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.

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.

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.

A Life of Joy

This is my childhood story

Experiences of childhood brings joy throughout your life.

It does not matter how you felt when you actually experienced it,   childhood memories brings a smile in your face  — regardless of                 how  many times you recall it and regardless of how you are                   feeling presently.

And so, with over half my life already gone, I relive my                       childhood here  and share my joy with you — however small                            it might be.

Dead Man is never sad

Yesterday, my sister called at 8.45 pm to say a man was lying on the platform opposite her house since morning.  I immediately went and checked his pulse - he had been dead for a long time. He may have been in his 50s or 60s and there was a stick and a pair of slippers next to him.

Right away I went to the police station and informed - the police man asked me if it was man or woman.  When I said it was a man he was sort of relieved.  He took my name and number. I was both happy and sad.

I was happy that the police never troubled me and they never called me back. I later understood that they came with a photographer and took away the body in a van.

I was sad that there were so many people around the dead man and no one bothered or do anything about it.  He was lying right opposite a hospital.  Right next to it were vendors selling eatables and people eating right there.  It takes great courage or complete apathy to do something like that - I think it is the latter.

The dead man perhaps died because he was sad - but I felt he was never sad that no one bothered him after he was dead.  That was what I saw in the dead man's face.  Lesson to learn.

I would want to ask him why he had neatly kept his stick and slippers next to him before dying.

Legs are sweating

I have a middle aged, middle income and a middle of the road friend. An ideal employee, an ideal husband and father, he never had big dreams or ambitions and small pleasures of life made him happy.

The family used to live in a rented house. With his kids growing up, his wife wanted a house so that they can call something their own. So he took his first big loan and bought a second hand house. His income immediately reduced by more than a half while the interest rates continued going up. He can see the smile in his wife’s face when guests complement the public park situated right opposite the house.

He used to own an old battered 15 year old car. He was quite happy with it – it took him where he wanted to go – no powered windows, no power steering, no AC and not even a radio. He never spent much on it and never had to worry when it is going to get bashed next.

She started working to manage the ever increasing expenses.

Now the car wasn’t much of a looker to suit the house. He did not care much for these things but then one day he had to give in – he got a new car with all the bells and whistles. All were very happy till one day the wife commented while taking a spin in the shiny new car – “my legs are sweating”. Standards change very fast, you see.

The friend is obsessed with the thought of making his wife happy – to keep his wife’s leg cool. Who cares if he and his wife have to slave for the rest of his life – not him anyway.

Are you Eligible

Once upon a time, there was a king who liked to chant the Vedas.  He asked his Rajaguru to teach him the vedas.  The Rajaguru refused under some pretext or the other.  As the king became impatient after some months, Rajaguru said that the King was not yet ready to learn the vedas.  He tried to explain that one has to go through a period of strict discipline and become eligible before the learning starts.

The king refused to believe it and found out another teacher in a nearby village. The King returned happily after a month and boasted to the Rajaguru that he had learnt chanting of the vedas.

The Rajaguru seemingly angry, shouted at the nearby body guard to slap the king hard.  The court was stunned for a while and the body guard was perplexed.  The Rajaguru again shouted at the body guard to slap the king.  When this was repeated two or three times, the King got annoyed and shouted at the body guard to slap the Rajaguru hard.  The body guard obliged and slapped the Rajaguru.

Then the Rajaguru told the king, "See, when I asked the bodyguard to slap he would not slap you inspite of the fact that I told him several times.  He never listened to me and I wasted my energy.   However, when you told, he immediately obliged.  That is because you are eligible to say what you said and can see the effect of your words.  Similarly, one has to be eligible to be able to say something or pray something in order the see the effect."

The King felt that he was slapped now and learnt an important lesson in life.

(as told by my dear friend Jayant Pande)

Of Space and Time

One day I agreed to drop my daughter at her school, she had joined a coupe of months ago.  On the way, I had a nagging doubt and asked her which left turn I should take.  She said she was not sure as she normally took a different route.  Nevertheless I was able to read my bearings and took the correct left turn and dropped her at her school.  But not before lecturing on the need for observing landmarks, directions, improving intuitive spacial cognitive capabilities and understanding at least geographical locations.  She kept nodding her head – I hope she understood what I meant.

On my way back, I got cocky after all the discourse.  Why do I need to take the next right a good kilometre away while I can take the right turn just here.  And so I did.  Immediately I felt happy – the general direction was correct and the road was empty with cool breeze blowing across my face.  It was early morning and I started enjoying the early morning sun light.  Even a bird started calling – far removed from the other right that was soaked in diesel, congested with vehicles and paved with pot holes.

