An important measure ...
"I don't measure a man's success by how high he climbs but how high he bounces when he hits bottom." -- George S. Patton (US Army General in Worl War II)
Monday, December 26, 2005
Honey and Money!
Working at a lawfirm defintely means hectic weekdays ... but weekends are relaxed (!!) you have things to think about which you have shut your mind out from ... issues to resolve with various people .. which you had ignored since you had no time at wednesday 7 in the evening when you had to finish a document which had to go out that very moment ... but i figured out in six months that weekends are real short .. and since you want to make the most of it so it becomes shorter ... its utter chaos ...
On such a weekend when I was getting angry at nothing ... may be ... i should not say nothing ... I should spill the beans and say that I was quite angry at my state of affairs ... I disclosed to my mom that I was not happy (Now when I look back at the incedent I think that i said all that in my spree to get pampered) ... and that niether anything spiritual nor material makes me happy and that life is quite boring ... after her usual lecture of how today's generation cannot be happy with small things that life has to offer ... she was discussing with me the different things which could make one happy ... and as a mother of a 24 year old she very ably stressed on the fact that association with family (specially marriage) keeps a human being fulfilled and satisfied ... etc.etc. and etc. ... I as usual was on my ride to make her undertsand how marriage for a girl means a whole lot of compromises ... and that it affects career and blah blah ... so then she asked me if i have read 'The Alcheimist' (which to my utter disgust even while possessing it i had not read) ... so i said 'no' ... she then told me a story ... about a particular part of the book with her own additions deletions and alterations to suit the situation ofcourse! (in her own simple way ... in the way she as been unravelling the several complicated things to me thru my life ... making them simple, comprehendible and endorsable) ...
she told me ... once a common man had walked up to the king and commented that since the king had all the wealth of the world he must be the happiest person around ... the king to this did not answer but gave the man a spoon and some honey in the spoon and told him to go and have a look around the palace to find out what all wealth the king had and how happy he was only on one condition that, not a drop of honey should spill ... when the man was back from his sojourn, the king noticed that the spoon was still full of honey and then he asked if the man had seen how happy the king was ... the man retorted he couldnot see anything coz he was looking after the honey in the spoon ... then the king asked him if he was satisfied that he has not spilled any honey ... and the obvious answer was yes ... now that the man had not seen the wealth the king gave hiom another chnage with the honey in the spoon to look around ... this time the king said that the man need not bother about the honey in the spoon... so the man went around and saw all the wealth and came back .... the king asked whether he had seen all the wealth and how much of honey was there ... the man retorted that he had seen all the wealth but when he looked at the spoon to his surprise, he found that there was no honey ... the king then told the man that he would disclose now 'what is happiness' .. and he said when you see all the wealth adn yet have the honey in the spoon that is happiness ...
my mother was very happy to have put across me such a pertinent issue and she mistook my silence over the fone to think (what i guess) is that i was trying to internalise this eternal concept of happiness ... but soon in my mean self i retorted by saying ... 'but ma! dont u think in a human's quest of such happiness the society is happy in making the man to go around and see the wealth and the woman to go around with the man (while he sees all the wealth) looking after the honey in the spoon"!!
okie now she jolted and said ... no my dear world has changed and now the man looks at the wealth half way thru and honey half way thru and the woman looks at the honey half way thru and the wealth half way thru...
sometimes i wonder is it really so!!
On such a weekend when I was getting angry at nothing ... may be ... i should not say nothing ... I should spill the beans and say that I was quite angry at my state of affairs ... I disclosed to my mom that I was not happy (Now when I look back at the incedent I think that i said all that in my spree to get pampered) ... and that niether anything spiritual nor material makes me happy and that life is quite boring ... after her usual lecture of how today's generation cannot be happy with small things that life has to offer ... she was discussing with me the different things which could make one happy ... and as a mother of a 24 year old she very ably stressed on the fact that association with family (specially marriage) keeps a human being fulfilled and satisfied ... etc.etc. and etc. ... I as usual was on my ride to make her undertsand how marriage for a girl means a whole lot of compromises ... and that it affects career and blah blah ... so then she asked me if i have read 'The Alcheimist' (which to my utter disgust even while possessing it i had not read) ... so i said 'no' ... she then told me a story ... about a particular part of the book with her own additions deletions and alterations to suit the situation ofcourse! (in her own simple way ... in the way she as been unravelling the several complicated things to me thru my life ... making them simple, comprehendible and endorsable) ...
