Just back from a Shradhh ceremony ( Funeral). It was the first annual Shradhh of my maternal uncle and a good time to visit home for a weekend.
As I was sitting in the white pandal and looking at my uncle's portrait garlanded with white lotus buds, I started wondering about the ritual I was attending. On one hand, it did seem strange. A person is dead and gone, yet we continue to hold ceremonies, have kirtans, followed by a feast for a few hundred guests.
There are so many rituals I have grown up with. But the ones I remember the most are the ceremonies- the annual Satyanarayana Puja with the "ghol" prasad, the Annaprasanna ( first food offered to babies) ceremony, the elaborate three days weddings with all the accompanied rituals, the Jamai Shosthi ( son- in- laws invited for a feast) in Bengal, Saraswati and Lakshmi puja at home, Vishwakarma puja where Daddy would get us sweet packets and sometimes a tiffin carrier of khichdi and mixed sabzi, the much awaited Durga Puja, the Bihus in Assam, even the first passage into womanhood is celebrated with rituals... the list is endless.
Must admit. There is something about the rituals in our lives. While there is both logic and magic in the origination as well as the process, I tried to think of a few good reasons why I had flown all the way for 1000 miles to attend this.
1.Rituals connect. It is a time where friends and family meet. A time when a meal is shared together, people catch up on old times and new, kids play in the front yard with cousins they haven't met for years. Try organising a family party to get all of this and see how many would attend.
2. Rituals create a bond. With the occasion- in this case my uncle who passed away. For that day, he was in our minds, we spoke about his life, shared favourite stories with my aunt and cousins and ended the day on a very happy note.
3. Rituals are about interactions. The processes itself are so meticulously followed that they make people interact. Everyone was working yesterday- my aunts and I were serving prasad together, some cousins were ushering guests in, few others were organising the kirtan , lamps were lit , flowers were strewn, tea and sweets served by the sisters-in-law .The harmony with which this happens with noone pulling the strings of control is amazing. No rehearsal, no dry runs.
Just realised how relevant rituals are in the life of a brand as well. Whether it is the Corona beer and the lemon wedge. Or the Harley Club (HOG) where every action is a ritual and garners a camaraderie and a bond that few can break. Or the James Bond induced ritual for Martini- Shaken Not Stirred.And even having the morning coffee at Starbucks on the way to work.
Most marketers shy away from rituals. The oft used reason- it takes years to build a ritual. Righto- it does take years. But then, why do we all like to think that our brands will last only as long as we are in the business. Brands will always outlive us, our careers and even our lifetimes. Which brings us to the second most oft used reason. Who will see this through for years? Obviously the brand custodians, whoever they are. The ritual baton can be handed down from one to the other person, from one to the next generation.
And once the ritual is firmly associated with the brand, it is part of the brand gene. Needs no marketing spends and media plans.Because it is consumers who control rituals.
These were some of the thoughts that crossed my mind as I looked around me at the pandal full of guests, who had gathered together from across the map to share their grief together on my uncle's demise a year ago.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Salvaging my Saree Dreams
My favourite game when I was young was to play Teacher Teacher. The ruler in my hand and the chalk with which I wrote happily on the living room walls did not charm me as much as the saree I wrapped clumsily around myself. It was the high point of my make believe world of teaching.
There was something about the saree when we were young. Everyone wore them. Chiffons for the daytime, crepes and silks for social evenings, Kanjeevarams and Kotkis for parties. And lovely printed cottons for everyday.
My ma studiously wore her sarees after the latest Bollywood fashion, showcased in our regular movie shows in Janata or Jasoda Talkies in Digboi. The tight wrapped around Sadhana and Babita style without pleats, the Mumtaz chiffons, the Jaya Bhaduri demure cottons.
Durga Pujas in Shantipara where we had khichri and labra bhaji was a fashion show of beautiful taats, kanthas, Igatpuris as the aunties, specially the Bengali aunties looked so gorgeous in crisp and crackling new sarees. The Assamese and non Bengali aunties also wore equally beautiful sarees, though not always new, making the entire puja pandal a bevy of colours, almost breaking into a riot.
I loved wearing a saree, so what if I was just eight or nine. I felt grown up. I felt matured and I felt beautiful. I would run my hands across Ma's saree collection in her cupboard and dream of owning those oneday. Once in a while, I would wear a saree for an hour or so on a Sunday and my dad would have tears in his eyes. He thought his little girl was "growing up".
Today I have all of Ma's sarees- a legacy she left for me. I have all the means to buy the best of sarees. Yet I don't end up wearing them as often as I would have liked to. In fact, I hardly wear them. "I can't manage", "I work long hours" " I will look odd in a party"" what's the occasion?" "I will wear it for someone's wedding or diwali"- these are the demons in my mind. They shock me at times.
I realise that somewhere with our growing up, we have also let go of a lot of our simple desires, simple beauty codes. We have moved on to bigger and more fashionable wear and why not? It is about being comfortable in what we wear and what we like wearing.
But somewhere, when I look at Ma's cupboard and the sarees that lie unworn and folded, I wistfully remember my "teacher teacher" days. And hope that I can drop off all my inhibitions and drape the gorgeous folds around me again.
There was something about the saree when we were young. Everyone wore them. Chiffons for the daytime, crepes and silks for social evenings, Kanjeevarams and Kotkis for parties. And lovely printed cottons for everyday.
My ma studiously wore her sarees after the latest Bollywood fashion, showcased in our regular movie shows in Janata or Jasoda Talkies in Digboi. The tight wrapped around Sadhana and Babita style without pleats, the Mumtaz chiffons, the Jaya Bhaduri demure cottons.
Durga Pujas in Shantipara where we had khichri and labra bhaji was a fashion show of beautiful taats, kanthas, Igatpuris as the aunties, specially the Bengali aunties looked so gorgeous in crisp and crackling new sarees. The Assamese and non Bengali aunties also wore equally beautiful sarees, though not always new, making the entire puja pandal a bevy of colours, almost breaking into a riot.
I loved wearing a saree, so what if I was just eight or nine. I felt grown up. I felt matured and I felt beautiful. I would run my hands across Ma's saree collection in her cupboard and dream of owning those oneday. Once in a while, I would wear a saree for an hour or so on a Sunday and my dad would have tears in his eyes. He thought his little girl was "growing up".
Today I have all of Ma's sarees- a legacy she left for me. I have all the means to buy the best of sarees. Yet I don't end up wearing them as often as I would have liked to. In fact, I hardly wear them. "I can't manage", "I work long hours" " I will look odd in a party"" what's the occasion?" "I will wear it for someone's wedding or diwali"- these are the demons in my mind. They shock me at times.
I realise that somewhere with our growing up, we have also let go of a lot of our simple desires, simple beauty codes. We have moved on to bigger and more fashionable wear and why not? It is about being comfortable in what we wear and what we like wearing.
But somewhere, when I look at Ma's cupboard and the sarees that lie unworn and folded, I wistfully remember my "teacher teacher" days. And hope that I can drop off all my inhibitions and drape the gorgeous folds around me again.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Life is Wonderful
It was lunchtime the day before and I was checking Gmail when I saw an offer for blogs to be advertised for a couple of hours on the Net. Thought it would be a good opportunity for a fledgling blogger like me. I saw a small rectangular box where I could design my "ad". Fourteen years of experience and the seniority that comes with it immediately baited me to pull ranks and ask "studio" to make something good. Maybe a copywriter friend could also help. And an art director just needed to spend a couple of minutes.
Then I thought that something was not right. Here I am, writing away merrily about life everyday, without any "agency help". So why ask now?
All I needed was a headline. How could I describe my writings? After a few sips of Pepsi Max and mouthfuls of canteen chole and chawal, I keyed in " Life Is Wonderful". Because whatever I write, I humbly attempt to capture some of life's wonderful moments or learnings. The subheadline was "An honest and real life blog".