The road started meandering and I sure liked it.  Unlike other roads of Bangalore where after every half a kilometre you hit a fork with three roads with two of them one-ways, this was simple – just one road.  I started to think of the good old days of Bangalore – this is the closest I can come to.  And then I recognized something – my smile widened.  See, my sense of direction and my grasp of land marks have stood by me.  I came closer.  I sure recognized it.  It was my daughter’s school.  After three kilometres all I had done was to end up where I started.

I came back home and ate my words for breakfast.  Of course, I did not tell anyone.

Wanderers

I have been observing this person for the past couple of days. He sat silently in the temple not talking to anyone and not entering the temple always. Sometimes when the heat increased he came inside.

We were taking part in an event that involved reading of a religious text (Srimad Bhagavatham) for seven days. The days ended with a discourse by wise men on the philosophy of life. As is customary in temples, food was served during the entire period.

On the fourth day, I met him at another temple. That is when I noticed that he had a kit but appeared to be in no hurry to go anywhere. From his body language, I understood that this temple was his temporary halting place and the small kit held all of his belongings. He spends his nights at this temple and comes to the other one to spend his days – to have his breakfast, lunch and dinner, free of cost.

When I saw him he flashed a smile of recognition. He introduced himself as chandrashekharan from North Kerala. And then he opened up making his mind to speak in halting english. He is a loner. He has his parents and siblings but never depended on them. He said he just goes from place to place and wherever finds a place he can spend some time (get free food) he spends the time till the next function starts somewhere else.

He said that he does not have anyone but has the entire world working for him, ensuring that he survived. He has gone places throughout India as far as Allahabad, Hrishikesh, Badrinath and Kashmir – traveling alone and without spending a rupee. He says that he gets most help from people around the temples, from police and the army (surprised me). Three times he tried going to Kedarnath and failed – he will try this year too.

Gave me an insight into how people manage to survive and to what extent people are willing to push their way of life.

He said he takes life one day at a time (divided by three – food times). He said he likes the way he lived without knowing what he would like to do with life or how he would spend the next day. He seemed to be genuinely happy. I failed to understand that he needs to do something with his life. At last he made his point – he is interested in the journey of life – not the destination. Go wherever life takes you.

I was trying to compare myself, who gets anxious if a single insurance premium is overdue, with this man who does not know and does not care from where his next meal is going to come from. I sit at a home that I could call mine after 20 years, having a steady job working for someone else, maintaining a seemingly happy family and yet looking forward to reach a destination that is alluringly near all the time.

At 2 am, he disappeared – he continuing on his journey and I staring at the destination. I wonder who the wanderer is – him or me.

A Helping Hand

We were a compact gang. Each of us was different – some rich, some poor, some staying nearby and some not so near. We fought each other but had the magnanimity to honour the gang motives. We stuck with each other through thick and thin. And we taught ourselves the art of sharing and of helping each other.

One of the gang members was anxious. In fact, he was absolutely devastated. The examinations would start in a few months and he knew he cannot get through. English always terrorized him. He somehow managed to pass the rest of the subjects. English was the only one subject between being called uneducated and ‘SSLC pass’. This would be his final attempt – he knew he cannot pass and he wanted to pass it desperately so that he can muster some job or the other. His father cannot support him any longer because of family circumstances. He was keen to ensure that he did not add to the family burden but wanted to reduce it by being productive.

The gang got into collective thinking. All of us knew that he can never manage to pass if all of us made him study twenty four hours a day till the exams start.

I offered a dangerous proposition. I said, “I can write for you provided you get my photo in your hall ticket”.

Another friend offered his unique services. He said, “I can get my father to allot an exam centre far away from our place. It means that I can also manage to get the wrong photo to the right hall ticket”.

And so our friend is immediately overjoyed with the simple solution. Everybody go home happy that day. The samaritan’s father reluctantly agreed to do the gang’s beckoning.

And so one day the gang turns up at my house.

One said, “Okay, its time to start”.

I said, “For what?”.

He said, “Have you forgotten? You promised to write for me and tomorrow is the exam day”.

My head reeled. I had not studied and the centre was 200 km away. There was no time to lose. So we took a bike and all of us travelled the entire distance and reached the exam centre the next day morning.

I gingerly entered the examination hall. They found nothing out of ordinary. But exam supervisors sure were curious because I started writing and never stopped. Fast, furious and trying to cram as much as possible. The exam was over in half the time and I came out with my fingers crossed but totally relieved. More so was my gang.

