Djokovic at his Comic Best

Agnee Aahatein- The Splitsvilla 4 Theme Song (Unplugged Version) 

Hats Off To The Master

The Two Rupee Miracle

Some years ago, on the last leg of the Rajasthan tour, we were headed towards Pushkar, the only city in India with a Brahma temple. As we neared the desolate, sandy landscape made way for people dressed in a riot of colours.
We reached the Brahma temple, where a serpentine queue awaited the darshan. While some from our group of friends went looking for a ‘quick’ way to get entry, others tried to use the opportunity for a cup of tea, a cigarette or paan. Like other temple cities, we were chased by beggars for alms on every street. As my friend and I lit a cigarette standing at a nearby paan shop, a grey-haired, spectacled and wrinkled old beggar woman approached us with her walking stick for alms of one rupee to help her buy lunch. We looked at her in distaste and refused to oblige. At that moment, a friend called to ask us to hurry up for darshan. We crushed the cigarette with our shoes, I took my son in my arms and asking my wife to follow, left for the temple gates. I could overhear the woman say that, “these young men will burn more than a rupee for their bad habit, but will never give a rupee to a hungry person.” I left the place nonchalantly. However, during the darshan, her remarks resounded in my ears. I began wondering if there was some truth to what she had said.

On our return, I found the old woman standing near a shop. I beckoned to her and she came promptly. I asked her who would give her lunch for a rupee. She replied, “At an alms house. It's virtually free, but they have stipulated this token amount for each meal. We have to deposit the amount before lunch.” I gave my son two rupees to give it to her. Before accepting the money, she promptly took my son's hand in her own and embraced him in her emaciated armswith love and affection, ran her fingers through his hair and prayed to the Almighty for his prosperity. Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. I had never witnessed such heartfelt blessings and could never have believed that two rupees could reflect such unbounded joy in a person's eyes.
About an hour later, as we were returning to the hotel after lunch, we found the old woman having her lunch sitting on a stone under the shade of a tree. A little girl in a dirty, torn dress sat beside her, who she was also feeding. I went up to her and asked, “Amma, who is that girl?” She replied, “Sir, this poor girl is new in the city and yet to learn how to beg a rupee from the tourists. She couldn't arrange a rupee today. So, I have brought lunch for her out of the money you gave for dinner. Don’t worry, God will arrange for my dinner.”
I was astonished at her generosity and could not utter a single word. It was a true lesson. The woman who was not sure whether she would be able to arrange a rupee for her dinner did not hesitate to feed a hungry girl. Her remarks were correct and the proof of how the cost of two cigarettes could feed two hungry people was before me.
For the last time, I tossed the half-burnt cigarette and crushed it under my shoes. I got the strength to quit the habit at that moment. No ‘statutory warning’ on the cigarette packet could teach me the lesson that the beggar woman did that day. 

An Unforgettable Ride

It was a normal November evening - humid and hot - and almost half past eight as I walked towards the building exit. I was sure the last bus to the station had already gone, "Why can't travel in Mumbai get any simpler?" I thought aloud as I struggled with the weight of the laptop and my bag. I'm still not sure whether it was my evident discomfort or otherwise, but just then a black and yellow taxi pulled over.

He didn't pose any questions, didn't inquire about the destination, not even if I really wanted to hail a cab - he just waited. I looked up at the yellow streetlight, and through the skylight formed through the branches of a nearby tree, all in an effort to buy some time as I cleared the thoughts in my head: "What happened to all that talk about intelligent spending?" "Oh, come on, it's just a one-off occasion..." "Wants are dearer than needs sometimes!"

With my mind following a trajectory of its own, I opened the door of the cab and in the true ritual of a 10 to 7, five daysa-week, working professional, first settled my laptop, and then seated myself.

All the while he waited patiently, barely glancing up from the steering wheel. He finally looked up through the rear view mirror to ask me where to head. It was then that I caught a glimpse of his eyes, a set of strikingly ordinary eyes. There was nothing exceptional about them, and yet in their own forgettable way they were unforgettable.