This is what was in my email inbox this morning. Hope you like it as much as I do. because without your support, this and the 900+ clicks could have never happened.
Then I thought that something was not right. Here I am, writing away merrily about life everyday, without any "agency help". So why ask now?
All I needed was a headline. How could I describe my writings? After a few sips of Pepsi Max and mouthfuls of canteen chole and chawal, I keyed in " Life Is Wonderful". Because whatever I write, I humbly attempt to capture some of life's wonderful moments or learnings. The subheadline was "An honest and real life blog".
This is what was in my email inbox this morning. Hope you like it as much as I do. because without your support, this and the 900+ clicks could have never happened.
Our Feedjit Rush launch yesterday was incredibly exciting. We've had everyone from major universities to gaming companies sign up and send a surge of visitors to their sites. We've also learned some surprising things about what kinds of ads generate high click-through rates. Rather than focus on PR today, I want to share one of the surprising things we learned.
We had a number of great ads appear today on Rush. Many of them were clearly written by experienced copywriters. We saw a lot of variations in font size, font family, italics and so on. But early in the day someone posted an ad that generated a surprisingly high click-through rate.
The ad used simple Arial size 14 text with a bold headline that simply said: "Life is Wonderful".
The positive message in this ad reminds me of a story Robert Cialdini tells in the book Influence about a car salesman. Every month Joe Girard sends over 13,000 cards to previous customers with a simple message: "I like you". It may sound corny, but Joe Girard holds the Guinness world record for being the most successful car salesman in history.
It goes to show that people still love a positive message.
Regards,
Mark Maunder.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Brands Back Home
Was reading Santosh Desai's Mother Pious Lady- fantastic read that transported me back to the days of pickles, postcards and inland letters hung from wires, my Army classmates from Lekhapani. And in that journey, I also remembered some of the other brands that made life what it was when we were young. Back home in the 70s and the 80s.
1. Dalda - Ma called it Vanaspati. The yellow plastic with the green cap stood in its place of prominence on the kitchen shelf. The karais always had a white residue which Ma carefully covered up after the morning puris on Sunday were fried. The next time she had something to sizzle again, out came the karai and we would watch fascinated as the white orb melted into a golden bubbling oil, ready to brown whatever came into its boiling mass.
2. Dettol- Till I turned fifteen, I always thought Dettol was white. That's because my father, as I learnt years later, would carefully dilute the Dettol in an old Dettol bottle and kept it ready to swab his nicks and cuts during his morning shave. Graze on knee, nick with the kitchen knife, the water used for swabbing the wooden floors- everything had the white liquid with its nice hospital like smell.
3. Bata- The Bata managers were always friends with father and mother. I used to wonder how every new manager spoke with the same familiarity and knew our names, our classes and when school would open after holidays. School days meant black shoes with buckles during the week, white canvas shoes for the games classes and PT. Ma wore Sandak in the rains and later on, even bought an "expensive" Marie Claire. Father always had his black leather shoes- he wore them to work, for shopping, to the Club, to social visits- everywhere. And then of course, were our Hawai chappals- four pairs- one each for father, ma, my sister and me. If the straps gave way, we simply replaced them and wore them till our toe left dark blue imprints that bore deep into the off white rubber.
It was only when I joined advertising and proudly walked into Bata- my first account, that I realised that Bata was an MNC and not a homegrown Indian brand.
4. Lux- Ma always always used Lux soap.She was very particular about her soap, would keep it in a separate case and we were forbidden to ever use it. We had our Pears but I always wanted to use ma's Lux - I thought her beautiful complexion was because of Lux and was very petulant whenever she sensed that I may used it and warned me. Later on she told me that she wanted our skin to be innocent like Pears. I would have preferred beauty anyday.
5. Fryums- Fryums tatums... remember the jingle clearly. Ever since Fryums were invented, the papads found their way into our palate and we demanded Fryums every evening after play.
6. Iodex- reminds me of ma rubbing the dark gel on father's back whenever he had a backache. And of father rubbing ma's shoulders with it once in a while when she was tired. Of me rubbing Iodex on ma's back years later when we were alone and more than a backache, she longed for some comfort. Iodex was all I could manage and was a faithful ally for years to come.
7.Horlicks- how can someone from the east not grow up on Horlicks. Was a must every morning, was there when we were ill, was made for my grandmother when she was too old to eat solids, was there when my sister and I generally felt like having a spoonful. Still love it.
8.Brown and Polson Custard Powder- Ma's dessert. Served up without fail after every dinner invite, when the guests were full of mutton curry, dal, baigan fries and chutneys. Ma would make the thick yellow custard in a glass bowl which was an old British legacy and part of our Digboi Bungalow. That bowl was used only for custard. Ma would then chop red cherries and biscuit crumbs and put it away carefully in the freezer, warning us not to scoop in our fingers. Later on ma experimented with the pink strawberry and the offwhite vanilla, but the classic yellow was my favourite.
9.Mustard Oil- sorry this is not a brand but I can't not write about it. Used for cooking,for dressing in mashed potatoes with green chillies, as conditioner for dry skin in winter, as a nose rub when we had colds. Ma would heat up some mustard oil, with chopped garlic, rub the warm oil on us, and cover us up with a blanket and a kiss on our forehead. Nowadays I use it only for the evening prayer diya and to fry fish at times. Miss its pungent smell and the love that came with it.
10.Ambassador- the old faithful. Father had an old white one- second hand- AS 9321. The car was always having a puncture or a heated engine on our drives to Jorhat and Dibrugarh. But was always with us for 8 years, till father passed away and ma had to sell it off. It was like an old family member being ruthlessly sold off and we all had tears in our eyes.
With time, we are now spoilt for choice. We have the best brands we can ask for , and we have forged new relationships. I have also moved on. To newer bonds. But whenever I slip back into time, these old faithfuls haunt me pleasantly with memories that can never be replaced.
1. Dalda - Ma called it Vanaspati. The yellow plastic with the green cap stood in its place of prominence on the kitchen shelf. The karais always had a white residue which Ma carefully covered up after the morning puris on Sunday were fried. The next time she had something to sizzle again, out came the karai and we would watch fascinated as the white orb melted into a golden bubbling oil, ready to brown whatever came into its boiling mass.
2. Dettol- Till I turned fifteen, I always thought Dettol was white. That's because my father, as I learnt years later, would carefully dilute the Dettol in an old Dettol bottle and kept it ready to swab his nicks and cuts during his morning shave. Graze on knee, nick with the kitchen knife, the water used for swabbing the wooden floors- everything had the white liquid with its nice hospital like smell.
3. Bata- The Bata managers were always friends with father and mother. I used to wonder how every new manager spoke with the same familiarity and knew our names, our classes and when school would open after holidays. School days meant black shoes with buckles during the week, white canvas shoes for the games classes and PT. Ma wore Sandak in the rains and later on, even bought an "expensive" Marie Claire. Father always had his black leather shoes- he wore them to work, for shopping, to the Club, to social visits- everywhere. And then of course, were our Hawai chappals- four pairs- one each for father, ma, my sister and me. If the straps gave way, we simply replaced them and wore them till our toe left dark blue imprints that bore deep into the off white rubber.
It was only when I joined advertising and proudly walked into Bata- my first account, that I realised that Bata was an MNC and not a homegrown Indian brand.
4. Lux- Ma always always used Lux soap.She was very particular about her soap, would keep it in a separate case and we were forbidden to ever use it. We had our Pears but I always wanted to use ma's Lux - I thought her beautiful complexion was because of Lux and was very petulant whenever she sensed that I may used it and warned me. Later on she told me that she wanted our skin to be innocent like Pears. I would have preferred beauty anyday.
5. Fryums- Fryums tatums... remember the jingle clearly. Ever since Fryums were invented, the papads found their way into our palate and we demanded Fryums every evening after play.