The results were out. He scored 63% in English – the highest of all the exams. He was elated and so was I.

After 25 years, he remains a good friend. He still drives the auto that he started after becoming a qualified ‘SSLC Pass’.

(As narrated by my friend, Jayant Pande – 30^th of March, 2010)

The Manager

I saw this woman in a flight to Mumbai. One look at her and anyone can make out that she is on a mission. Set jaws, eyes straight ahead and a powerful projection of persona. She is out to prove to the world and the flight’s destination is what she is looking forward to right now.

Sure enough, no sooner did the aircraft’s tires hit the ground, she hit the ground running by switching on her mobile. She called someone – perhaps, her junior one of the hundreds of people working for her. Immediately she started shooting her bullets.

“Ok. Give me the status update’. She said already calculating the number of problems she needs to resolve.

The other person must have told something like, “Let me first get the update so that I can give you.”

“I need to know now. I do not wish to be kept waiting for problems to be resolved on their own. It doesn’t matter if they are bad. Please give me straight”. She said expecting the worst.

This could have been the response from the other end, “Well, the work is going on and nothing to report at this juncture. I shall report once we achieve a milestone" – or something to that effect.

She was actually irritated now. She said, “No. This will not do. I exactly need to know what is happening. It is straight in the line of your duty.” I got even more curious with the tone of the conversation. She must be handling something really grave – perhaps very sensitive and of national significance.

Perhaps, the other guy was a smart Alec. He must have given a vague reply like, “I am under control and you do not have to be bothered with such mundane stuff.”

She must be a very powerful person – she would not give up so easily. I wonder if she is a top governmental official who gets her work done or someone who has been a boss all her life. She said, “Please do not give me such pedantic replies. I know that you know and I need to know what you know”.

The guy is caught – I sensed that he had no choice now and must have given some facts. She retorted immediately, “This is not what I was looking for. There are responsibilities clearly drawn up – who will do what and when. I am not looking for daily reporting – I need hourly updates; clear and unambiguous. You are the person who shall ensure that each hour the progress is monitored, measured and updates given to me. I want the activities tracked against the plan. I need them now. I already missed two hours this morning.” She seemed extremely impatient with that seemingly inefficient manager.

I am not sure what the next piece of conversation was but sure she did fly off the handle. Her eyes dilated and she kept shouting in a muffled tone, hardly being able to control herself. The way she seemed excited, I was sure the nation is going to endure the worst of this failure of her manager. The plane still had not come to a stop now - ignoring all announcements to keep the mobiles switched off until the aircraft comes to a complete halt, she retorted, “What do you mean – he hasn’t reported yet. It is ten in the morning. You just cannot say, if he has not come, he has not come. This is grave injustice. I need the work done now. And there are dependencies. What about the risks involved. Who is going to bear the cost?” She seemed to think miles ahead – I felt she is planning for the future generations’ prosperity with such zeal.

When the full import of the message sunk into her – she moved away from the panic mode and switched into her solution mode. You can expect these only from the real mature visionaries. Those who have been in the line day in and day out of their lives solving complex issues of the society and the country at large. I was amazed at her tenacity and judgment.

"Ok. Let me quickly think. Please take notes even as I talk to you. Once this call is over, I will give you his number. His name is Selvam. He is from Tamil Nadu and you need to find someone who can talk to him in Tamil. Tell him that the work is waiting for him. He has exactly two days to complete the job. You need to talk to the architect who can specify what the problem is.” No wonder, I thought she is a person of great repute – who else but an enterprise architect would have such insight into explaining what the problem is. And she must be even greater to have an enterprise architect working for her.

Even as I was admiring her immense aspirations she has for her country – the next sentence she uttered felt like cold water thrown on my face.

She said,”Selvam is the plumber. He can know what the problem is from our architect. On my instruction, you have taken leave just to take care of this plumber and you tell me he has not shown up. I do not care what you do – get the plumber resolve the issue and let me know. Call him. Take your car to wherever he is and bring him. Give me a call half an hour later. Now I need to rush to office work.” That must have been her husband. God save him, at least from the plumbers of India.

I felt relieved. For a moment I thought IT people have really started showing concern for their work. Of course they do - for all their personal work. But this one took the cake. The language sounded so familiar even I was fooled by her.

This was not the first time where I came across people using their project management tactics in real like - it works very rarely. And even rarely still in IT.

I just smiled, switched on the mobile, took the incoming call from my boss and said. “I am still stuck in the plane. I will give you an update when I check out of the airport.”

