Khana, Dostana Aur Party-ana

India-wali Party

Listen, I very strongly feel you should join INIDA.

Arrey bhai my passport, Aadhar and every document shows I am from India and an Indian.

I am not talking about that India, I mean INDIA…Join us. You can get us the insurance votes across the country.

Nahi baba… the day I join your INDIA, I will have ED, IB, NSA and IT at my throat and the online army will decimate me, my family and my friends. Anyway, other than casting my vote, I have no intention of joining politics. Moreover, why should I join you?

You don’t know? I was a junior to you in school.

With that logic, I should have joined movies with SRK who was also a junior…..forget it, Ra.

You will soon be retiring. This will give you a good cause to work for…INDIA! I will chase you till you agree to join the noble cause.

You better chase a pretty damsel and forget about me. India is in my heart and shall always remain there. I am happier with my friends and food. There was an India before me and there will be an India after me. Whether the INDIA you now represent will win or not is best left to the intelligent Indians who will decide in ‘24. As far as my retirement plans are concerned, I am not planning anything. For now, I am connecting with my friends and enjoying the food from different parts of this glorious land called India. Bye Bye INDIA…Hello India as I hop on to a cab to drive to my friend RP’s place in the heart of the Lutyens’ city.

Dilli-wali Party

Delhi is my city of birth, the city of my school, my college and one that houses a myriad memories and my many friends. So today was the day when a bunch of school friends came together to enjoy what was called a Wenger’s Party. So, for those not from Delhi, Wenger’s is the city’s oldest and, for many, still the best confectioner.  Every year my daughter’s birthday cakes in Delhi would come from this iconic shop in Connaught Place. This was also the place from where my father would bring home puffs and patty a couple of times in a year and those were, indeed, big festive days in the house. Started in 1926 in Kashmeri Gate, Wenger’s moved to its current place in 1933. Owned originally by a Swiss couple named Wenger, it was the place where the British bureaucrats, foreign diplomats and Indian royalty went before independence. It changed hands to Indian owners in 1945 and has been serving and delighting Delhi-walas with the best cakes, pastries and snacks. But today was different. A few school buddies, with whom the bond was well over fifty long years, came together and got the chicken patties, shaami kebabs and pineapple pastries. It was just marvellous eating down the memory lane. The taste was as heavenly as it was then, just that the company of friends made it even tastier.

Patna ki Shaadi-wali Party

As I landed in Patna, which possibly has the smallest airport I have even been to, I saw the entire city decorated with pictures of Ra, So, Ni, Mo, La…. You name any and they were there welcoming you to the ancient historic city of Pataliputra. The opposition conclave was happening in two days’ time. My phone buzzed… it was him on the other line… I hope to see you in the meeting in the next two days.

No ways, buddy. I shall fly back to Mumbai the day you land. I am here to enjoy a wedding party and not to be a part of INDIA party…and I switched off my phone completely.

I was determined to enjoy the wedding of the daughter of a friend for over thirty-five years. This good friend came for my wedding in Kolkata in 1989 and then we went for his at Patna in 1990. When his elder daughter got married in 2018, my better half went to Bangalore. He came down from Kenya with his family for my daughter’s wedding at Mumbai in 2020 and now here I was at his younger one’s wedding at Pataliputra. I was joined by two other friends of the same vintage and one of whom was the official photographer at my wedding and the other arranged for a make shift honeymoon for us in Orissa.

On the day of the wedding, we drove off to see the holy Patna Sahib Gurudwara where the tenth guru of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh ji was born in 1666. Takht Sri Patna Sahib is also known as Takhat Sri Harmandir ji Patna Sahib and the original gurudwara was built by Maharaja Ranjit Singh in the 19^th century. I have always loved the feel of the gurudwaras where peace and tranquillity prevail at all times everywhere from the entrance to the place where your shoes are taken charge of by an elderly man with his hands folded in respect, and then, from the sanctum sanctorum where the Granth Sahib is kept and the gurbani is recited to the distribution of the kada Prasad. To me this is the best prasad of all for the pure desi ghee will stick to your palms and the flavour will linger much after you have gulped the manna down.

Now, with the blessings of the Gurus, we asked our Uber driver to take us to the place where you could get the best litti-chokha in Patna. The fellow was so happy that we had literally given him the driving wheel to treat us to local food that he meandered through many small lanes and by-lanes and, after about thirty minutes of driving, stopped at a busy road-side and showed us where to walk across to eat. We asked him to join us as we plunged our fingers into a couple of freshly baked littis with   the tastiest chokha and all the four plates cost us less than a hundred bucks. A look at the food cart had many colourful pictures pasted and the man proudly claimed that his food had won many an award in the Asian Street Food Festival held in Manila.