6. Iodex- reminds me of ma rubbing the dark gel on father's back whenever he had a backache. And of father rubbing ma's shoulders with it once in a while when she was tired. Of me rubbing Iodex on ma's back years later when we were alone and more than a backache, she longed for some comfort. Iodex was all I could manage and was a faithful ally for years to come.
7.Horlicks- how can someone from the east not grow up on Horlicks. Was a must every morning, was there when we were ill, was made for my grandmother when she was too old to eat solids, was there when my sister and I generally felt like having a spoonful. Still love it.
8.Brown and Polson Custard Powder- Ma's dessert. Served up without fail after every dinner invite, when the guests were full of mutton curry, dal, baigan fries and chutneys. Ma would make the thick yellow custard in a glass bowl which was an old British legacy and part of our Digboi Bungalow. That bowl was used only for custard. Ma would then chop red cherries and biscuit crumbs and put it away carefully in the freezer, warning us not to scoop in our fingers. Later on ma experimented with the pink strawberry and the offwhite vanilla, but the classic yellow was my favourite.
9.Mustard Oil- sorry this is not a brand but I can't not write about it. Used for cooking,for dressing in mashed potatoes with green chillies, as conditioner for dry skin in winter, as a nose rub when we had colds. Ma would heat up some mustard oil, with chopped garlic, rub the warm oil on us, and cover us up with a blanket and a kiss on our forehead. Nowadays I use it only for the evening prayer diya and to fry fish at times. Miss its pungent smell and the love that came with it.
10.Ambassador- the old faithful. Father had an old white one- second hand- AS 9321. The car was always having a puncture or a heated engine on our drives to Jorhat and Dibrugarh. But was always with us for 8 years, till father passed away and ma had to sell it off. It was like an old family member being ruthlessly sold off and we all had tears in our eyes.
With time, we are now spoilt for choice. We have the best brands we can ask for , and we have forged new relationships. I have also moved on. To newer bonds. But whenever I slip back into time, these old faithfuls haunt me pleasantly with memories that can never be replaced.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A bowlful of love
Was watching the movie Julie and Julia ( hope I got the name right) last evening and the foodie in me was stirred up and how. Racked my brains on what to write when it comes to food, given that I love consuming more than cooking! But more I thought about it, there was one thing that crept in again and again, grew slowly and assumed a gigantic memory pixel size in my mind, till I could avoid it no more and started punching the keyboard.
The first time Maggi came into my life was in 1984. Yes I remember the year for reasons more than one. Pimpim Aunty , mother's friend, gave my mother two packs of Maggi saying that this is a new "chow chow" which needs just 2 minutes of boiling that's all. The first Maggi making was almost a ritual- all of us crowded around mother as she put the saucepan to boil, broke the Maggi into four chunks like they showed on the back of pack, put them into the bubbling water. We watched mesmerised as the hard curls softened into appetizing swirls. Then mother slit open the tastemaker and the aroma that would be part of my life for years to come, wafted into our eager noses.
My next encounter happened a year later in Guwahati. We would be hungry in the evening, and call out to Bappi, our help, to make Maggi. She would make one packet and divide it between my sister and me. For my mother, fresh into her job, Maggi was not very cheap for a snack and we always shared a packet. And sometimes when she would be tired after work, we would all have a Maggi dinner in bed watching Aa bel mujhe maar and the other Doordarshan soaps.
Cotton College happened and my friend Stuti and I would pour over Economic notes over a steaming bowl of Maggi made by her charming mother. Aunty would also chop in carrots and peas just like they showed in the tv ad. Mother never did that.
University , Business Management and Maggi was still my faithful companion. Come home after classes and make a bowlful. By now,I did not have to share a packet but had my own.
First job in Kolkata- we would come home and have a Maggi dinner on the couch. I never felt that it was a shortcut. For me, it was a delicious meal I was never tired of.
Mumbai- 2000, new office, new friends, same old Maggi in the Fort office canteen. Made in a soupy style with scrambled eggs and yes, cheese and green chillies. Loved it and made it part of my regular lunch.
Problems in life, cooking became a chore, Maggi became my solace. Would chop in just about everything for a mood upswing into a bowl of Maggi, including Bikaner bhujjia toppings.
First evening in Bradford on my scholarship, strange kitchen, no idea how to light the gas stove- out comes the Maggi Instant Cup with hot water from the electric kettle. Each forkful brought back memories of home besides calming my raging stomach.
My baby born, three months of hibernation, Maggi lunches were all that I could manage with my baby wailing the minute I got up to make something for myself. I would savour the noodles, watching her cooing in peace next to me on the bed.
Relationships took new turns, more mood swings- downs overtaking ups rapidly and Maggi was my rebel partner. Helped me retreat to my quiet corner with my book and my thoughts.
And then it happened. Another food brand and the reveal. The secret to Maggi is that it is fried. At least the tasty variants. Could have been a malicious rumour. Didn't matter. For I choked . So this was the reason why I was bloated and ugly. I felt let down by a friend for years. On one hand was the strong bonding, and on the other, the fear of those extra kilos that never seemed to go away. The vision of a slim me won.Finally. I looked wistfully at the Atta Maggi which was not fried but airdried ( so I was told) but it was not the same as the Masala.
I started avoiding Maggi like a jilted partner in a relationship. I would race my trolley down the aisle across the yellow and green packs reaching out to me, reminding me of old times, I would skip any ad or jingle remotely connecting me to it. Soon, like all things in life, Maggi became a memory, and I moved on. To new foods, new relationships. Wheat, multigrain, skimmed were magic words that drew me like a magnet.
I see these magic words on my beloved brand as well. I see new brands popping up with more magic words- health, proteins, calcium till I almost expect a pack full of vitamins instead of a bowlful of warmth.
For that was what Maggi was to me. It was love, it was comfort, it was fun and yes it was unbelievable delicious and plain and simple, tasty!
And that's where the strength of every brand lies. Where it transcends beyond rational benefits to becoming a part of our lives. A friend, a playmate, a comfort. A partner in happy and not so happy times.
And creates a bond that is very very hard to break.
The first time Maggi came into my life was in 1984. Yes I remember the year for reasons more than one. Pimpim Aunty , mother's friend, gave my mother two packs of Maggi saying that this is a new "chow chow" which needs just 2 minutes of boiling that's all. The first Maggi making was almost a ritual- all of us crowded around mother as she put the saucepan to boil, broke the Maggi into four chunks like they showed on the back of pack, put them into the bubbling water. We watched mesmerised as the hard curls softened into appetizing swirls. Then mother slit open the tastemaker and the aroma that would be part of my life for years to come, wafted into our eager noses.
My next encounter happened a year later in Guwahati. We would be hungry in the evening, and call out to Bappi, our help, to make Maggi. She would make one packet and divide it between my sister and me. For my mother, fresh into her job, Maggi was not very cheap for a snack and we always shared a packet. And sometimes when she would be tired after work, we would all have a Maggi dinner in bed watching Aa bel mujhe maar and the other Doordarshan soaps.
Cotton College happened and my friend Stuti and I would pour over Economic notes over a steaming bowl of Maggi made by her charming mother. Aunty would also chop in carrots and peas just like they showed in the tv ad. Mother never did that.
University , Business Management and Maggi was still my faithful companion. Come home after classes and make a bowlful. By now,I did not have to share a packet but had my own.
First job in Kolkata- we would come home and have a Maggi dinner on the couch. I never felt that it was a shortcut. For me, it was a delicious meal I was never tired of.
Mumbai- 2000, new office, new friends, same old Maggi in the Fort office canteen. Made in a soupy style with scrambled eggs and yes, cheese and green chillies. Loved it and made it part of my regular lunch.
Problems in life, cooking became a chore, Maggi became my solace. Would chop in just about everything for a mood upswing into a bowl of Maggi, including Bikaner bhujjia toppings.
First evening in Bradford on my scholarship, strange kitchen, no idea how to light the gas stove- out comes the Maggi Instant Cup with hot water from the electric kettle. Each forkful brought back memories of home besides calming my raging stomach.