she told me ... once a common man had walked up to the king and commented that since the king had all the wealth of the world he must be the happiest person around ... the king to this did not answer but gave the man a spoon and some honey in the spoon and told him to go and have a look around the palace to find out what all wealth the king had and how happy he was only on one condition that, not a drop of honey should spill ... when the man was back from his sojourn, the king noticed that the spoon was still full of honey and then he asked if the man had seen how happy the king was ... the man retorted he couldnot see anything coz he was looking after the honey in the spoon ... then the king asked him if he was satisfied that he has not spilled any honey ... and the obvious answer was yes ... now that the man had not seen the wealth the king gave hiom another chnage with the honey in the spoon to look around ... this time the king said that the man need not bother about the honey in the spoon... so the man went around and saw all the wealth and came back .... the king asked whether he had seen all the wealth and how much of honey was there ... the man retorted that he had seen all the wealth but when he looked at the spoon to his surprise, he found that there was no honey ... the king then told the man that he would disclose now 'what is happiness' .. and he said when you see all the wealth adn yet have the honey in the spoon that is happiness ...
my mother was very happy to have put across me such a pertinent issue and she mistook my silence over the fone to think (what i guess) is that i was trying to internalise this eternal concept of happiness ... but soon in my mean self i retorted by saying ... 'but ma! dont u think in a human's quest of such happiness the society is happy in making the man to go around and see the wealth and the woman to go around with the man (while he sees all the wealth) looking after the honey in the spoon"!!
okie now she jolted and said ... no my dear world has changed and now the man looks at the wealth half way thru and honey half way thru and the woman looks at the honey half way thru and the wealth half way thru...
sometimes i wonder is it really so!!
Lets go fishing!
I had recieved this as a forward ... dont know where it was generated ... who created this ... whether it is old or new ... but this thought process has reflections in most preachings which have been given to me through my life ... by someone... who did the right things at the right time .. knew always where to call it a day ... did not ever ask for much but got what most would say one has to try hard to get ... and to my mind is one of the happiest and most self contained persons i have seen ... though i donot subscribe to her way of thinking ... she in her wisdom has never forced upon me her ideas ...
This note is not how I look at life ... for me... the leap from a small fishing boat to a bigger fishing boat and then to a fleet of fishing boats is an integral part of a fisherman's life ... and one must move from Mexico city to LA to NYC (may be end up again at Mexico City at the fag end of life) ... the above is not meant to bore one with my thinking ... anyways this is an enjoyable read...
===
An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The fisherman replied, "Only a little while." The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish? The fisherman said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The American then asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?" The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life." The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC, where you will run your expanding enterprise." The Mexican fisherman asked, "But, how long will this all take?" To which the American replied, "15-20 years." "But what then?" The American laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions." "Millions. Then what?" The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play guitar with your amigos.."
This note is not how I look at life ... for me... the leap from a small fishing boat to a bigger fishing boat and then to a fleet of fishing boats is an integral part of a fisherman's life ... and one must move from Mexico city to LA to NYC (may be end up again at Mexico City at the fag end of life) ... the above is not meant to bore one with my thinking ... anyways this is an enjoyable read...
===
An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The fisherman replied, "Only a little while." The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish? The fisherman said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The American then asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?" The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life." The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC, where you will run your expanding enterprise." The Mexican fisherman asked, "But, how long will this all take?" To which the American replied, "15-20 years." "But what then?" The American laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions." "Millions. Then what?" The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play guitar with your amigos.."
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Of Digene, indigestion and Bengalis'
an ode to all those meals when i have overeaten and have been suggested by aunties (who had cooked those lovely meals) that i should top it up with a dose of digene/gelusil/aquaptychotis/carmozyme/carboveg....or any of the list of digestives that bengalis surely stock at home...
This article appeared at Hindustan Times, New Delhi on October 25, 2005
It's no laughing matter. To learn that most of the pills we pop on a regular basis are "irrational, useless or needless" makes one feel rather foolish. The issue really is about how we use harmless pills to dull ourselves into believing that we just administered ourselves a dose of 'good health'. But, to be honest, all that worried me — after I stopped laughing, that is — was whatever are my Bengali friends to do now? Lest this unleashes a wave of indigestion, let me assure readers that there is no offence meant here. But, it must be acknowledged, even if research has yet to prove it, that Bengalis must be thanked for the fortunes raked in by Digene sales. And Gelusil sales for that matter. Agreed that there's nary an urban household in India oblivious to Digene or Liv-52, but the world will agree, honorary Bongs included, that there exists an uncanny link between digestive medicine and Bengalis.