As we turned right towards the Oberoi, I pulled out my earphones and plugged them into my phone. Ah! The joys of a music phone. And then as we drove past Inox, the music was interrupted by a call. Sheesh! It was my sister calling to remind me about the pictures she needed for her project.

"Damn!" I thought, as I instructed him to turn towards Fountain from Fashion Street. She needed magazines to cut up, and the book stalls outside American Express Bank were just the place to pick up discarded National Geographic magazines for dirt cheap rates. I stopped the cab near the stalls, and asked him to wait.

It took me around 10 minutes to leaf through piles of National Geographic magazines and single out the two I needed. I hugged the books tight and re-entered the cab, sombre and pensive. As we drove towards CST station, I heard him say, "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded my head in silent affirmation and paused the Sufi track resonating in my ears. "What books do you get there?" "All sorts of," I answered. "Really?" he seemed surprised, "I thought you only get law and medical books there." I simply smiled at his amazement. "The books are cheap, na?" "Yes, they are. Most of the books are second hand books that have been discarded. So they are available at much cheaper rates." We were now moving along the JJ flyover, driving above Crawford Market, its fish bazaar, and wholesale shopping plazas.

"Books are expensive! But important." I stunned myself by raising an impressed eyebrow.

"I am a BA, madam." I could sense the pride in his voice.

He checked the mirror to see whether there was any sarcasm in what I just said. There was none. He was satisfied. "I am old now, madam. I am 26. I wanted to do my BEd. It was my dream to be a teacher." I could sense the disappointment. "Why didn't you then?"

We were above Mohamad Ali Road. I could smell the charcoaled cooking of the tandoori chicken. The aromas normally get me hungry, today I barely caught the whiff, this conversation that I was having with a stranger seemed way more gratifying.

"I am the oldest son, madam. My father died when I was 14. I started working to feed my family." "You should really consider studying further if that's what your heart desires. There's no age to education." The cab had climbed down the flyover and was now on the Byculla Bridge. "I am married now, and have two children. I can't follow my heart now. That's why I am here in this city, to earn for my children, what I lost." As I paid the fare, I saw a determination in those eyes, and all of a sudden they didn't seem ordinary any more.

You & me on the highway.......

As I relocated from US in late 2007 and settled down in Bangalore, I soon realised that my number of outstation trips would go up as part of my job requirement. From once a month, I began to travel two to three times a month. 

Travelling was a challenge initially. But then every uncomfortable situation gives you an opportunity to explore, observe, learn and view the world differently.

My company would rent a car to pick me up or drop me or be available for me as long as I needed. Not having had a great experience earlier with autos and taxis, I would always ask the cab to be available 30 minutes before I actually needed it. But this time, it was different. There was never a time the driver turned up late. They were always there 15 to 30 minutes before the scheduled time.

With so many travels a month, I began to see the life of a driver from a different lens. A driver whose only purpose was to drive me to my destination safely and be available all the time to go anywhere I wanted. Over 95 per cent of the drivers would not talk or open up in a conversation. They are also mandated by companies not to talk on the phone when there is a passenger.

And then one day, as I was returning home from the airport in Bangalore, I saw an accident closely. A pedestrian was knocked down by a speeding cab, which had overtaken a few minutes before. It seemed like the pedestrian had died on the spot. There were a group of people around the scene and the cab which had knocked him down had stopped a few metres away. As I looked in horror, I asked my driver to stop to see if we could help, but he refused. I had a horrible feeling in my stomach, a sense of deep guilt and pain.

I asked him why he refused to stop. And he began to narrate his side of the story. He said, "Sir, a couple of months back, I had a similar experience. After I dropped the victim to a hospital, I had a hard time explaining to my company why I had a blood-soaked car. Lots of insurance issues, not to mention the number of times I had to visit the courts and police station to give testimony. It's not that I don't want to help, but I am just a driver. I can't afford to go through all this."

Within minutes, we saw an ambulance pass by towards the site. I wished and prayed that the pedestrian had survived. This was my first real insight into a driver's life.
Over the next several months, I would come across many drivers and each had a unique story to tell. Almost all of them live in far off places. And when they are done with the duty, sometimes as late as 11 pm, they would drive back to the company, leave the car and take a bus or cycle to go home. Sometimes, if it was too late, they would sleep at the company without going home for several days.