My baby born, three months of hibernation, Maggi lunches were all that I could manage with my baby wailing the minute I got up to make something for myself. I would savour the noodles, watching her cooing in peace next to me on the bed.
Relationships took new turns, more mood swings- downs overtaking ups rapidly and Maggi was my rebel partner. Helped me retreat to my quiet corner with my book and my thoughts.
And then it happened. Another food brand and the reveal. The secret to Maggi is that it is fried. At least the tasty variants. Could have been a malicious rumour. Didn't matter. For I choked . So this was the reason why I was bloated and ugly. I felt let down by a friend for years. On one hand was the strong bonding, and on the other, the fear of those extra kilos that never seemed to go away. The vision of a slim me won.Finally. I looked wistfully at the Atta Maggi which was not fried but airdried ( so I was told) but it was not the same as the Masala.
I started avoiding Maggi like a jilted partner in a relationship. I would race my trolley down the aisle across the yellow and green packs reaching out to me, reminding me of old times, I would skip any ad or jingle remotely connecting me to it. Soon, like all things in life, Maggi became a memory, and I moved on. To new foods, new relationships. Wheat, multigrain, skimmed were magic words that drew me like a magnet.
I see these magic words on my beloved brand as well. I see new brands popping up with more magic words- health, proteins, calcium till I almost expect a pack full of vitamins instead of a bowlful of warmth.
For that was what Maggi was to me. It was love, it was comfort, it was fun and yes it was unbelievable delicious and plain and simple, tasty!
And that's where the strength of every brand lies. Where it transcends beyond rational benefits to becoming a part of our lives. A friend, a playmate, a comfort. A partner in happy and not so happy times.
And creates a bond that is very very hard to break.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
10 things I miss about Assam
It's been fifteen long years since I have left home.
Yet I am homesick. I try and dive into memory pools but in today's time poor life, barely manage to do that as much as I would have liked to.
Here are 10 things I miss about Assam. ( I always put 10 because it is a number that sets a limit to what I write)
1. The green paddy fields and the undulating tea gardens
2. The masor tenga and the Sunday mangsor jhul with aloo.
3. The weddings where we wore mekhela chadors and had sumptious buffets.( preferred the earlier banana leaf servings though)
4. The doba and bell of the neighbourhood Namghar in the evening
5. The social visits ( abeli phura) to friends and relatives, where we were served tea, mithai and sometimes luchi bhaji.
6. The bihu sanmilans and the husoris , where we would do xewa with tamul paan and gamosa
7. The japi, the xorai, the bota, the baan bati and kahor thaal
8. The sweet language- ahisu dei, tumar bhal ne, deuta podulir mukhot rokhi ase....
9. The xatriya nritya and doxavatar nrityas
10. Paan tamul, saunf, bhoot jolokia, dighol nemu, joha rice, gheela pitha....
The list is endless but these are top of mind.
And as much as I try, it's very hard to replicate home outside home- for how can one capture the smell of rain on the grass, the sight of orchids on trees, the sweet sound of naams in bhado maah in namghars, the frenzied shopping spree during Bihu , Bhupenda performing live in Latasil, family chatter in a familiar tongue...really very hard.
Yet I am homesick. I try and dive into memory pools but in today's time poor life, barely manage to do that as much as I would have liked to.
Here are 10 things I miss about Assam. ( I always put 10 because it is a number that sets a limit to what I write)
1. The green paddy fields and the undulating tea gardens
2. The masor tenga and the Sunday mangsor jhul with aloo.
3. The weddings where we wore mekhela chadors and had sumptious buffets.( preferred the earlier banana leaf servings though)
4. The doba and bell of the neighbourhood Namghar in the evening
5. The social visits ( abeli phura) to friends and relatives, where we were served tea, mithai and sometimes luchi bhaji.
6. The bihu sanmilans and the husoris , where we would do xewa with tamul paan and gamosa
7. The japi, the xorai, the bota, the baan bati and kahor thaal
8. The sweet language- ahisu dei, tumar bhal ne, deuta podulir mukhot rokhi ase....
9. The xatriya nritya and doxavatar nrityas
10. Paan tamul, saunf, bhoot jolokia, dighol nemu, joha rice, gheela pitha....
The list is endless but these are top of mind.
And as much as I try, it's very hard to replicate home outside home- for how can one capture the smell of rain on the grass, the sight of orchids on trees, the sweet sound of naams in bhado maah in namghars, the frenzied shopping spree during Bihu , Bhupenda performing live in Latasil, family chatter in a familiar tongue...really very hard.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Action speaks louder
First niggle that crosses most of our minds when we hear of someone winning an accolade or a recognition. "How did she get this?", " How did he manage?". It is almost as if by asking that question, we justify us not being in that place. It also immediately casts an undeserving cloak on the concerned person in the spotlight.
And without having any feminist biases, I have found such questions voiced even more prominently when it comes to women achievers. Surprisingly, by both men as well as our own sisterhood.
Why do we assume that people with potential have to shout from the rooftops about how good they are or what they have done? Why do we expect to know and judge for ourselves whether someone is deserving or not?
While some of us like to talk about our day to day progress, there are others who believe that action speaks louder than words. These are the silent workers who have toiled while others have slept. They have looked for avenues where they can shine, have gone that extra mile to burn the midnight oil. And have ensured that they have spoken to the right people who would understand and appreciate their potential or work. The rest does not matter.
Identifying who we are focussing on for attention and recognition is one of the keys to racing up the ladder. There is a plan for everything in life. Need not be a plan on paper- could be just some checklists in the mind. Checklists on what we want to do, how we want to do, and who we want to talk to. Clarity on these simple questions will drive us into action.
And most importantly, instead of spending energies discussing why and how someone managed to get that award, it is worthwhile coming up close to the person and understanding what he or she is about. There is bound to be a face that we have missed out or never seen.
For no recognition in this world is ever undeserved.
And without having any feminist biases, I have found such questions voiced even more prominently when it comes to women achievers. Surprisingly, by both men as well as our own sisterhood.
Why do we assume that people with potential have to shout from the rooftops about how good they are or what they have done? Why do we expect to know and judge for ourselves whether someone is deserving or not?
While some of us like to talk about our day to day progress, there are others who believe that action speaks louder than words. These are the silent workers who have toiled while others have slept. They have looked for avenues where they can shine, have gone that extra mile to burn the midnight oil. And have ensured that they have spoken to the right people who would understand and appreciate their potential or work. The rest does not matter.
Identifying who we are focussing on for attention and recognition is one of the keys to racing up the ladder. There is a plan for everything in life. Need not be a plan on paper- could be just some checklists in the mind. Checklists on what we want to do, how we want to do, and who we want to talk to. Clarity on these simple questions will drive us into action.
And most importantly, instead of spending energies discussing why and how someone managed to get that award, it is worthwhile coming up close to the person and understanding what he or she is about. There is bound to be a face that we have missed out or never seen.
For no recognition in this world is ever undeserved.
10 Fears
Ok this is it. After all my talk about facing fears and moving on in life, it's only apt that I come to terms with some of my darkest fears. And what's better than sharing them with the world? That's the best way to bring those demons out in the open.
So, deep breath... and here goes.... in no particular order
1. Becoming so poor that I won't have money for Zoya's food and clothes
2. My sister never getting married
3. Losing my hair
4. Snake bite
5. Dog bite
6. Having to give up my job
7. Never completing my book
8. Being alone
9. Losing Zoya
And the last, but definitely the most terrible fear, is losing the person I love the most.
So that's that. Can now breathe easier. And hopefully face these demons with renewed vigour.
So, deep breath... and here goes.... in no particular order
1. Becoming so poor that I won't have money for Zoya's food and clothes
2. My sister never getting married
3. Losing my hair
4. Snake bite
5. Dog bite
6. Having to give up my job
7. Never completing my book
8. Being alone
9. Losing Zoya
And the last, but definitely the most terrible fear, is losing the person I love the most.
