Honesty that is never lost

I lost my pouch.  It had my bank debit card, two credit cards, my PAN card, driver’s license, my car registration card, and my library card.  I do not remember how or where exactly I lost it.  Perhaps at a Chennai restaurant where I used my credit card last.  I had breakfast and spent some time with my college mate – we’ve been friends for almost 35 years. Or perhaps it fell off somewhere else on my way back – I just can’t remember.

I realised I lost it when I looked for it just before catching a train, a good 12 hours later.  Within a few minutes the entire family searched for it and it dawned on me that I had clearly lost it and not misplaced. I had to postpone my trip.  The restaurant guys were helpful but then they had not found the pouch.

The usual routine followed.  I called the bank, the credit card providers and blocked all cards. I was dreading debit notice notifications – none arrived. I somehow had an inkling that the cards did not find its way to the wrong hands.  India is now a digital country and your date of birth, address and card numbers are all you need to hijack any person’s identity and finances.

I waited for a fortnight to allow things to cool down.  And then started the process to get new/duplicate cards. Just as I returned from applying for a fresh PAN card, I got a call.  The guy identified himself as Chetan and after having confirmed my identity, told me that he had the cards.

And, apologised for the delay in calling me (one day).

With all the details that I had lost, the one thing that was not available was my phone number and he called me with that!  Though my search ended with the loss of the cards – the cards took on their own journey.

He got the pouch as a courier from Chennai to his office address in Bangalore.  I have no clue who exactly found my pouch nor why he chose to send it to an unknown person in Bangalore.  Chetan had no clue either.  It had come with no information and no notes.  He enquired with his boss who knew nothing.  He then wrote to a common group id from where the package had arrived to get a response that they knew nothing about it.  I think we will let that remain an enigma.

Chetan did not send it directly to the address as he wasn’t sure if the address was still the valid one.  Later, he visited the library and found it closed.  And when he called their main office, they refused to give my phone number citing privacy.  He had to give the card number and explain to them that he wanted to return the card to me.  The library saw the point and obliged with my number.  And then Chetan called me.  After a couple of days, he came home and delivered the card.  All intact.  Hope, very soon, he will get to see a miracle as well.

That made me recollect my own experience.  While on a journey by train a few years ago, I found a purse in the toilet.  It had money and all the cards.  Fortunately, I could find a visiting card with his number.  I called him and later couriered the purse to his house.

Maybe one good deed deserves another.  There are things you lose but honesty is not one of them.

The same story with Comma

I had earlier written this and here is how it appears in comma

Comma - a simple way to convey your idea

Comma

If you can tell a story with comma — in such simple sentences and words, then you really have a story. Here is one to look at my first dig. Let me know what you think.

Sunshine of opportunity

The men from the ivory tower,

whose heads are filled with power,

Look down on me with all impunity

and say, why do I have to give you this opportunity.

The place is not for scums like you,

Old and battered, who can’t take a cue.

Muddled minds where sparks that no longer fly,

with forsaken eyes that can no longer cry.

The muscle, the power, the speed,

can never be beckoned on need.

The beauty, the color, the sharpness,

can never be brought to harness.

When the sun shines, it lights the sparks,

Makes me sharp to take on the sharks.

With eyes that can see further than yonder,

To grasp the world and appreciate her wonder.

The rays embrace me with all colors of the hue

That can make me bright and shiny to view

That gives me the strength to face with all my might

Opportunity, is wherever I set my sight.

The art of giving

A foreigner visits India and on a winter night she spots a beggar, cold and shivering. She gives her jacket to him.

The beggar smiles and asks, “Are you happy?” She is a bit taken aback with this question and answers, “Of course, I am happy.”

The beggar then asks, “How long will you be happy?”

She now thinks and responds, “I am happy now, when I give this to you and will feel happy whenever I think of this incident.”

Now he looks at her and asks, “ Why do do this?”. This catches her off guard and she just thinks a bit, trying to find an answer.

He waits for a while and says, “Your happiness in feeling good for having given something to someone who wants it more than you do, is greater than the happiness I get in receiving this gift from you.”

She now sits down in front of him. He continues, “True happiness is when the receiver’s happiness is more than the giver’s happiness”.

And gives a practical tip, “Happiness in giving stuff is, no doubt, necessary and it is only because of you that I am warm. However, this happiness is temporary. Never give stuff or money or resources that may solve a problem for that moment. You will soon run out of it.”

He looks at her eye and says, “Be selfish — give what you have and never run out of. Time and effort. That gives true happiness to both the giver and the receiver.”

While she looked on — he wears the jacket and lies down all curled up.

Proud of my Dad

The story in the Park

When I was a kid, I liked playing alone. I do not need to have friends, no games, no tools — I can just play all by myself. Go to the park, fiddle around, collect odd stuff and so on.

So one day, I was in the park near my home and playing. I was swinging on a bar. I suddenly noticed a bunch of other kids coming towards me — first I ignored but then they started harassing me. I tried to protest but then the shower of blows caught me by surprise. If no one can beat me in something — it was running. I just flew and escaped. The only thing that caught up with me was my dented pride.

