A YEAR OF LIBERATION

"And now, dear children, we present to you a wizard who will entertain you with his tricks and share his knowledge of magic. Let's hear some applause !", announced the host of the event as a bunch of primary and middle school kids looked on curiously at the table placed in the center of the stage for the upcoming performance. The firm's CSR team had helped the school establish its own library -  furnished with books and a desktop computer, a luxury most schools in rural India cannot easily afford. This small institution, a walled area of barren land in the village of Neev, a major detour from the city roads in Gurgaon, was among the few to have acquired these necessary school facilities. This was a day of celebration; the library had officially been launched.

As I walked up to the podium with a balloon in one hand and a soda bottle in the other, posing as a sorcerer to the innocuous and clueless group of little children gathered in the courtyard around a peepul tree planted in the middle of the small compound they call school, I decided I would tell them the truth. There is no such concept as magic; it is merely an art of playing with science. Magic lies in craftily deceiving your audience, cloaking their minds with the mist of fantasy that they cannot see through. My purpose today was quite the opposite - it was to make them aware of this mist and implore them to follow logic and reason so that they could someday conjure their own magic tricks.

I took my place in the center stage under the light of the morning sun. I looked directly at the crowd of little faces staring expectantly at me, and opened with a question that elicited a favourable response from the majority of children.

"How many of you would want to become magicians when you grow up?"

At once, scores of hands shot up in the air.

"Thank you dear children", I continued. "That is an encouraging sight to see. Now let me tell you something about magic."

By the end of the twenty minutes for which I occupied the podium, I had told them about the far-reaching possibilities of science. I had demonstrated experiments embodying various guiding principles of nature. I had encouraged the kids to think out loud, and maybe ignited a spark for inculcating scientific temperament. I had spoken to an aspiring girl pilot, listened to a young boy sing, and suggested drawing tips to a bunch of pre-school kids in the activities that followed. While doing so, I had spent my time on something I really liked, something that fetched a different kind of contentedness no amount of money can proffer - something I haven't been able to accomplish in the last few years.

That day, I finished my work efficiently and returned home from office earlier than my usual schedule. I logged on to youtube, looked up 'guitar lessons' and plucked at the strings of my Fender for the next hour. Music has a rejuvenating effect - it carries you away into another world, curing your fatigue and soothing your senses, making you forget the problems and miseries that daunt your mind. I closed my eyes, and after a while, the only sound reaching my ears was the cadence of notes bouncing off the soundboard, resonating in the closed room. I am not a seasoned musician, not even a dilettante, but the beauty of a guitar lies in its ability to read its master and play along. Those erratic, uneven chords gradually acquired rhythm as I strummed an unknown tune, played my own chords and hummed my own song.

That was perhaps one of the best days in the year gone by. A welcome deviation from normality. A day of realization - that there are things more meaningful and impactful than a routine corporate job, that you can find happiness in sources richer than money, that you are capable of magically changing lives, including your own. A day when I had acquired control.
A day of liberation.

2013 was crammed with work and travel and preparation for that coveted business school degree. Now that I don't have to bother about one of these anymore, I think I now know what my new year's resolution for 2014 is going to be.

A VISION

Waiting impatiently for his meal, Pranav picked up his spoon and started drumming on the edge of the porcelain plate that his mother had already arranged neatly on the dinner table. Mr. Mehta was busy scanning the pages of The Hindu and did not seem to notice. Encouraged by his father's nonchalance, Pranav increased his rhythm to test if he could play as fast as his music instructor in school.

"Don't do that ! It is irritating", his elder sister, Surbhi, suggested very calmly.

"Go to hell ! I'll do what I want", he snapped.

This seemed to have caught Mr. Mehta's attention, for he immediately lowered the newspaper.

"Pranav, that is not how you speak to your sister", he interrupted.

"OK, sorry", apologized the young boy as he turned to face the teenage girl.

"That's my boy. Just talk to your sister more politely from now on. In fact, do not be rude to any other girl."

"I will not be rude, Papa.", he exclaimed.

"Very good.", Mr. Mehta smiled at his son's obedience.

"Such sweet children. I'll also bring the rajma. Once you finish, we have icecream to celebrate Surbhi's academic result", Mrs. Mehta said as she entered from the kitchen carrying a bowl of vegetable pulao. The girl had achieved a ninety five percent aggregate score in her class 10 board exams, second in the entire district only to her friend Ritu who lived in the neighbouring slum.

"Chocolate?", asked Surbhi expectantly.

"Yes, dear", her mother affirmed. "Exactly what you asked for."