If you are wondering what on earth this food that originated in Bhojpur and Eastern UP called litti-chokha is, then let me explain.  Litti is a whole wheat flour dough ball that is stuffed with an earthy, spiced mixture of sattu or roasted black chickpea or kala chana flour. Chokha, on the other hand, is a very basic mashed relish made of vegetables like brinjal (aubergine/eggplant), potato, tomato. It is what the vada-pav is for the Marathi manoos and the idli-vada is to the people down south. It is the food of the common people and I was surprised to learn that you could also get non-vegetarian litti-choka. For another time!

On seeing the baraatis dance without the usual jerks and fervour, I realised it was not because they were not happy at the occasion but it had more to do with the present government’s strictly implemented prohibition policy in the city. They took a relatively quick round of dancing and came back to the venue early, quite expected given the heat of the summers in the city and absence of any spirit-ual incentive for the revellers. The marriage was a grand affair and the food stalls were so many and so well spread that the food eaten at one end would get digested by the time you reached the dessert counter at the other end. And what did I eat of the big spread? Litti-chokha once again! The litti here was soaking in desi ghee and tasted even better than the Asian Champion’s stall at Rajendra Nagar in the morning. My only regret at Patna was that I missed tasting a few of the forty types of samosas which one of the vendors near the hotel was selling.

Sonu te Monu di Party

Once more on landing at Bengaluru on the 14^th of July, I was greeted with even bigger cut outs of all the leaders of the soon to be named union called INDIA. At this conclave of 29 leaders, they were going to formalise and announce their grand plans for the big fight of ’24. I had begged the not so young leader of the national party to ensure that cut outs of me did not figure anywhere even by mistake. It took me one whole day to convince him that my retirement and the coming into the political fray would be like the re-enactment of Tolkien’s The Return of the King and such magical and mystical things happened in the fairy tales and Hollywood screens.

I had some time in the evening and called out to my asli chuddi wala dost who has been my partner in crime, love, sport, travel…you name it and we were together almost all days for many years…over a decade and a half. We were simply inseparable! We had lost connect for many years lately but thanks to our blogs, he connected and started commenting on almost every blog we wrote. I knew this was his way of saying….chal dost milte hain…I knew he was working in the Garden City so, instead of messaging, I picked up the phone, scrolled for his number and without wasting time on pleasantries, invited him for dinner. He immediately accepted the invitation. Now my challenge was to find an iconic and special place and I picked The Only Place to eat with this special friend.

In 1965, Haroon Sulaiman Sait started as a B&B called Regent Guest House on Brigade Road. The place attracted a lot of foreigners. To serve them, Sulaiman changed the menu to steaks, pizzas and burgers. One Japanese liked the food so much that he made a sketch of lips smacking on a napkin and called it ‘the only place’ and so the eatery got its new name and logo and is now located at Museum Road. It is now the go to place for those who want to have authentic steaks and burgers. It is frequented by the who’s who of Bangalore and overseas guests.  My friend and I had a super steak and lamb lasagne and topped it with an apple pie. The food was just too good and the ambience so welcoming and serene that you could spend hours sitting there. The food was most reasonably priced and to us friends, who had grown up enjoying chhole-bhature outside Ambedkar Stadium in Delhi before the innumerable DCM and Durand Cup football matches that we saw together, this was truly a grand feast and a super reunion.

Yeh hai mera India, I love my India.

SS 

The Old Monk

Ma, I am coming home.

Why…what’s wrong?

I cannot take it anymore. Everyday it is the same thing. I am done with it!

Beta, you do not get a well-paid government job easily. You cannot give it up so easily. What will you do after coming back home?

Ma, every day he ridicules me in public, shouts at me in his chamber and makes me feel terrible and I hate going to work. Not just hate but I am getting into the initial phase of depression and I fear it will get worse if I continue here. Who knows what I will end up doing!

Why does he behave this way? Why don’t you listen to him and do the work properly?

Ma, I do everything he tells me. I take so much pains to make sure whatever work he gives me, I do it well but he is someone I have realized I can never make happy. He finds faults at everything I do. He is bad to all but he picks on me more than anyone. Everyone calls him khadoos but to me he is a jallad.

Should I ask Pa to go to Kolkata and speak to him?