The morning rush hour in most households is a matter of routine. For Bongs, it's almost a ritual; for mothers of little boys, a harassment. I know of quite a few kids hoisted upon the toilet seat and made to sit there until... Little wonder that Bengalis grow up reading so much.
Even as I write this, a non-Bengali colleague (for the world is divided into Bengali and non-Bengali people) chips in with his tale. Married to a Bengali, he was somewhat taken aback when he realised that a criterion to judge whether he, as a guest, was comfortable in a Bengali uncle's home, was to enquire about his visitations to the loo and judge the experience thereafter. For a non-Bong, this parameter can be a bit of a shocker. But as anyone visiting relatives in Calcutta (where meals have no names) will agree, the natural corollary to any post-meal protestation, is, 'There's Digene'. And imagine my amazement at a neighbour postponing his house being white-washed because, hand on stomach, 'it wasn't cleared today'.
Bengalis would, of course, much rather talk about their forefathers in light of their contribution to things like drafting the Constitution, and it is but natural that there is little engagement on their collective weak constitution. But fact of the matter is that a Bengali household, in some degree or the other, is conditioned into making peristalsis, what else, a mass movement.
Many a heart was broken when Helicobacter pylori took all the credit for causing ulcers. Stress, mutton cutlets and 'tele bhaja' could no longer be blamed. But there was succour in the bottles that formed the gastric line-up: Digene, Aqua ptychotis, Carmozyme. What are these men going to do now? It's not even a condition that you develop with age.
It may be interesting for geneticists trying to crack genome intricacies to conduct a survey of this Bengali condition. Does a protein sequence trigger it off? Or, Dr Watson, is it all very alimentary? Maybe they can call the study, 'The Great Bengali Bowel Movement'.
This article appeared at Hindustan Times, New Delhi on October 25, 2005
It's no laughing matter. To learn that most of the pills we pop on a regular basis are "irrational, useless or needless" makes one feel rather foolish. The issue really is about how we use harmless pills to dull ourselves into believing that we just administered ourselves a dose of 'good health'. But, to be honest, all that worried me — after I stopped laughing, that is — was whatever are my Bengali friends to do now? Lest this unleashes a wave of indigestion, let me assure readers that there is no offence meant here. But, it must be acknowledged, even if research has yet to prove it, that Bengalis must be thanked for the fortunes raked in by Digene sales. And Gelusil sales for that matter. Agreed that there's nary an urban household in India oblivious to Digene or Liv-52, but the world will agree, honorary Bongs included, that there exists an uncanny link between digestive medicine and Bengalis.
The morning rush hour in most households is a matter of routine. For Bongs, it's almost a ritual; for mothers of little boys, a harassment. I know of quite a few kids hoisted upon the toilet seat and made to sit there until... Little wonder that Bengalis grow up reading so much.
Even as I write this, a non-Bengali colleague (for the world is divided into Bengali and non-Bengali people) chips in with his tale. Married to a Bengali, he was somewhat taken aback when he realised that a criterion to judge whether he, as a guest, was comfortable in a Bengali uncle's home, was to enquire about his visitations to the loo and judge the experience thereafter. For a non-Bong, this parameter can be a bit of a shocker. But as anyone visiting relatives in Calcutta (where meals have no names) will agree, the natural corollary to any post-meal protestation, is, 'There's Digene'. And imagine my amazement at a neighbour postponing his house being white-washed because, hand on stomach, 'it wasn't cleared today'.
Bengalis would, of course, much rather talk about their forefathers in light of their contribution to things like drafting the Constitution, and it is but natural that there is little engagement on their collective weak constitution. But fact of the matter is that a Bengali household, in some degree or the other, is conditioned into making peristalsis, what else, a mass movement.
Many a heart was broken when Helicobacter pylori took all the credit for causing ulcers. Stress, mutton cutlets and 'tele bhaja' could no longer be blamed. But there was succour in the bottles that formed the gastric line-up: Digene, Aqua ptychotis, Carmozyme. What are these men going to do now? It's not even a condition that you develop with age.
It may be interesting for geneticists trying to crack genome intricacies to conduct a survey of this Bengali condition. Does a protein sequence trigger it off? Or, Dr Watson, is it all very alimentary? Maybe they can call the study, 'The Great Bengali Bowel Movement'.
Monday, December 19, 2005
A little too irrascible a little too sweet
In remebrance of those days when my grandfather used to make big eyes and scare my siblings and me for not wearing manki caps from the beginning of November... i could not but share this news paper article...
This article appeared in the Hindustan Times on November 19, 2005.