So that's that. Can now breathe easier. And hopefully face these demons with renewed vigour.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Challenges beget happiness
Does happiness bring complacence? Do we procastinate more when life is rosy? Does unhappiness goad us into action? Does it mean that, for us to keep moving on the trajectory of success, we need to keep being unhappy?
Zillions of such questions cross my mind. Do I push myself more when someone throws a negative dart at me? Do I become oblivious to signs on the wall when I get showered with praises?
This sounds awful even as I write it but sometimes negative energy does seem to push us in a direction that makes us happier or drives us to achieve more. So does this justify negative criticism, or barbs or even tragedy? Do we need such forces to bring us back to our progress path.
To me, negative energy can be best managed by positive energy. When we say- I will fight back. Not to take vengeance, though we do feel like that at times, for but our own happiness or passion. Then we are actually using positive energy as a driving force and not the negative energy. Negativity brings out the positivity in us.
Maybe instead of calling it "negative energy", we can positivise it by calling it "challenges". Sounds better , especially when I write that we do need challenges to exist in our life. Without challenges, we lose drive, we lose pace. Challenges bring out our potential. And brings us closer to what we define as happiness.
So next time life throws a hurdle our way, let's treat it as a challenge, instead of drowning ourselves with negativity and bring out the best in us. After all, that's what challenges are for.
Zillions of such questions cross my mind. Do I push myself more when someone throws a negative dart at me? Do I become oblivious to signs on the wall when I get showered with praises?
This sounds awful even as I write it but sometimes negative energy does seem to push us in a direction that makes us happier or drives us to achieve more. So does this justify negative criticism, or barbs or even tragedy? Do we need such forces to bring us back to our progress path.
To me, negative energy can be best managed by positive energy. When we say- I will fight back. Not to take vengeance, though we do feel like that at times, for but our own happiness or passion. Then we are actually using positive energy as a driving force and not the negative energy. Negativity brings out the positivity in us.
Maybe instead of calling it "negative energy", we can positivise it by calling it "challenges". Sounds better , especially when I write that we do need challenges to exist in our life. Without challenges, we lose drive, we lose pace. Challenges bring out our potential. And brings us closer to what we define as happiness.
So next time life throws a hurdle our way, let's treat it as a challenge, instead of drowning ourselves with negativity and bring out the best in us. After all, that's what challenges are for.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Even Brands Can Dream
Digboi is a quaint little oil town in North East India. Geographically, in terms of size, lucky to be a dot in some detailed maps. But has made history by being the oldest oil refinery in Asia.
Digboi is my home and I guess I share the same spirit like most people there. That small towns can also stoke and fuel big dreams. Someone very dear to me was mentioning the other day that dreams die first. Before we give up on life. How true.
I have always dared to dream. And dream big. For most of my colleagues from the big bustling metros, I am just another cog in the wheel. But for me,I am proud of every hurdle I have jumped, every race I have sprinted, every mountain I have climbed. I celebrate every small victory, every small achievement.
Dreams are what makes life happen. And uncanny though it may sound, I find this applies to brands as well. I have asked myself- what will this brand dream? And the answer I have may seem ridiculously ambitious at first glance. But then we bring out the plans and the charts and the innovation funnels and years down the line, voila- the dream that the brand dared dream has come true.
It's good to have a Brand Dream exercise once in a while. Draw out the dream, maybe paint it . Or just script it out vividly. Then draw out a roadmap of how the dream can become a reality. May not have a timeline, should not actually. Share it with stakeholders. And be ready for cynicism, arguments. After all, how often are we ourselves encouraged to dream?
Why is dreaming important when we have brand visions and plans? Because dreaming brings in imagination. And keeps the shackles of realities at bay.Dreams free our minds from all constraints. That's when we truly push ourselves to achieve our full potential.
May be a good idea to have a Brand Dream up on the wall. It will inspire us and show us the route. When we are at crossroads.The more vivid it is, the better.
It will also push us for more, when we feel it's time to relax and sit back.
So let's not let dreams die. Whether it is our own, or the brands we work for.
For, as G.B Shaw said, "You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'"
Have a great weekend, everyone. And keep those dreams alive.
Digboi is my home and I guess I share the same spirit like most people there. That small towns can also stoke and fuel big dreams. Someone very dear to me was mentioning the other day that dreams die first. Before we give up on life. How true.
I have always dared to dream. And dream big. For most of my colleagues from the big bustling metros, I am just another cog in the wheel. But for me,I am proud of every hurdle I have jumped, every race I have sprinted, every mountain I have climbed. I celebrate every small victory, every small achievement.
Dreams are what makes life happen. And uncanny though it may sound, I find this applies to brands as well. I have asked myself- what will this brand dream? And the answer I have may seem ridiculously ambitious at first glance. But then we bring out the plans and the charts and the innovation funnels and years down the line, voila- the dream that the brand dared dream has come true.
It's good to have a Brand Dream exercise once in a while. Draw out the dream, maybe paint it . Or just script it out vividly. Then draw out a roadmap of how the dream can become a reality. May not have a timeline, should not actually. Share it with stakeholders. And be ready for cynicism, arguments. After all, how often are we ourselves encouraged to dream?
Why is dreaming important when we have brand visions and plans? Because dreaming brings in imagination. And keeps the shackles of realities at bay.Dreams free our minds from all constraints. That's when we truly push ourselves to achieve our full potential.
May be a good idea to have a Brand Dream up on the wall. It will inspire us and show us the route. When we are at crossroads.The more vivid it is, the better.
It will also push us for more, when we feel it's time to relax and sit back.
So let's not let dreams die. Whether it is our own, or the brands we work for.
For, as G.B Shaw said, "You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'"
Have a great weekend, everyone. And keep those dreams alive.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A Piece of Paper
Something that binds two people together. Long after the bonds are broken.
Something that registers a relationship between a father and child.
Something that proves that I am my mother's daughter.
A piece of paper.
It had come to rule my life in a way I never imagined.
It's the paper that dictates that I am bound to someone in marriage. Even if that marriage had dissolved before it had even begun .
It's the paper that I need to combat with everytime my daughter is involved.
It's this paper I have to run around for to prove that my mother did indeed give birth to me 39 years ago, to get out some of her small savings from a bank.
How can a paper dictate what we want out of life?
How can a paper constrain our freedom and clip our wings?
How can a paper stare at my face everytime I decide to move ahead in life?
A paper can be shredded to bits in a split second.
That's what it is worth.
But we have ourselves decided to give it the high ground it commands.
By setting our rules, our laws, our moral standards.
So what if it is at times more misused than used?
The paper proves that we have no trust left in each other.
That others run our lives, not us.
That all problems have the same cause and need the same solution.
That we have to spend all our energies trying to fight something that we don't believe in.
And that, whatever we do, this piece of paper will impact us long after it is shredded and gone.
Something that registers a relationship between a father and child.
Something that proves that I am my mother's daughter.
A piece of paper.
It had come to rule my life in a way I never imagined.
It's the paper that dictates that I am bound to someone in marriage. Even if that marriage had dissolved before it had even begun .
It's the paper that I need to combat with everytime my daughter is involved.
It's this paper I have to run around for to prove that my mother did indeed give birth to me 39 years ago, to get out some of her small savings from a bank.
How can a paper dictate what we want out of life?
How can a paper constrain our freedom and clip our wings?
How can a paper stare at my face everytime I decide to move ahead in life?
A paper can be shredded to bits in a split second.
That's what it is worth.
But we have ourselves decided to give it the high ground it commands.
By setting our rules, our laws, our moral standards.
So what if it is at times more misused than used?
The paper proves that we have no trust left in each other.
That others run our lives, not us.
That all problems have the same cause and need the same solution.
That we have to spend all our energies trying to fight something that we don't believe in.
And that, whatever we do, this piece of paper will impact us long after it is shredded and gone.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Lights! Camera! Action!