No Ma, please don’t send Pa. It will get worse for he will think I have complained and I am not a school boy anymore that my father has to come and sort out matters at my work place.

Don’t cry, beta. Ok give yourself another three months and if you still feel you wish to quit, then I will not stop you. I will come and bring you home. Please don’t cry…

Three months, Ma, and no more….and Subodh put the phone down.

Subodh had got his first job in a government insurance company and was posted in Kolkata where his boss, Mr. Bose, was a terror. No one at work liked the man for he would snub people and belittle them at the smallest pretext. Not one person spoke well about him. It had been his first month at work and Subodh made the first of his many mistakes. He sought Mr. Bose’s approval to go to the company’s trials for selection of the Company’s football team. The look he got and the mouthful of volley that started that day and continued for days together kept him awake at nights with the abusive words echoing in his ears. His next mistake was seeking long leave to prepare for the civil services examinations. The football episode repeated itself in a much larger and louder way and possibly the interview board in Delhi may have heard it as well. His third mistake was having written a poem in the office magazine... Keep doing everything except work…Subodh was now a marked man… a pariah who had to be whipped and set right every day, every moment. From then on, Subodh prayed that he would rather be unemployed and stay at home rather than go to office which, for him, had become the gas chamber wherein he had a Star of David tattooed on his face.

Next morning, after speaking with his mother, a terror stricken Subodh entered office waiting for his torture to commence any moment. A couple of hours passed but the voice was not heard. News trickled in with the record clerk Ram Babu announcing gleefully to all that Mr. Bose was not keeping well and will not be coming to work for the next few days. Subodh heaved a sigh of relief…phew…did my mother’s prayers do the trick and save me from the villain? He knew that a mother’s prayers had a lot of power but he also knew that his mother would not curse anyone no matter how evil the other person was. So the next two days went off well. Happiness had descended on the office in those two days but then, as they say, good times don’t last forever. On the third day, which happened to be a Thursday, Subodh was asked by his Manager to take an important file to Mr. Bose’s residence for his signature. Since it was a matter that would have to be put up in the forthcoming Board Meeting, the file with the Head of Department’s signature had to be submitted to the Company Secretary by Friday.

Why me, Sir? I have not even worked on this file and do not know anything about it.

No wonder Mr. Bose gets so angry with you… must you argue on every issue? Listen, you are the junior most in the department and you stay not too far from his residence, so you have to go. His address is typed on the cover of the sealed envelope. Make sure you get his signature today after office and hand me the file first thing tomorrow morning.

Subodh knew why he had been picked for the errand. He took the file from the manager and put it carefully in his bag. He knew that all the others listening to the conversation were smiling and imagining the scene that would be enacted in the evening and saying, like Ashok Kumar would say after each episode of the first Hindi soap opera on television, …”Aur dekhenge Hum Log.”

Subodh took a packed minibus and got off at his usual stop. He knew the housing society where Mr. Bose lived and started walking slower than ever towards the gate. Before every step his heart said…stop…don’t go…but he dragged himself there anyhow. As he entered the society, he saw a small club house where some boys were playing carom outside and others were having tea in earthenware kulhads while enjoying what Bongs are best at…adda. He took out the file from his bag and asked…Dada, how do I go to this address? The boys saw the name and the address ad started laughing….Paaglar baari… the mad man’s house…. Just keep walking around the compound and wherever you hear some madman shouting, you will know that you have reached the right house. Anyway, to save you the trouble, just go straight and take the second right turn and the house is the first on the ground floor.

So the Jallad’s reputation was universal, Subodh thought, and he was not the only one but still asked God…Why me? There were so many of us who graduated together from the Insurance Academy and got different postings, yet you choose this one for me? Must be some enmity from the previous life… karma.

Subodh reached the house and saw the name plate and knew he was at the right door. With a heavy heart he knocked on the door and waited. There was no response for quite some time. He must have knocked too gently for anyone to hear, so this time he knocked harder. He heard the dreaded voice from inside… Basanti, just see which idiot is out there banging on the door as if we are all deaf here.

A middle aged woman in saree opened the door slightly with the chain lock in lace…Yes, who are you and what do you want?

I am Subodh Gupta from Mr. Bose’s office and am here to meet him.

She shut the door and came back, opened the door just enough to be visible while saying, he does not want to meet you.

I am here to take his signature on a file. Please give this to him.

She took the file and again shut the door on his face.