Inflation

It's the usual routine for me, just like any other guy on the street, rather on the road. I calculate distance in terms of money, not kilometres.

You go by car - you need to fill her up. Ok - with Rs.500/-, I can manage to travel to office for a week. If I leave early and come late - else if I get caught in heavy peak hour traffic, I lose a day.

Yesterday was the day of my car's breakfast day. I filled up her, and accelerated down the lane. It was a very bad time. I saw the needle on the fuel gauge where it was before I filled her up.

I got worried - it means I need to spend more money in setting this right. The fuel gauge is important - it had better work properly.

I went straight to the garage for her check up. He asked me what the trouble was - I told that the gauge stopped working since I filled her up. He asked me how much did I fill up. I said the usual Rs.500/-.

Then the attendant revved up the engine and saw the needle. He again asked me how much I had filled. I said - Rs.500/-. He said please let me know in litres. I had look up the bill - it was 8 and odd litres. I showed him the bill.

He looked straight at me and said, "well, it is where it needs to be. It is accurately showing eight litres. - and that is how much you will get for Rs.500/-".

I so far thought I was a normal intelligent person. I never expected inflation to make that dumb - even intelligence suffers during inflation.

The whole world conspires

"When you know what you want the whole world conspires you to achieve it".

Well, that is quote from Paulo Coelho, the author for whom my daughter has taken a liking, of late. I've read a few of his books which is how she got introduced to him.

A few days ago on a Sunday, we went to a book shop where she asked me for a book by Paulo. I refused as I was not doing so good with my wallet which is pretty thin nowadays.

But then I really felt bad. She is asking for a good book. I wasn't so pleased with myself but I need to be a bit ruthless sometimes.

The next day, I was in office discussing this with a close friend of mine, also a Coelho fan. I was sharing with him how bad I felt. He asked me when was it that I refused to buy the book. I was surprised with his question, but then replied that it must have been around seven in the evening. With a gleam in his eyes he told me that he purchased a Paulo Coelho book on the very same day and at the very same time. He then quoted the famous saying.

And not just that, he finished reading the entire book in one sitting the same night reading into early morning. And of course, he was gracious in lending his book to me for my daughter.

But then this was just before we left office. The next day he would be travelling and getting the book would be delayed. I said that I would come to his house, pick up the book and give it to my daughter the same day - I just made up my mind.

After office, my friend took me to his house in his bike in a very unhurried manner. We then talked for sometime and I got hold of the book. I was thrilled.

He also dropped me back at the bus stop. It started raining. Taking a bus is a pain - taking two is a bigger pain and doing so on a cold evening during office rush hour on a rainy day is worse. I took it in my stride since I had not taken a bus in Bangalore for a long, long time.

At last, after a difficult arduous day and after four hours of misadventure with the city public transport, I reached home. I was very eager to show it to my daughter since she (and my wife) were very cross with me.

By then she had gone to bed. I did the next best thing. I kept it beside her and slept peacefully thinking I did not disappoint her - at least not for long. Paulo's quote was bearing on me heavily.

The next day morning, she saw the book, came straight to me even before brushing her teeth. I was extremely eager to hear what she had to say.

She said, 'I've already finished 'Brida' - I wanted 'Veronica decides to die'. Well, I wanted to die too.

So much for conspiracy. But then I was still a happy man because, thankfully, I did not share what I had to go through the previous day and what my friend had done for me in getting the book home.

Well - I haven't read 'Brida' - so my friend's efforts were not in vain.

Sick of Hospitals

I hate hospitals. Who doesn't, except for those whose livelihood depend on hospitals. I hate the smell, the spartan atmosphere and the sombre mood. It is one place where the familiar words - 'How are you' takes an entirely different meaning.

And sometimes, there is humour. Here goes.

There was this guy who is from a neighbouring village. He was gored by a bull straight through his body. Writhing in pain, he is admitted to a hospital in Bangalore. The entire village is praying right outside the hospital with about 10-15 people trying to see if there is any progress every 15 minutes.

The doctor decides to operate on him the next day afternoon. The patient is very glad he is getting the attention he deserves and basks in the glory. Inspite of the deep trouble he is sporty and has a smile for every well wisher who comes in.

The doctor advises him what he needs to do and what he is not supposed to do in great detail. And one of the things was that he should not eat anything next day until the operation is over.

The attendants prepare him for the operation and just before 2 O'Clock they arrive to wheel him to the operation theatre. While going the doctor asks, "You seem to be cheerful. I like brave people. Hope you had a calm morning". The patient replied. "Yes. I had a nice morning, Bless my wife, who brought in my favourite dish, Masala Dosa. It was sumptuous - especially before the operation."