Was looking at Zoya all dressed up to do her Krishna Gopi dance in school today and was flooded with memories.
Of my stage performances- kathak, shatriya nritya, bihu, debate, extempore, elocution... there was no competition or show where I wasn't there. Ma firmly believed that I was talented and went all out to put me in the spotlight.
But noone knew what I was going through. The agony, the fear, the clammy hands. For I was a victim of stage fright. Third degree. Before every show I would beg and plea asking ma to spare me. But next day I was up there in the spotlight. And when the lights came on, I would look at her, always in the wings, and begin.
Days merged into months that melted into years. I was all grown up, working. But the performances continued and do so even today. Every day we are performing. Whether it is in our roles in life, or in our careers. Some are real performances- like a client presentation, workshop, seminar or a business pitch. Some are not so evident but still performances. In everyday life.
Feels good to share some of the tips I taught myself for a good performance. Before the show begins.
1. Practice. Practice. Practice. There are no shortcuts.
2. Spend a few minutes alone just before the performance .
3. Focus. There should be no other thoughts except the performance.
4. Smile at others around you. Could be people in the boardroom or the musicians or lightmen behind the stage.
5. Whisper a silent prayer, thanking God for the opportunity and for the great audience out there.
6. And then, as the curtains swing back, take a deep breath, step out with the step of confidence knowing you are the best. And begin.
On stage, there is no room for deceit or pretenses. Only the honest can truly survive. Honest to what we perform, honest about what we say and act or do.There is no right or wrong out there. Its about being original and believing in what we perform.
Finally, we perform best when we are not under pressure. It's a lesson for the stage proud mums and dads out there including myself. Just let kids be kids. They are natural performers and just need encouragement. It's a lesson for the senior colleagues at work. Let people perform in their own style. They just need guidance.
And before I end, like we are all performers, we are also audiences. Let's go all out and clap and cheer. For the biggest reward a performer can receive when the curtains go down is the resounding echo of applause.
Of my stage performances- kathak, shatriya nritya, bihu, debate, extempore, elocution... there was no competition or show where I wasn't there. Ma firmly believed that I was talented and went all out to put me in the spotlight.
But noone knew what I was going through. The agony, the fear, the clammy hands. For I was a victim of stage fright. Third degree. Before every show I would beg and plea asking ma to spare me. But next day I was up there in the spotlight. And when the lights came on, I would look at her, always in the wings, and begin.
Days merged into months that melted into years. I was all grown up, working. But the performances continued and do so even today. Every day we are performing. Whether it is in our roles in life, or in our careers. Some are real performances- like a client presentation, workshop, seminar or a business pitch. Some are not so evident but still performances. In everyday life.
Feels good to share some of the tips I taught myself for a good performance. Before the show begins.
1. Practice. Practice. Practice. There are no shortcuts.
2. Spend a few minutes alone just before the performance .
3. Focus. There should be no other thoughts except the performance.
4. Smile at others around you. Could be people in the boardroom or the musicians or lightmen behind the stage.
5. Whisper a silent prayer, thanking God for the opportunity and for the great audience out there.
6. And then, as the curtains swing back, take a deep breath, step out with the step of confidence knowing you are the best. And begin.
On stage, there is no room for deceit or pretenses. Only the honest can truly survive. Honest to what we perform, honest about what we say and act or do.There is no right or wrong out there. Its about being original and believing in what we perform.
Finally, we perform best when we are not under pressure. It's a lesson for the stage proud mums and dads out there including myself. Just let kids be kids. They are natural performers and just need encouragement. It's a lesson for the senior colleagues at work. Let people perform in their own style. They just need guidance.
And before I end, like we are all performers, we are also audiences. Let's go all out and clap and cheer. For the biggest reward a performer can receive when the curtains go down is the resounding echo of applause.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Dark Side
If there is one thing I was coveting and craving for all my life, it was a - well- hate to say this but here goes- a fair complexion. Grown up with greetings from aunties - "Oh Sadhana ( my mother) how come she is sooooo dark?" "So what, she is very good in studies", pat came my mother's retort. I wish she had said-" So what if she is dark". But took ma's defence to heart and really pushed myself.
JWT happened, big brands, big clients, good career- but my craving and coveting was still there- like a dormant animal that kept gnawing at me. People who knew my complex used it as the sharpest barb.
A compliment like- wow you look gorgeous- meant more to me than -wow- you have done a superb job.So I went on a weight loss spree, and spent time "packaging" myself. To compensate for my dark side. And it worked. For the first meeting. The first encounters. Post that the best bonds, relationships happened because of the work or what I brought to the table.
Pretty much like packaging brands I must say. It's important to get the packaging just right to appeal to the senses and be a magnet on the shelves. But post that, only true substance can ensure loyalty or repeat purchase. The packaging gets crumpled and binned. And alongwith it, the first perceptions also get binned if the product does not deliver.
It took me 39 long years to come to terms with my dark side. But today I realise that these dark forces were just demons inside my head. And that it is upto each of us to overcome our insecurities and strengthen our substance. Our values. Our talents. That's what creates the ultimate bond.And overcomes our darkest fears.
JWT happened, big brands, big clients, good career- but my craving and coveting was still there- like a dormant animal that kept gnawing at me. People who knew my complex used it as the sharpest barb.
A compliment like- wow you look gorgeous- meant more to me than -wow- you have done a superb job.So I went on a weight loss spree, and spent time "packaging" myself. To compensate for my dark side. And it worked. For the first meeting. The first encounters. Post that the best bonds, relationships happened because of the work or what I brought to the table.
Pretty much like packaging brands I must say. It's important to get the packaging just right to appeal to the senses and be a magnet on the shelves. But post that, only true substance can ensure loyalty or repeat purchase. The packaging gets crumpled and binned. And alongwith it, the first perceptions also get binned if the product does not deliver.
It took me 39 long years to come to terms with my dark side. But today I realise that these dark forces were just demons inside my head. And that it is upto each of us to overcome our insecurities and strengthen our substance. Our values. Our talents. That's what creates the ultimate bond.And overcomes our darkest fears.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Let's Celebrate
I just love birthdays. Used to wait for November 4th and wake up breathless. It was the same every year. A Digboi Store wrapped parcel which would have the latest Enid Blyton- two of them, and a Happy Birthday card from Club Store. Mutton for lunch. Chicken for dinner. Cards from friends. And yes a cake from Digboi Store.
Never had a party because my sister's birthday was always celebrated with a big party, lots of guests and gift bags and return gifts and iced drinks and cake and food and I felt guilty wanting a party so soon after that. So I was always happy with my birthday. Because simple though it may sound, it was quite a celebration for me.
Like Ma and Dad's kiss and hug in the morning, my sister's card and a hug, the phonecall from my uncle and my grandmother, wearing a nice dress to school with a packet of Morton's, the class singing Happy Birthday, teachers wishing me, handmade cards and a few small gifts from classmates, the cake in the evening with Ma lighting the candles and Dad and my sister and Ma and the household help singing Happy Birthday to you, my uncle and aunt with their kids who sometimes dropped in, a good dinner and the last Happy birthday goodnight kiss from Ma . Always thanked God for such a wonderful day.
Celebrations aren't always about spending money, having parties, dining out. We can make a celebration out of simple things which are loaded with love and emotion. Like playing music, having people over, good food and great conversation also makes for a great celebration.
In fact, we are used to showing sparkles , champagne glasses and balloon bursts whenever we use the word Celebrate. Why not show something more ? Something more personal? Like a card? A hug? Music notes? Smiles? Sounds of Laughter?
At the end of it all, celebrations have to end in happiness. It has to take us to a joyous high. A feeling of wanting to make time stand still. And of course money can get us this and much more. No denying that. I myself love what money brings to the table. But sometimes if we depend on that alone, we will realise that after all we have spent, we still feel empty. Like there's room for more.
So here's wishing my sister a fabulous birthday today and hope she celebrates today and each day in her own way . And be happy always.