Subodh waited diligently outside the house for about fifteen minutes and then the door opened once more. The woman handed the envelope back to Subodh and quickly shut the door. On the sealed envelope a large white tag had been pasted over the address and written in black and bold…Highly Confidential. He knew what that meant so he put the envelope back in his bag and started walking back… this time there was a spring in his steps. Even though he did feel a bit insulted in having to wait outside the door for long, but not having had to face the man was a cause enough to celebrate. He could breathe freely.

As he was walking out of the society gates, the boys at the club shouted…Obaak kando, tui beche aachhish…what a miracle that you are still alive! Subodh did not mind and smiled back at them. Outside the gate he saw a jhaal muri wala with a big crowd around him. He loved jhaal muri and bought a packet and started munching while sitting on a cemented seat outside the society gate. In some time, he saw the woman who he had met at Mr. Bose’s house coming out of the society with a boy of eight or nine, arguing about something. As they came close, he overheard the boy asking his mother to buy him jhaal muri but the mother said she could not afford it. Subodh stood up and smiled at the woman and offered to buy the jhaal muri for her son and she did not object. As the boy stood in the queue to buy, the woman spoke in Bangla which, in the last few months at Kolkata, Subodh had mastered to a manageable degree.

Dada, I am sorry. Sir does not like guests at home and speaks badly to a lot of people but he is a good man at heart. Last year when our house was destroyed in the cyclone, Sir gave us the money to rebuild it. He has also arranged work for my husband in one of his friend’s factory. He takes care of my son’s education and on weekends helps him with his studies. He listens to classical music and reads books often from dusk to dawn.

But then why does he behave the way he does with others?

I do not know, Sir. He has been taking care of his bedridden mother for the last eight years and does most of her work himself whenever he is around even though there is a professional help round the clock. He himself does not keep well but refuses help from anyone. He is a perfectionist and gets angry when you make the slightest of mistakes. I feel the heat almost daily but I know the man well by now and accept it as part of my life knowing fully well that he means no harm or evil in what he says. It is just that he is incapable of expressing softly and lovingly. It is an exterior he has built up over the years and that has now become a part of him and he cannot change it. He is just like a coconut…hard from outside and watery and soft from inside.

By now the boy had bought his jhaal muri and the two bid Subodh good bye after thanking him. He wondered…the coconut definition for Basanti may be true but how do I enter the soft side when all I get to experience is the hard shell falling over my head every day and every hour. He walked back to his house and at night recalled everything the woman had said. He repeated the same to his mother who said, Bimaar hai bechara…the man is sick. Don’t feel bad at anything he says or does. Start thinking like Basanti and learn the good things he has to offer the hard way. Who knows someday you may get to thank him and who knows like him as well.

Fast forward twenty years.

Subodh is now a senior executive in another company at Bombay when the phone rings… the voice had not lost the decibel levels and the tongue was still as sharp… I am going to Canada to visit my nephew and will take a break journey at Bombay both ways. I will be staying with you.

Yes, Sir…we would love to have you with us. Why don’t you stay for at least a couple of more days on the return leg? I promise to keep your Old Monk and tonic water well stocked this time.

There was a laughter from the other end……Ok, but tell Rachana to prepare my ilish with shorshe.

Yes Sir, my vegetarian wife will surely cook your favourite dishes…looking forward to seeing you, Sir.

Tell Guddi, I have managed to get the Tolkien’s Collection from College Street for her.

SS

Innocence

Mother & Child by Jamini Roy

चल  बेटी , चलते  हैं 

कहाँ  जाना  है  माँ ? 

मंदिर 

वहां  कौन  रहता  है ?

भगवान  रहते  हैं 

पर मेरे  किसी  दोस्त  का  नाम  भगवान नहीं  है ?

अरे   पगली  वो  सबका  दोस्त है 

मेरा  भी ?

अरे  उसका  नाम  कृष्णा  है 

ओ, वो  कृष्णा  जो  B-1 में  रहता  है ?

नहीं  बच्ची , वो  नहीं 

तो  कौन  है  कृष्णा ?

वो  कृष्णा  भगवान  है 

कृष्णा  मंदिर में ही रहता है क्या,  माँ ?

हाँ, कभी  झूले  पे  बैठा , कभी  आसन पे  खड़ा 

वो  स्कूल  नहीं  जाता  है  क्या ?

वो  सब  जानता  है , इसी  लिए  नहीं  जाता 

तो  टीचर  उसको  प्यार  करती  होगी ?

हाँ  सब  उसको  प्यार  करते  हैं 

और  वो  किसको  प्यार  करता  है ?

