? And there began a list which never seemed to end. I cook food at home, curry, chapati, rice, pulses, get water from the pond a mile away (the pot on his head), sweep the floor, clean my house, wash clothes, play with my friends and offcourse study for the school. I stood there frozen, my mouth agape, eyes wide open. Seemed it was my turn to freeze in fascination.

Sure, I had always done well at school, knew how to play the guitar and also cricket. Having been to France, where I had to learn to cook my own food, I thought I was an All-Rounder finally and that too at a young age of 26. And here I was, standing in front of an 8 year old, who had done all of it and much more. Not even sure since when. 

Proud of this little genius standing in front of me, my frozen face slowly and steadily gave way to a smile. And while we said goodbye, I asked him to add one more thing to the list of his doings for the day.... something I was sure I have done umpteen times and which he would never have. I got some cash out from my pocket, thrust it into his little hands and asked him to go treat himself !!!

Bus No 132

Her face looked all red, her soft white skin, a little scorched amid the heat of the afternoon Sun and the Mumbai traffic. She climbed onto the bus, looked around as if a little lost, and found herself a seat somewhere behind me. Must have been in her mid 40's and offcourse a foreigner to Indian soil.  

The bus conductor came and she asked for a ticket, "Churchgate". With difficulty, the conductor managed to gather a few english words and said, "No... Churchgate... opposite" The lady understood that she had gotten in the right numbered bus but the opposite direction and immediately stood up and rushed towards the door.

And while all this was happening, it reminded me of my early days in France; when I was traveling. Umpteen times, I would end up getting into a bus going in the opposite direction, confused and lost. With hardly anyone understanding English, it would be all the more difficult to find out. Somehow they would convey that I was in the wrong direction. But the difficult part was yet to come. Where would the bus stop for the opposite direction be? With all the 'One ways', 'No entries' and alternate routes for buses in opposite directions, I hated that part the most... to find the bus stop.

I sensed the same, on her face. As she made her way towards the door, I interrupted and guided her as to where she would find that bus stop. The face that was tense till now, showed a small smile. Her expressions showed some kind of a relief as she said, "Thank You" and got off the bus. 

And I was wondering..... all that it took..... was just one sentence.... guiding her to find that bus stop.