I sulked back into the house, recovering from the blows and trying to cover up my lost pride for having run away from the field.

There was another surprise when I reached home. Dad was already in — oops it was a saturday. He immediately asked me what was wrong. I tried to say nothing but the swollen lips gave me away. And then he repeated in a stern voice. That was just too much for me and tears rolled down my cheeks with my pride taking a further nose dive.

I told him.

He said, “Let’s go”. I tried to protest saying the bullies would be gone. But then my father insisted. He was already on the street when I ran started running behind him. As we reached the park, the guys were still hanging around. I can never forget what happened next. My dad shouted at the top of the voice and sprinted towards the bullies. It was a sight seeing those kids take flight and then they saw me behind my dad.

When the kids ran away, my dad just went back home and did not even look at me. I did not look at him either — I had already started swinging again on the bar. I came back home much later that day with harder, faster swings and enjoying more than usual.

That day I was proud of my dad and since then I’ve felt and still feel that he is the strongest, bravest and the most courageous man — ever.

The Security Tangle

Can someone explain this to me.

Just for putting through a non financial transaction (website accessed through a desktop), I need to have an already registered e-mail id in which I will receive a mail with a pdf attachment that can be opened with a password (in all caps) which is a combination of two different pieces of information (half of pan card and half of birthdate) that needs to be opened in 45 minutes and the transaction is completed when I give this pin in the transaction within a web page that closes automatically while you wait for the mail (whew).

Can’t they send the pin to the registered mobile?

The Moon Walk

Watching the Moon walking with me through the thickets and clearings; Along the clatter of the fast moving train one understands her benevolence much against her nonchalant bemuse.

The patches of clouds seem to eat her alive and only one has to see closely that she brings out the rainbow of grays.

The palms and neems and tamarind try to close her with their hands only to realise she brings out the resplendent beauty of the night trees.

The lightning seem to out shine her and shows the tempest with loud thunder only when the moment passes do you realise the calm beauty of the soothing moonshine.

The very earth rises up as mountains to cover her up.

Only to see the light seething through the rocks against a grand moon rock.

The flickering lights from the kitchen seem to mar the beams and yet she shines through the window to show the beauty of the lady cooking.

The fast moving train seems to outrun the moon and yet there she is in the station next.  And so my friend, what seems and what is are two different things. Be the Moon that shines and adds beauty however ugly the life journey is.

Budget Battlers

This is one of the craziest stories I’ve ever heard.

Let’s call our man Bud. He manages his finances like a man walks his dog. (The man while he thinks he is walking the dog, in reality what the dog thinks is right — I am taking my master for a walk).

Bud is very strict with his budgeting and never allows any expense to overshoot his budget. NEVER. If he has a wish, first it becomes part of a wish list, progresses as a budget item, money gets saved on a monthly basis till the budgeted amount is achieved and then he buys it. Woe befall any item whose cost increases anytime during the save period.

Bud, after a due diligence and financial assimilation, gets married.

He has a little problem though. He had a single bed.

While his wife slept on the floor, an item gets added to his wish list. In due course, it gets added to the budgeted list and his savings begin and ends successfully after a year. He had the money now.

So he goes ahead and buys his budgeted item — another single cot.

He brings it home and sets this beside his other single cot. Wow — all fine except for a small flaw. The beds were now of different heights.

Bud is now trying to make amends with his second wife.

Heads I win, Tails you lose

Glass jar with lid gets me slapped — twice

I must have been around six or seven, I think. All of us in the family were sitting for dinner and we had just begun. My mom asked me to pass the ghee (clarified butter) that was in a glass jar. Even as I lifted it, the glass jar slipped and shattered to pieces on the hard granite floor — even as I was left holding the lid securely in my hand.

The next thing I realized was the clatter of my jaw bones from a slap that came like lightning from my dad. It was so fast that I could not even see his backstroke — he did not give me time to brace myself.

He lifted his index finger and said — “Never lift a glass jar by the lid”.

The slap was hard and the lesson learnt for my lifetime — I have never done it again — whether it is glass or not.

Fast forward a few months. My dad was in a rush to get to office and I was getting ready for school. He had the habit of applying coconut oil to his bald pate every morning — I never understood why he did that considering that he was almost totally bald. And yes, the coconut oil was in a glass jar. Again yes, he lifted it by the lid — the glass jar slipped and shattered to pieces on the hard granite floor — even as he was holding the lid securely in his hand.

I don’t think I recalled the earlier incident but definitely looked up at him and what came next was even more unanticipated than earlier. This time the forehand slap was harder and faster. I was bewildered.

He lifted his index finger and said — “always close the lid properly”.

I don’t think I was the one who left the lid like that but I had no right to protest and I never did.

Neither have I forgotten the incidents nor the lessons but what I distinctly remember is that double standards are something that I need to get used to. Of course, I never could forget the sharpness of the slaps.

Now, years and years later, I am myself a father and as I recall — it helps me question myself, more than the glass jars and the slaps. Thanks, Dad, for that.