वो  भी  सबको  प्यार  करता  है 

मुझे  भी ?

हैं  मेरी  रानी, तुमसे सबसे ज़्यादा 

तुमसे  भी  ज़्यादा ?

चल  पगली …चलते  हैं 

बताओ  ये   भगवान  कौन  है ?

अरे  वो  सबका  रखवाला  है 

अपने  चौकीदार  चाचा  की  तरह ?

अरे  तुझे  मैं  कैसे  समझाऊं

बताओ  ना  माँ 

वो  सबको  अच्छी  चीज़ें  देता  है 

पापा  की  तरह  मेरे  लिए चीज़ें  लाता  है  क्या ?

हाँ 

पर  उसने  मुझे  कौन  सा  खिलौना   दिया  है  माँ ?

तेरे  सवालों  का  मेरे  पास  कोई  जवाब  नहीं 

मंदिर  जाकर  हम  क्या  करेंगे ?

हम  फूल  और  प्रसाद  लेंगे  और  भगवान  को  देंगे 

क्यों  देंगे ?

क्योंकि  सब  देते  हैं 

फूल  और  प्रसाद  से  भगवान  क्या  करते  हैं ?

लोग फूल  की  माला  और  प्रसाद  उन्हें  चढ़ाते  हैं  

उससे  क्या  होता  है ?

भगवान  सुन्दर  दीखते  हैं  और  मंदिर  महकता   है  

वैसे  ही  जैसे  तुम  जब  बालों  में  गजरा  लगाती  हो?

चल  बेटी   जल्दी  वरना  वहां  भीड़  हो  जाएगी 

भीड़  क्यों  हो  जाएगी  माँ ?

सबको  भगवान  के  दर्शन  करने  की  जल्दी  होती  है 

दर्शन  से  क्या  होता  है ?

दर्शन  से  आशीर्वाद  मिलता  है 

आशीर्वाद  क्या  होता  है  माँ ?

आशीर्वाद  मतलब  खशी   मिलती  है 

वह  खुशी  जो  मुझे  दोस्तों  के  साथ  खेलने  से  मिलती  है ?

पागल  कर  देगी  तू  और  तेरे  सवाल 

माँ  बोलो  ना  भगवान  कैसे  दीखते  हैं ?

अरे  दादी  के  पूजा  घर  में  जो  हैं , वही  भगवान  है ?

वहां  तो  माँ  बहुत  सारे  दादी के खिलौने  हैं 

वो  खिलोने नहीं, सब  भगवान  हैं 

कुछ  दीवारों  पे भी झूल रहे  हैं 

हाँ  वो  भी  भगवान  हैं 

सब देखने में अलग दीखते हैं

पर सब भगवान हैं बेटी 

क्या उन  सब  लोगों  का  एक  ही  नाम है माँ ….भगवान?

हाँ  बेटी  हाँ 

वो सब सबको  प्यार , सबकी  रक्षा , सबको अच्छी अच्छी  चीज़ें  देते  हैं ?

हाँ  हाँ 

मतलब  सब  एक  ही  हैं , सब  भगवान ?

हाँ  बेटी  हाँ 

मेरे  भगवान्  और  मेरे  सब  दोस्तों  के  भगवान  एक  ही  हैं ?

हाँ  हाँ  हाँ 

मेरा  भगवान , तेरा  भगवान ...more lives have been lost in the name of God than all the wars put together in history.

SS

Eye of the Tiger

I sat through five seasons of eight episodes each of the wonderful serial The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel aggregating to almost thirty-three hours of viewing time spread over months and found my spark in the penultimate episode…. after thirty-two hours. In this episode, Mrs. Maisel’s father, Mr. Abe Weissman, goes to his six-year-old grandson Ethan’s school to attend to a parents' meeting. The principal takes the parents and Mr. Weissman to a large room where she declares that children are working in various groups in line with their aptitude that was determined by an examination conducted. Mr. Weissman walks around to see Section One where the children with aptitude towards architecture are working together to build a model of a large hotel.  The next group of children are the ones with an aptitude for mathematics. They are trying to solve problems within a given time. The third section is where the teacher announces that these children have an aptitude for science and are building a model of a spaceship. 

