In Sync With Sickness

Earlier, when I used to fall sick, I would remember my parents, a common practice with many people in my age-group. Today, over 15 years of staying outside, the feeling continues albeit with an additional feature. For the beginners, I was sent to a boarding school after Class IX despite my silent protest, with an expectation that I would come out as Top Ten in Class X exams which ended as a big flop. May be that's why I claim to love "Taare Jameen Par" more than the minor protagonist, Darshil Safari. Coming back to where I was, now-a-days when I fall sick, I do think about parents but I spend a large chunk of my bed-ridden thinking on my current scenario, may be listening to my heart. Unlike earlier, I am not consuming any medicine so quickly thus letting this sickness sync within me and make me come out as a stronger mortal. The critic in my subconscious could interpret this as yet another sign of revolt against surrendering myself so quickly to a doctor, the profession that my father orginally wanted me to be in. I believe this sickness is more to do with fatigue than any illness. Fatigue borne out of boredom, of seeing the same objects, hearing their sparkless voices and witnessing the same practices even without an illusion. I hate this sameness of life which apparently mock at me. Thus not visiting a doctor in a sarkari hospital is my way of revolt against this culture of sameness.

When my boss asked me of not checking in the hospital, I preferred to be quiet. Blame it on my 10-days tryst with Yashoda Hospital at Hyderabad in August 2004. A great human being in the form of Dr TDR and his advice to the team of young nurses that "you will rarely find such a young patient and so don't feel shy in touching his hand" had enough to heal the half of my fractures. Then I had felt like staying in a 5-star hotel and not in a hospital which I had often shared with my fellow beings. Following this incident, I would just call up TDR and ask for suitable medicine in case of any illness and the practice continues even today. In contrast, my first visit to NTPC Hospital was a complete catastrophe. I ended up hearing lectures/sermons from the lone lady eye doctor to further streamline my behaviour. Believe me, I treasured that moment as I never had this dialogue in my entire school days. I suddenly felt cold in my feet and looked onto the ground only to find that I was not wearing a half-pant. Then I was just 3-days-old at NTPC. The doc (as I love it to be pronunced) referred the same medicine that I had applied in my eye just before coming to her but did not disclose due to reasons best known to me. I could not save throwing my naughtiest smile upon her similar prescription which, I am sure, had added to her temper.

This is the third day. And hence there is enough reason to end this feeling of not-feeling-well. It's a tendency to generate symptoms in order to garner more sympathy when you are sick. I hate this practice. Thus, to register my ultimate protest, I ordered a half-litre bottle of RC (this was the fifth time I was going to do it which started only in late Dec 2008), egg bhuji and added to this was Pankaj Udhas' gazal flowing from my laptop. I switched off all the lights as it was raining outside, the first monsoon shower. What could be the better way to savour such a moment!!

A BF material sans GF

I wished Sonu, a Satyamite till recently, on the eve of her marriage day. I kept my congratulatory message pretty simple. When she had almost fixed on the guy from Dubai and was also talking to me, I asked her fondly to tell me something so that I can "heal" myself. The reply: "You are more a BF (read boy friend) material than a husband material." (I wish I had a GF!!) I also provided her some reason to cheer with my observations of a "trophy wife" !! She was more than flattered by this terminology. For the uninitiated, one of my old posts "Being Stupid" was dedicated to this wonderful lady software engineer based in Bengaluru.
Unlike earlier, I have stopped navigating matrimony sites. In the beginning, it was titillating. Now it is boring. First, I used to think like job search, I need to try matrimony sites, get some experience which may in turn help me get better (read enlighten me with newer experience which otherwise I would not have been exposed to). To be honest, I learned something though I could not get the final solace. So, like the author of The Saint, the Surfer & the CEO, I have also started believing that in life, everything happens for a reason and we need not question everything, but be part of this great learning process called Life School.
I expect Paulo Coelho's latest flick "The Winner Stands Alone" tomorrow on my table. I love this title. Hope, it should address some fundamental issues within me.

Being Lalan Prasad

In my last couple of years of professional life I have seen two completely different leaders, quite in sync with the sectors they represent. If RK, my former boss in Times of India, had been an aura for many in the Hyderabad media at that point of time, the recent boss in my current organisation Mr Lalan Prasad represents the quint-essential general manager of a Public Sector Undertaking in India today. Unlike RK, Lalan is a metaphor for all-time silence who believes that silence has much more eloquence than speech in any sphere of our lives. I always hold RK with high esteem even before I knew him. Today, after spending a considerable time in a PSU, I have so much of regards for Shri Prasad. Just observe Prasad keenly, nobody can imagine he is a Bihari by birth. With Biharis and Indians being harrassed in Mumbai and Melbourne, Prasad can be a poster boy of mutual trust and peaceful coexistence. Prasad, to me, offers a huge opportunity to further streamline my way of life. If one thing I have learned from Prasad, it is the Art of Listening to your fellow-being. For me, no IIM syllabi can offer what Prasad reflects to this silent fan. For this non-MBA communicator, the best remedy for any managerial issues in an organisation is to be dealt in that context and not through jargons on the Power Point. Prasad indeed believes in this.

The Dio, Love Letter & Me

For the past couple of days, I see a hand-made graffitti on the front side of my two-wheeler. As the particular portion of my 'Dio' (Honda-Activa) is full of dust, the love graffiti is visible to any naked eye. When I discovered the distinctly visible heart-shape with an arrow mark, I told my fellow beings this could be the job of a school-going kid. (But there is no kid here if you go by physical appearance!!) One of them had a joke that somebody might be utterly trying to exercise her fundamental rights the most romantic way. For the uninitiated, couple of young lady engineers have been the recent additions to my neighbourhood, on the same floor. However, none of them titilate me even to some extent thus giving no reason to manufacture any love story in the graffitti stuff. But I had a great laugh when it reminded me of the incident when I was in Class V. Then a boy and girl's name of my class was written on my chair and for that I had to be beaten by my schoolteacher. The architect of that young talent remains a mystery even today. The funniest part of my life dates back to when I was in Class IV. Three of the guys including me were shortlisted and punished by headmaster for allegedly sending love letter to some front-line girls then in our class. Even after getting punishment I was unaware why I was getting punished. Only thing I was worried was that it should not reach my Dad. When I was in Class VI, the master of all the scoopss was caught in broaddaylight. She happened to be none other than one of those front-line girls in our class. xxx I don't know when exactly I graduated from that transition, of a scared ashutosh to the ashu at present!!