As the family sat down together on the dinner table, Mr. Bachchan posed the first question to his ecstatic participant on KBC. When the show had ended, the kids retired to their rooms. They had to wake up early next morning to catch the school bus in time for a trekking excursion.

"So, honey ! Anything worth noticing in the news today?", Mrs. Mehta asked her husband as she settled next to him on the sofa after a fulfilling dinner and rested her head on his firm shoulder.

"It is in the headlines. A bunch of youths gave a sound thrashing to some miscreants who were eve-teasing a 20 year old girl in New Delhi. Apparently, the girl raised an alarm and a few passers-by quickly came to her rescue. The culprits are now in jail facing an appropriate sentence dictated by the Nirbhaya law. This is one of those rare instances where people have stepped in to prevent a potential tragedy."

"Yes, that is indeed rare. There is not a lot of empathy found on the country's streets. But anyways, this is a relief. I think people have finally begun to realize change cannot happen unless they strive for it themselves; things can only get better if we start taking initiative and stop waiting for the government to swing into action."

"Hmm. We have waited for a long time. It has made us lethargic. After the series of crimes that have blotted the nation in past years, people probably cannot take it anymore."

"If only we could try to similarly stand up against other evils that plague our society."

"I think we have made a start. With the Jan-Lokpal bill being very likely to be passed in this parliamentary session, we might finally be able to force graft under control."

"That is debatable. Nevertheless, I was referring to issues that do not contain a large political association." 

"Well, even on that front, I heard Tushar who lives next door convinced his parents not to ask for dowry from the brides's family. When his parents cited financial stability as a motive, he declared that his qualifications provide him enough earning potential not to depend on any form of depraved assistance. Good lad, that one."

"Yes. You never asked for dowry, right?", Mrs. Mehta prodded him with a grin.

"Oh, no. I thought you would be enough", Mr. Mehta smiled, stroking his wife's silken hair.

"Good. Because I would have thrown you out of my house had you asked.", she giggled. 

"That would have been a sight", he laughed. "Speaking of being out of the house, I just remembered I have a business trip planned for the US next month. How much is the current exchange rate, by the way?"

"Fifty six."

"So the rupee is slowly recovering. Anyways, can you remind me to make travel reservations? If you are able to get a few days leave from work, you and the kids should come along too."

"I'll see. But first, I hope you recall you promised the kids we are going to Mussoorie this weekend."

"I remember, sweetheart. We most certainly are."

ONLY THE LORD SHALL TAKE AWAY

Question : Who decides when to end a life?

Answer : NOT the life-bearer

You, dear reader, might wonder what has suddenly sparked this subject. It is the shocking, self-inflicted demise of a person whom I considered to be a rational, jovial and ambitious human being. I do not know the reason for this extreme step, but I am unable to come to terms with the fact that such an individual can actually go through with such a preposterous and callous act.

There cannot be a greater gift to mankind than the ability to perform any action at will - the freedom to make a choice, to love and be loved, to travel this beautiful world, to embark on a passionate dream, or to do nothing at all. And there cannot be a more blatant disregard for that pristine gift than to throw it away in a mindless, impulsive error of thought.

Also, our life is not ours alone to give away. We are just the bearers of this asset; it is much more a property of everybody else who has a stake in our existence. And since we are not the complete, rightful owners, we have no right to discard it without consent.

Of course, life is not always the joyride that we wish for, but a wave of crests and troughs. While we enjoy the crests, we often tend to resign in the troughs. I have travelled through fairly deep trenches, and I am sure so have you. All it takes to make our way up is a little courage, and a little faith. It is the plethora of such high and low experiences that is the basis of life. There cannot be perfect order in anything worldly; if there is, we would cease to exist - that is a fundamental law of nature. 

The prolific inventor Edison had a series of failures - professional and personal, before he could finally invent the electric bulb. If he had given up because of any one of those failures and chosen the quick escape route of death, he could never have touched the billions of lives that thrive today on his inventions.

If you ever find yourself harboring the slightest "self-destruct" ideas, perhaps you can remember these words. And who knows, it might help save a million more lives someday in the future.

THE NEW YEAR POST

A rope traveled the breadth of my waist and clung in tension to the mast of the motorboat. A parachute hung loosely over my head, fluttering in the wind. As far as I could see was the expanse of the blue sea underneath a light blue umbrella of the clear sky. With a little apprehension, I put on the life jacket and slithered my arms into the thick brackets of elastic but tough polymer fastened to the ropes that held the parachute to the mast. An uneasiness had descended in my mind since the time I had boarded the motorboat. I did not know how to swim. This was my first attempt at parasailing. I clutched the reins to the parachute tightly as I stood at the edge of the boat.