I would have expected the chewed up masala dosa to spew out of his back. But that is a different story.

They wheel him right back to the ward. The doctor was furious. The patient never understood why the doctor was angry.

Just the way he never understood why the bull gored him.

(As told by my dear friend).

Babu Culture

'Babu Culture' roughly translates to bureaucracy. 'Babu' commonly refers to a clerk in Government Offices in India. More importantly this refers to the practice - a vestige of the British Legacy that we are finding it hard to shed. Unknowingly sometimes we even nurture it to absurd lengths.

Here is a sample:

There is a typical city in India where most of the people work in the offices who come to their place of work from neighbouring towns and villages. Babugiri (bureaucracy) dictates that all workers arrive for work in time . Sometimes, if trains by which most workers commute, are delayed the whole lot of workers get delayed to work.

However babu culture does not accept delays unless there is a written proof for being late. The culture has built in a scheming way by which if a train is delayed the Station Master issues a note affixed with the official rubber stamp of the station, the date and time, the name and number of train that got delayed and the length of delay itself. Delays are accepted only when such notes are produced by the workers to their management.

There is a small procedural problem. If a train gets delayed by, say 20 minutes, about 200 people in the train have to stand in a queue to get the note from the Station Master. Most of the people spend close to an hour or more standing in queue, so that their 20 minute delays are accepted. You imagine the total delay time if multiple trains are delayed.

The whole India works on this Babu Culture whereas the people who taught us this culture have learnt their lessons. We still thrive on Babudom. Long Live Babus.

The story is about 10-15 years old in the eastern part of India as retold by a friend of mine and is unverified. But several practices like this still continue in India.

Water, Water

There is a wonderful town called Nanjangud - a town endowed with God's bounty. Lush, green and people happy with reaping the benefits of the land.

Just as any other place - once it fell into degeneration due to over exploitation and drought. One summer people started experiencing the cruelty of nature. It continued for the next few years and then it became really acute. The once harmonious people started getting angry, frustrated and demoralised. Their crops withered, the town's embellishments worn out, the town began sporting haggard looks.

The people gathered, thought it over and concluded that the Town Municipality has to resolve the issue and bring back the town to normalcy.

First a few people petitioned the Municipal Chief for water. After a few months they realized this was not going to work and intensified their agitation.

All the town elders formed a big group of the entire town and went to the Town Municipality Chief's residence to represent the matter.

When they reached the house, it looked forlorn. The chief's palatial house, once a pride of the town, looked deserted. No neatly trimmed bushes; No flowering plants and all fruit bearing trees bereft of even leaves. It seemed lonely.

Town elders took the long walk along the pathway and reached the entrance. The house seemed to be devoid of life. The Chief's mother was sitting at the threshold staring at the void.

The people's representative asked, "Salutations to you, Mother. May we see the Chief".

Mother replied, "May God bless you, son. May I know the purpose of your visit".

Representative said, "Mother - We need a solution to the acute water problem that we the town people are facing. We want the Chief to provide a solution at the earliest".

Mother pointed to backyard and said, "Go, son. You may meet the Chief at the backyard. He is drawing water from the almost dried well. He is planning how deep he has to dig further to draw water for the next year. I would suggest you do the same. We cannot change nature and it is better to plan and take action to alleviate the suffering".

And the people returned without meeting the Chief. All of them were puzzled as to why the biggest issue for the people a few moments ago was no longer there.

This happened many, many years ago and the town now is back to it's days of glory.

A real life incident as told by my dear friend Shashidharan A N.

Yo Yo Academy

I have started a Yo Yo Academy. Here is the application form you need to fill up. It will cost you Rs.500/- to participate in the competition.

I am going on 15th September to London to start the Academy and conduct the competition by December. I will return after that. Please get me the ticket and find a room for me to stay there.

- Saujas, Age 6, 8th September 2007

Rat and the Mouse

I am Saujas, the Rat and Swati is the mouse. One day, a dinosaur came into our house and scratched our faces. Then we died. An ambulance came and took us to the hospital. The doctor said there is no need for injections – only a few stitches in the face and neck. We returned home after two days.

A few days later, the same dinosaur came again. This time I shot him with a bullet gun. One more came and I shot it too. One more came and I shot that one. One more came and I shot it. I kicked each one of them high in the air and they vanished.

Story by Saujas, Age 6 – 08^th September , 2007