Mr. Weissman is impressed but desperately looks for Ethan who is not there in any of the three groups. He then sees his grandson running around a table with a wand in hand and some other kids following him. Mr. Weissman asks the principal what is the aptitude of the children in that far table, and she smilingly says, "That’s the happiness group. They do not have any special aptitude but are the happiest lot in the school.” The grandfather is taken aback and asks, "There must have been some mistake in your examination and the results. My grandson is a first born Weissman and each of these people have a long tradition of greatness and fame in academics. Please do the test again!" The test is conducted once again and Ethan does even worse than before and is now consigned to be a permanent and leading member of the Happy Group.

 

Weissman is distraught and returns home where he blames his daughter and son-in-law that they have ruined the family name. He even shows them a hard bound book of the achievements of the first born children in the Weissman family over generations. “They play Mozart by the time they are six!” The daughter, Mrs. Maisel, is unperturbed and says, “Papa, let Ethan be happy.” 

 

“You want Ethan to be happy? Do you know that no great man in the world in any area of excellence has ever been happy? Look at all the scientists, musicians, authors and academicians… none of them had a happy life. They sacrificed happiness for the sake of greatness.”

 

This one line got me thinking. Is happiness an antithesis to greatness? Mr. Weissman’s declaration seemed to be true. Each of the luminaries I could think of, had a miserable and tragic personal life. More important question for me was, why can we not let children experience the world and choose for themselves an area of their aptitude? Do we, as parents, influence their judgements and impose our aspirations and disappointments and expect our children to do things we were not able to achieve? Why can’t we just let children choose happiness? Why should everyone be made to follow a set pattern of thinking and have a pre-decided career path even before you understand any of the subjects? 

I remembered my childhood. I loved to play and nothing gave me more happiness than being outside on the playfield playing outdoor sports. Books and science in particular were things I detested. Yet when I had to fill in a form in class ten on two options for higher secondary, my father insisted that I apply for Section A which was basically for those students interested in pursuing medicine after school. My father, like all Bongs, for whom becoming a doctor was the only noble profession to pursue wanted me to choose that. His expectations were not matched by the school records of his son who was found completely unfit for science and math. He was given Section E which was a mixture of humanities and commerce. Actually, this was the happiness class… except for a few students, these were the laggards in studies but excelled in sports and extra-curricular. My father must have been disappointed but then he saw that his son liked football and history as a subject. He was the man who would take me to Ambedkar Stadium to see the Durand and DCM Cup Tournaments, and he even came to see me play at times. Having lost the first choice of subject for his son, he accepted the school’s better judgement and now wished that his son got through the civil services examinations. I disappointed him on this count as well for not getting through the ranks despite reaching the interview stage on two occasions.

College for me was the era of happiness…. Masti- Kaal, in today’s lingo, where I would go to college every day without fail but not attend classes…. It was spent happily on the playground and college canteen. To just give you an idea of how good these days were, in the final year at college I did not attend a single of class and yet my name did not appear in the list of students whose attendance was below the minimum requirement. Since my name never figured on the registers of lecturers, how on earth could anyone record my attendance and declare that it was short! In the post-graduation, I appeared in sixteen separate subject examinations after attending four and two days in MA Previous and Final respectively. That’s the glorious Delhi University where many like me have got their degrees without attending lectures. Masti-kaal indeed!

 

Is happiness the state of mind we all wished for? You may say happiness is something you get after long years of struggle and pain. Tell me, honestly, if you had an option would you not want happiness always? We justify our struggles by saying that good karma and hard work will bring you happiness. What if it was given to you without any of these painful experience? Happiness is something we all aspire for whether in this earth or another otherwise how else can you explain these small WA forwards some of which I have preserved over the years and used in this blog … each of them with a common theme.

A majority of us keep working and keep at it to achieve greater heights and glory in our respective fields. But then there are people who experience life differently. Recently, during a business tete-a-tete, I met a man who would be around forty. He is hugely successful and is the head of finance department of a large corporate. He said, “For five days in a week, I slog like a dog. My day can stretch beyond midnight at times and I give everything that I have to my work. Come Saturday and Sunday, I switch off and you can’t connect with me. I go out of the maddening city to experience nature and wild life in particular.” He said he does camping and just gaze at the sky above and stars for hours. His brush with wildlife began years ago when he went on a safari where he saw a tiger at close proximity. “The eye contact with the tiger was the tipping point and since then I keep travelling to various parks to see wildlife and tigers in particular.” I sat listening to this young man with rapt attention and felt how much of life had I given up in my so called pursuit of happiness. He also gave me an option of what to do in the coming days when running to and from office and frantic work related tours from one corner of the country to another will no longer be my routine. 

Happiness is calling…where are you? 

SS