The ferryman pulled a lever, and the rope, as if suddenly emerging from a secret crevice in the floor, hurtled up towards the sky at an oblique angle, lifting me along. It continued its ascent until the people on the boat had reduced to tiny dots sailing in the vast sea. When it steadied, I could see other ferries and ships scattered across the shimmering water. I could see the bustling activity on the coastline, and admire Lord Murudeshwara's gigantic statue watching over the town with the sun forming a halo around its head. I loosened my grip on the acrylic and stretched out my arms, letting go of all fear and submitting myself to the calm wind. And then, hundreds of metres over the Arabian sea, I was flying. It felt great, as if I had been liberated from a long acting bond.

We all possess fears - of the dark, of ghosts, spiders and snakes, of burly monsters; of commitment, of loss or failure, of humiliation, heartbreak and despair. Some of them are apparent, some are buried deep inside our thoughts. Some of them can be overcome, others are simply invincible and at times render us helpless, clouding and conquering our ability to think logically. Fear often leads us astray, away from our deepest ambitions and our most heartfelt desires. At certain points in our lives, often unknowingly, we all fall victim to the prowling beast of prey that is fear. Days, months and even years after our timid surrender, when we realize the blunder we committed, we regret our actions. We wish we could travel back in time to go for that football game as a member of the school team, to take up that lesser paid job or internship that we liked more, or to speak the words we could never muster the courage to bring to our lips. Sometimes there is still time for corrective action. Sometimes, it's too late. It's just a matter of how far we have wandered, and when we come to know of it.


Fear is not invincible. We can defeat it. We should know it when we are being lured into its net. We should decide, then and there, if we can afford to take the easy route and give up. Or we can take it head on, and fight for a win.


The trick is to let go.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my new year's resolution. To keep winning.

WHAT'S YOUR PASTIME?

Nothing can equal the warmth of human companionship. None of the numerous devices that reflect the achievements of modern technology are capable of producing the same effect as the familiar sight or sound of a friend or family. Not even the so-called 'social networks', which are a feeble attempt to simulate the essence of human relationships within the unrealistic bounds of an artificial computer screen. But then, something is precious only when it is irreplaceable. If the presence of a companion could be exchanged for a playstation or a facebook chat box, he/she would lose his/her true worth.

But as is often the case, we value something most when we are devoid of it; when we face a nagging dearth of it that constantly reminds us of its magnanimous influence in our lives. It is at times when we are alone, when we are surrounded by a swarm of strangers and a fleet of cranky, noisy, thoughtless machines, that we realize the futility of all artificial forms of entertainment and the indispensable bonhomie of a coterie. It is then that we look to fulfill the void left by the absence of a familiar face. When we find nobody to occupy that void, we turn to our own inner selves - our true interests, our hobbies, to give us company. We create pastimes that we can call on any time we want to. Gradually, they come to define us, and become an integral part of our identity.

Each one of us has his/her own way of nurturing this inseparable part of the self that manifests as a hobby or a special interest. In my case, I write. It is one of those rare talents that I enjoy engaging in. It saves me from boredom, for I take the refuge of words from my pen when threatened by monotony or loneliness. It is an eternal friend to whom I can confess feelings otherwise forbidden to be spoken of to anybody else, who helps alleviate the weight of a hard-kept secret. It breathes life to thoughts and endows me with a purpose, even though a brief one. It is a safe haven I can always turn to for shelter, an abode impervious to the heat of the burning sun or the numbing chill of a snowy winter.

Perhaps its only other equal is a long walk alone in the midst of nature’s serene endowments on a summer midnight, when the air is cool and the environs quiet. The shimmering stars overhead become my navigators - little patches of light in the dark sky that stay with me no matter where I go. The pristine stellar light from up above the heavens gives me solace and strength when I’m down and alone. It helps compose and gather my thoughts, and in the absence of all forms of sound other than the rustle of leaves in the woods or the song of waves in a flowing river, helps me find answers to cope with the challenges that confront my life every day. It reminds me that I live in a beautiful world, and that I can forget about anything else atleast for a tiny while.

These little pastimes, seemingly unproductive activities that apparently make no addition to intellectual “value”, have come to my rescue whenever I have heeded them, as they have today. And I am certain they will always be at my side, giving me company and wisdom and strength for all my life.

Today, I raise a toast.

To you, dear hobby !