Thanda lege jabey
One phrase every Bengali worth his sweater has grown up with is thanda lege jabey. It is the ultimate warning of impending doom, an unadulterated form of existentialist advice. Thanda lege jabey. Thou shalt 'catch the cold'. 'Catching the cold' comes easy to Bengalis. It's a skill that's acquiredalmost immediately after birth. Watch a Bengali baby and you would know.Wrapped in layers of warm clothing even if the sun is boiling the mercury, the baby learns quickly that his chances of survival in a Bengali household depends on how tightly he can wrap himself in cotton, linen and wool. Bengalis have almost romanticised warm clothing, so much so that Bengali art has found eloquent expression in a form of quilt-stitchwork called kantha. I'm sure wool-shearers even in faraway Australia say a silent prayer to Bengalis before the shearing season (if there's any such season). I'm also sure the very thought of Bengalis sends a chill down the spine of many a sheep.In winter, the quintessential Bengali's outfit puts the polar bear to shame. Packaged in at least seven layers of clothing and the head snuglypacked inside the queerest headgear, the monkey cap, he takes the chill....head on.Easy lies the head that wears the monkey cap. With a pom-pom at the top, it's not just a fashion statement; it's a complete fashion paragraph. I remember strolling down the Walk of Fame in Hollywood on a pleasantMay evening. My eyes scanned the glittering stars on the asphalt - each anode to a Hollywood heavyweight. Suddenly, my ears caught the unmistakableDoomsday warning - 'thanda lege jabey'. I stood transfixed.The Hollywood Walk of Fame is probably the last place one would like to get caught 'catching the cold'. I turned around. There was this Bengali family braving the American chill. The young brat of the family was adamant that he didn'twant any more clothing but mom wouldn't have any of it - "sweater porey nao Rontu baba, thanda lege jabey." I need not translate that. Mom won, and the family -sweaters et al - posed for a photograph. For a race that is perpetually running scared of cold weather,Bengalis have a surprising affinity for hill stations. Probably, warmth of heart is best preserved in shawls, pullovers andcardigans. In an age when you are judged by how cool or uncool you are,the warmth that the kakus, jethus and mashimas exude can melt icebergs. I wouldn't trade that warmth for any amount of cool.However, the monkeycap may look cool without the pom-pom. © Hindustan Times and Subir Ghosh, 2005
This article appeared in the Hindustan Times on November 19, 2005.
Thanda lege jabey
One phrase every Bengali worth his sweater has grown up with is thanda lege jabey. It is the ultimate warning of impending doom, an unadulterated form of existentialist advice. Thanda lege jabey. Thou shalt 'catch the cold'. 'Catching the cold' comes easy to Bengalis. It's a skill that's acquiredalmost immediately after birth. Watch a Bengali baby and you would know.Wrapped in layers of warm clothing even if the sun is boiling the mercury, the baby learns quickly that his chances of survival in a Bengali household depends on how tightly he can wrap himself in cotton, linen and wool. Bengalis have almost romanticised warm clothing, so much so that Bengali art has found eloquent expression in a form of quilt-stitchwork called kantha. I'm sure wool-shearers even in faraway Australia say a silent prayer to Bengalis before the shearing season (if there's any such season). I'm also sure the very thought of Bengalis sends a chill down the spine of many a sheep.In winter, the quintessential Bengali's outfit puts the polar bear to shame. Packaged in at least seven layers of clothing and the head snuglypacked inside the queerest headgear, the monkey cap, he takes the chill....head on.Easy lies the head that wears the monkey cap. With a pom-pom at the top, it's not just a fashion statement; it's a complete fashion paragraph. I remember strolling down the Walk of Fame in Hollywood on a pleasantMay evening. My eyes scanned the glittering stars on the asphalt - each anode to a Hollywood heavyweight. Suddenly, my ears caught the unmistakableDoomsday warning - 'thanda lege jabey'. I stood transfixed.The Hollywood Walk of Fame is probably the last place one would like to get caught 'catching the cold'. I turned around. There was this Bengali family braving the American chill. The young brat of the family was adamant that he didn'twant any more clothing but mom wouldn't have any of it - "sweater porey nao Rontu baba, thanda lege jabey." I need not translate that. Mom won, and the family -sweaters et al - posed for a photograph. For a race that is perpetually running scared of cold weather,Bengalis have a surprising affinity for hill stations. Probably, warmth of heart is best preserved in shawls, pullovers andcardigans. In an age when you are judged by how cool or uncool you are,the warmth that the kakus, jethus and mashimas exude can melt icebergs. I wouldn't trade that warmth for any amount of cool.However, the monkeycap may look cool without the pom-pom. © Hindustan Times and Subir Ghosh, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)