Never had a party because my sister's birthday was always celebrated with a big party, lots of guests and gift bags and return gifts and iced drinks and cake and food and I felt guilty wanting a party so soon after that. So I was always happy with my birthday. Because simple though it may sound, it was quite a celebration for me.
Like Ma and Dad's kiss and hug in the morning, my sister's card and a hug, the phonecall from my uncle and my grandmother, wearing a nice dress to school with a packet of Morton's, the class singing Happy Birthday, teachers wishing me, handmade cards and a few small gifts from classmates, the cake in the evening with Ma lighting the candles and Dad and my sister and Ma and the household help singing Happy Birthday to you, my uncle and aunt with their kids who sometimes dropped in, a good dinner and the last Happy birthday goodnight kiss from Ma . Always thanked God for such a wonderful day.
Celebrations aren't always about spending money, having parties, dining out. We can make a celebration out of simple things which are loaded with love and emotion. Like playing music, having people over, good food and great conversation also makes for a great celebration.
In fact, we are used to showing sparkles , champagne glasses and balloon bursts whenever we use the word Celebrate. Why not show something more ? Something more personal? Like a card? A hug? Music notes? Smiles? Sounds of Laughter?
At the end of it all, celebrations have to end in happiness. It has to take us to a joyous high. A feeling of wanting to make time stand still. And of course money can get us this and much more. No denying that. I myself love what money brings to the table. But sometimes if we depend on that alone, we will realise that after all we have spent, we still feel empty. Like there's room for more.
So here's wishing my sister a fabulous birthday today and hope she celebrates today and each day in her own way . And be happy always.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
8 SIGNS to watch out for in a "marriage"
I have put marriage in quotes in the headline because these signs are for those who are wedded with a piece of legal document and those who are wedded in their minds. Holds true for both. These 8 things are more from experience and observation and are by no means exhaustive or universal truths. A marriage is about two people and only the two know what makes it work and what does not.
Having said this, let's take a look at what I think are some of the SIGNS of things going wrong.
1.When the doggie is the only one called by terms of endearment
2.When the only pillow talk, if at all, is a grunted "good night"
3.When the best hug you get is from hugging the living room cushion
4.When every conversation is just a spark for a heated debate.
5.When we stop looking at ourselves critically in the mirror- maybe even stop looking at one at times
6.When we stop praying for each other's wellbeing and for togetherness
7.When the small joys in life like a walk in the park seem to be something of the yesteryears
8.And last but not the least , when we don't look forward to coming home every evening
Am sure there are many more. Helps to read and learn. And not make the same mistakes again.
Having said this, let's take a look at what I think are some of the SIGNS of things going wrong.
1.When the doggie is the only one called by terms of endearment
2.When the only pillow talk, if at all, is a grunted "good night"
3.When the best hug you get is from hugging the living room cushion
4.When every conversation is just a spark for a heated debate.
5.When we stop looking at ourselves critically in the mirror- maybe even stop looking at one at times
6.When we stop praying for each other's wellbeing and for togetherness
7.When the small joys in life like a walk in the park seem to be something of the yesteryears
8.And last but not the least , when we don't look forward to coming home every evening
Am sure there are many more. Helps to read and learn. And not make the same mistakes again.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
If you can't stop "it", lie back and enjoy "it"
The wordings are not exactly what the phrase is. But we get the gist. The essence of it is compromise. Make adjustments. Make the most of it. Maximise a situation.
The word here that needs to be examined closely is "can't". It's a powerful word. We use it in some context almost everyday. It makes us do things we don't really want to but make do with because we feel that change is not in our hands. Strange really, how we ourselves weaken our spirit or undermine our potential.
There is nothing called "can't". Everything is possible. And this is not just a preachy sermon but experience from life. All we need to do is "know what we want." Without that we have no direction, no goal. But once that is clear in our mind, we can literally and figuratively move mountains.
I was lying back and enjoying "it" till oneday I realised that I was being a slave to my own weak will and was being trampled upon and made use of. So I just stopped. And decided to take some action. It's not easy. There are odds that come up from least expected factors , family included.It takes huge resilience to fight the "it".
But once we do that, we realise that there is a whole world out there to recognise and appreciate us , our strengths.
We just need to push back the forces against us. And keep pushing back.
Till we discover our true strength and passion.
Then all we need is to go out and really "enjoy".
The word here that needs to be examined closely is "can't". It's a powerful word. We use it in some context almost everyday. It makes us do things we don't really want to but make do with because we feel that change is not in our hands. Strange really, how we ourselves weaken our spirit or undermine our potential.
There is nothing called "can't". Everything is possible. And this is not just a preachy sermon but experience from life. All we need to do is "know what we want." Without that we have no direction, no goal. But once that is clear in our mind, we can literally and figuratively move mountains.
I was lying back and enjoying "it" till oneday I realised that I was being a slave to my own weak will and was being trampled upon and made use of. So I just stopped. And decided to take some action. It's not easy. There are odds that come up from least expected factors , family included.It takes huge resilience to fight the "it".
But once we do that, we realise that there is a whole world out there to recognise and appreciate us , our strengths.
We just need to push back the forces against us. And keep pushing back.
Till we discover our true strength and passion.
Then all we need is to go out and really "enjoy".
Monday, August 23, 2010
Seeds of Doubt
Undoubtedly the most dangerous seeds to be sown. Seeds of Doubt. It's amazing how these seeds sprout, grow, bud and overtake mind and spirit faster than one can say God Help Me.
Will begin with relationships first. So often we fall prey to someone sowing a tiny little Doubt Seed casually. We mull, think, ruminate and then observe our relationship or partner with gimlet eyes and microscopic detail. Why is she late? Why does he have to travel so much?Who does she talk to on the phone for so long? That's it. We may as well kill the relationship ourselves with our bare hands.
Same goes for us as consumers. Once the seeds are sown, doubt sprouts and the first casualties are conviction and the confidence to buy. Are these batteries defective? Will this shampoo cause hairfall? Does this soup have msg? Why is this pricing so cheap? And the death gong has been rung.
It is such an easy weapon for all enemies. Just a whisper, a Facebook update, a seemingly innocent Twitter, a casual word of mouth and the ball starts rolling.
The best way to guard ourselves from these seeds is trust. Trusting one another in a relationship.Trust our own judgement as consumers. Trust our own instincts.
Not such a hard job. Just need belief in ourselves. Belief that we have the power to judge . To tale calls. To decide.
And the seeds will never sprout.
Will begin with relationships first. So often we fall prey to someone sowing a tiny little Doubt Seed casually. We mull, think, ruminate and then observe our relationship or partner with gimlet eyes and microscopic detail. Why is she late? Why does he have to travel so much?Who does she talk to on the phone for so long? That's it. We may as well kill the relationship ourselves with our bare hands.
Same goes for us as consumers. Once the seeds are sown, doubt sprouts and the first casualties are conviction and the confidence to buy. Are these batteries defective? Will this shampoo cause hairfall? Does this soup have msg? Why is this pricing so cheap? And the death gong has been rung.
It is such an easy weapon for all enemies. Just a whisper, a Facebook update, a seemingly innocent Twitter, a casual word of mouth and the ball starts rolling.
The best way to guard ourselves from these seeds is trust. Trusting one another in a relationship.Trust our own judgement as consumers. Trust our own instincts.
Not such a hard job. Just need belief in ourselves. Belief that we have the power to judge . To tale calls. To decide.
And the seeds will never sprout.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Emotionally Perfect
Sometimes we work so hard to be perfect that we end up being imperfect.I realised this today in the strangest of places- my kitchen.It all started with my desire to resume cooking. One and a half months of Gurgaon and settling down had taken its toll on my culinary skills. Then came the bigger challenge. When you are with someone who is undoubtably one of the world's best cook and has mastered both the art and the science of cooking, the going gets tough.