In my last visit to Hyderabad, I had a driver, who looked unusually shabby and like he never had a good night's sleep. When I asked him, he wouldn't say anything. On the third day, when I was about to leave for the airport, I had a different driver. I asked him why my earlier driver suddenly left. He told me his mother had been suffering from a heart ailment and was admitted the same day in a hospital due to an emergency. And he was by her bedside. It also turned out that the second driver too was celebrating his marriage anniversary, by picking me up! I paid him a few extra bucks and sent some for the other driver whom I could not meet.

As I look back, I wonder how little we really care for the world around us. A driver only represents a million such people around us who call for each of us to act with a greater sense of responsibility and duty towards others. It calls for each of us to see the world through others. Like Swami Vivekananda said, "The mistake is that we want to tie the whole world down to our own plane of thought and to make our mind the measure of the whole universe."

To Baba With Love

When
Baba, a professor, retired after 40 years from one of India's premier
engineering institutes, he booked a modest two-bedroom government house to mark
the event, at the family's insistence
All through my childhood, we
often despaired at his total disinterest in anything remotely luxurious While
his students turned up on swanky motorbikes, Baba would bicycle to the
institute, which was close by and “did not merit wasting
fuel”“I'm married
to a saint!” Ma would remark sarcastically.whenever he refused to buy a
second pair of shoes.

“We have much more than we really need,” was
all he would say in reply to our bright
ideas Since Baba's was often the brutally
honest lone voice against the management, he frequently earned their
displeasure There were, of course, no savings, and the money was always just
enough to cover the necessities, but never enough for Ma's double-door fridge or
Kanjeevaram sari Yet, he quietly sent a small amount to his village and never
turned away the steady stream of “needy” people who often.arrived at
our doorstep.

“Even the
new lecturer next door has bought a Maruti,” Ma would scowl at his
newspaper “Thank God! The children are more ambitious and did not take
after you” To such comments, Baba offered neither retort nor explanation
At the inauguration for the
new Business School, when we coaxed Baba to wear a branded shirt, he was very
uncomfortable “But Babloo (the neighbourhood tailor) is very good,”
he said And so Baba delivered his speech dressed exactly as he always was He
seemed such a.misfit in today's world.


Then, recently, an invitation
arrived for the institute's centenary celebrations, where “exemplary
teachers and true role models” would be honoured I decided to tag along
to relive childhood memories Baba returned to the institute after five years to
a warm and rousing welcome Through the day, everyone — from the director
to the peons — fawned over us, updating Baba on all the projects he had
started, the departments and labs he had
createdThere was a dinner in
his honour that evening.All his colleagues and many of his ex-students, some of
whom I recognised from the cover stories in business magazines, turned up.


Just then, “Sir” ,
a very sophisticated but apologetic voice intervened It was Mr
Multi-millionaire “Sir, I don't know if you remember me, but you've been
one of the biggest influences in my life I'd be grateful if you could please
spare five minutes to speak to my son, who will soon start college” I was
speechless As the speeches started neither Ma nor I could hold back our tears
at hearing the words used in praise of Baba - “his honesty and
integrity lent this institute its.character.

”, “ his deep
commitment to his profession and selfless devotion to his subject went on to
inspire hundreds of young scientists”, “ his fair, firm and
affectionate manner of dealing with his young students made him one of the most
popular teachers” Gosh, were they saying all this for Baba? My
innocent, simple, truthful-to-a-fault Baba?
I looked around the packed
auditorium and as several designer suits bent down to touch his feet, I had all
my answers And I just sat there, amazed and.very proud.

Baba has succeeded
where so many of us fail As mentor, parent and human being It took me so
long to realise it The commemorative medal he got that day barely covered the
palm of my hand, but it felt solid and beautiful, and so much bigger than it
was The next week, when his six-year-old grand-daughter was attracted to the
shiny coin that dada had, to no one's surprise, he gave it to her to keep.