I decided I had to be perfect. Trawled the net, actually went on a dizzying spree of recipe hunting for a fish curry. Dived into blogs, notes, recipes,websites, FB pages- you name it. Took print outs of half a dozen recipes and mulled over them. This became a project bigger than my current office one.
Started off the process, armed with recipes and riled with nervousness. What if it doesn't turn out great? What if it is not perfect? What if I fall short? I got so worked up that my face was whiter than the fish scales.
And then it struck me. Why am I losing my confidence? Because I was trying too hard to meet non existent benchmarks. I realised that my benchmark was my own cooking and not what the best recipe books said. That's it. Went about with a hum on my lips, chopping, frying, tasting... and finally purred with pleasure when it was declared the best fish curry ever tasted.
What a wonderful lesson. Not to be stressed by performance pressures. This can only end in performance anxiety. Our benchmarks should be our own. And in a funny way, all our benchmarks definitely match up to the universal benchmarks as well. So if the end delivery is a great meal, one way of delivering is a superbly cooked perfect meal. Another way could be a not so perectly cooked but made lovingly- like mum's cooking. Which always is perfect and is always voted a best meal, no matter what. Because it comes with so much love.
Emotions, feelings go into whatever we do. Whether it is a curry we cook, a project at work or a relationship. We can go about doing things like clockwork, meeting standards and benchmarks and also doing fantastically well. We can also go about doing the same work with lot of passion and energy and love and do equally well when it comes to the end objective or delivery.
And to my mind, the second way can in fact score a little more at times- at least when the end objective is about happiness and satisfaction. For nothing shows more in our performance than the emotions and intent behind it.
Happy weekend everyone:-)
I decided I had to be perfect. Trawled the net, actually went on a dizzying spree of recipe hunting for a fish curry. Dived into blogs, notes, recipes,websites, FB pages- you name it. Took print outs of half a dozen recipes and mulled over them. This became a project bigger than my current office one.
Started off the process, armed with recipes and riled with nervousness. What if it doesn't turn out great? What if it is not perfect? What if I fall short? I got so worked up that my face was whiter than the fish scales.
And then it struck me. Why am I losing my confidence? Because I was trying too hard to meet non existent benchmarks. I realised that my benchmark was my own cooking and not what the best recipe books said. That's it. Went about with a hum on my lips, chopping, frying, tasting... and finally purred with pleasure when it was declared the best fish curry ever tasted.
What a wonderful lesson. Not to be stressed by performance pressures. This can only end in performance anxiety. Our benchmarks should be our own. And in a funny way, all our benchmarks definitely match up to the universal benchmarks as well. So if the end delivery is a great meal, one way of delivering is a superbly cooked perfect meal. Another way could be a not so perectly cooked but made lovingly- like mum's cooking. Which always is perfect and is always voted a best meal, no matter what. Because it comes with so much love.
Emotions, feelings go into whatever we do. Whether it is a curry we cook, a project at work or a relationship. We can go about doing things like clockwork, meeting standards and benchmarks and also doing fantastically well. We can also go about doing the same work with lot of passion and energy and love and do equally well when it comes to the end objective or delivery.
And to my mind, the second way can in fact score a little more at times- at least when the end objective is about happiness and satisfaction. For nothing shows more in our performance than the emotions and intent behind it.
Happy weekend everyone:-)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Finding our Catalyst
Must say I am tired. Of toeing the line when it comes to societal expectations.My mother would always tell me that I should focus on chartering my own course of happiness.And the only thing we should bear in mind is to be absolutely honest. To others. And more importantly, ourselves.
That's where most of us go wrong. We succumb to what we think are external forces and expectations and lead a life that is a compromise at best and a sacrifice at worst, for some. Till oneday we rear our heads up with a new found strength and say Whoa! Enough!Maybe we don't know where to find this strength.
We don't need to look further. The strength is within us. We have the power to move mountains. Just that at times we seek a catalyst to spark off the fire in us. The catalyst could be anyone or anything- a new relationship, a new job or passion, travel, solitude,a friend, a colleague, a boss, a client.
Catalysts spark off energy that lies dormant and rejuvenates. It changes or reveals a perspective that we have been looking for and helps us resume our journey of life. With new found vigour. With a catalyst, we don't have fear. Of external pressures.Or internal misgivings.
How do we find catalysts? Actually we don't. Most times catalysts come our way because of our own determination. We create or discover them. By not giving up our dreams. By not giving up hope and belief. In life. And once they spark us off, life takes on a new meaning.
That's where most of us go wrong. We succumb to what we think are external forces and expectations and lead a life that is a compromise at best and a sacrifice at worst, for some. Till oneday we rear our heads up with a new found strength and say Whoa! Enough!Maybe we don't know where to find this strength.
We don't need to look further. The strength is within us. We have the power to move mountains. Just that at times we seek a catalyst to spark off the fire in us. The catalyst could be anyone or anything- a new relationship, a new job or passion, travel, solitude,a friend, a colleague, a boss, a client.
Catalysts spark off energy that lies dormant and rejuvenates. It changes or reveals a perspective that we have been looking for and helps us resume our journey of life. With new found vigour. With a catalyst, we don't have fear. Of external pressures.Or internal misgivings.
How do we find catalysts? Actually we don't. Most times catalysts come our way because of our own determination. We create or discover them. By not giving up our dreams. By not giving up hope and belief. In life. And once they spark us off, life takes on a new meaning.
Writing on the Wall
In today's world of communication, social media, new expression tools, one often tends to overlook the power of the unsaid. We are so obsessed with talking and outshouting and competing that sometimes we fail to see the writing on the wall.
We need to see these writings. At work, in the family, in relationships. While invisible, the writings on the wall send out strong signals. We just have to learn to be receptive.
Often we hear about big business losses and witch hunts that follow. A post mortem often reveals that signals had already been floating around for months before the axing. We just choose to ignore or failed to respond.
Relationships break because we are blind to these writings.
So are writings on the wall prophetic? Maybe yes in a way. For they predict something in the future. Whether it is marketing or relationships or workplace, we have to learn being sensitive to these writings.
The best way to address this is to be aware of what is unsaid. We have to stop going by what we heard, what we saw, what we observed alone and learn to decode what is left unsaid."We are not happy with the way things are going" can start off as a casual comment over a regular coffee meeting but can assume gigantic proportions if we don't act on time. Or " Ooops I forgot that today is our anniversary " can at times be more than just a temporary memory failing.
At the workplace,the best way to read and respond to signs is to act and not wait.
Ask, start a dialogue, understand issues, pursue, change , show passion, interest, respond ... these are some of the ways in which we can address what may lie in the offing.
Same principles apply to life and relationships as well.
Finally, I read this wonderful quote- “Most of us can read the writing on the wall; we just assume it's addressed to someone else.”
We need to see these writings. At work, in the family, in relationships. While invisible, the writings on the wall send out strong signals. We just have to learn to be receptive.
Often we hear about big business losses and witch hunts that follow. A post mortem often reveals that signals had already been floating around for months before the axing. We just choose to ignore or failed to respond.
Relationships break because we are blind to these writings.
So are writings on the wall prophetic? Maybe yes in a way. For they predict something in the future. Whether it is marketing or relationships or workplace, we have to learn being sensitive to these writings.
The best way to address this is to be aware of what is unsaid. We have to stop going by what we heard, what we saw, what we observed alone and learn to decode what is left unsaid."We are not happy with the way things are going" can start off as a casual comment over a regular coffee meeting but can assume gigantic proportions if we don't act on time. Or " Ooops I forgot that today is our anniversary " can at times be more than just a temporary memory failing.
At the workplace,the best way to read and respond to signs is to act and not wait.
Ask, start a dialogue, understand issues, pursue, change , show passion, interest, respond ... these are some of the ways in which we can address what may lie in the offing.
Same principles apply to life and relationships as well.
Finally, I read this wonderful quote- “Most of us can read the writing on the wall; we just assume it's addressed to someone else.”
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