He trusts us and we reciprocate

For the longest time, we have thought of ourselves as a crooked country. Signs in crowded places warned us to beware of pick pockets and we did. But strangely, we placidly accepted those who stole from us to deprive us of roads, electricity and clean water as a fait accompli.

Then he came along. This guy called Narendra Modi, who told us that we could be trusted. He told us we didn't need a gazetted officer to attest certificate copies. We could attest them ourselves.

He told us we could make our country beautiful and clean again. We didn't have to wait for anyone else to do it.

Then one night he announced he needed our patience and understanding to clean the country of the scourge called black money. And then he made our 1000 and 500 rupees currency notes illegal. We had to stand in line at the bank and wait for hours in the first 10 days since he made this announcement to get some cash. It definitely wasn't what we wanted to spend our time on. But we did it.

But then, I err. I do not live in India, so I speak with the metaphoric "we". Coincidentally though, I happened to be in India for a week about 10 days after demonetization was launched. The day my husband and I landed in Mumbai, we saw long queues at the foreign exchange counters, which would close one after the other as they ran out of cash. Thankfully, we had enough valid cash to get a taxi to our nearby hotel and didn't have to visit those counters.

Chatting en-route to the hotel, the taxi driver said, "Modi has really started something with this demonetization drive". I asked him if it had been troublesome for him and he was quick to deny that possibility. "We hardly have enough money to be troubled by the demonetization of 1000 and 500 rupees. We operate with much smaller currency notes, so our lives are not disrupted. We know Modi's doing this so all those big crooks who have been cheating us, are exposed and punished." This sentiment was very different from the winding queues at ATMs and the extreme inconvenience that media outlets had been attributing to the lower middle classes and have-nots in India.

Surprised but heartened, we arrived at our hotel, where we were able to pay for everything from the rooms to meals with a card, thankfully! 

The learning didn't stop though.

A couple of days later, at our second pit-stop of Udupi, we spotted an ATM that seemed to have a short queue (my mother, who had become an ATM expert by now, was confident that ATMs without a queue meant empty cash reserves, so short queues were heartening). So, off we went to join the line. And I noticed that the media was being proven a liar again--people weren't withdrawing the maximum amount they were allowed to. No, they were walking away with much smaller amounts, clearly only money they really needed. The same thing happened at our final pit-stop, Margao in Goa. The ATMs weren't jam-packed and people were withdrawing money calmly and as needed.

So, Modi was right again--we could be trusted to take what we needed and was rightfully ours instead of hoarding. We weren't crooks by default. If any previous government had the stomach to take this step, would the situation have been the same, I wonder.

Sadly, as with any trips with my family, this one was drawing to a close rapidly. We had decided to wrap it up by taking a ride back on the scenic Konkan Railway back to Mumbai. As we slowly drew into the Mumbai station after a full day's journey, we overheard a conversation between a young, self-confessed chartered accountant and a middle-aged government employee. As they discussed the impact of demonetization, both agreed that big businesses, especially in sectors like jewellery that traded in "not-so-white" cash, would be hit hard. Both men couldn't stop praising the dramatic yet well-timed move and agreed wholeheartedly that nobody other than Modi could pull it off successfully. Albeit from a different strata of society, the faith and appreciation in their voices echoed that of our taxi driver in Mumbai.

As he rolls out one initiative after other that strikes at the core of the evils that have claimed Indian society since Independence, Modi continues to prove that he trusts those of us who are honest. And increasingly, despite media claims to the contrary, we seem to reciprocate en-masse with love and complete faith.

Minor irritants and missing responses

Three 'interesting' incidents in 5 days -- some weeks are more happening than others! While I responded appropriately to the first, I was too taken aback to respond to the other two, which, if you know me, left me fuming.

Last Friday my husband and I went to a friend's book party. That's pretty unusual for us in the first place. The party turned out to be in a classy, old money type of venue, which is even more unusual for us. Anyway, we were there to toast our friend and a room full of really old, definitely rich people wasn't about to deter us. Since I am fairly social, I decided to go around and introduce myself. After some false starts where the octogenarians in question had zero interest in getting to know me (though deafness may have been a factor), I came upon two people engaged in animated conversation. The woman was a lawyer with African heritage and the man was an ex-MNC executive who had spent time in India. Upon learning that I came from India, the lawyer told us about her women friends of Indian heritage who marveled at being able to travel alone in India, something that locals wouldn't even dream of. This tale was preceded and followed by worshipful exclamations about the opportunities that America offered its people. If she hadn't told me that she was born in the US, I would have assumed her adoration for the country originated from the typical "fresh off the boat" syndrome. Unfortunately for her, I felt compelled to tell her that I had a lot of friends who travelled alone in India regularly. Soon after, she excused herself, never to return to our scintillating conversation. Honestly, I think too many Indians who live abroad bolster this kind of attitude by deriding their oen country while worshipping their adopted country blindly.

On to Sunday, when we celebrated Diwali with a few friends and relatives. One of the guests, who suffers from the "I am only listening to you because I want to resume talking at the next break in the conversation" syndrome, asked my husband and me if "we had bought our house in the down market". Apart from it being an odd question, we were shocked at the assumption that we would naturally be unable to afford a house like this unless someone were selling it cheap. I still can't get over the fact that you would eat dinner calmly while insulting your hosts. Guess who's never getting invited back again!

And then today, I got a dose of 'mansplaining', a slightly silly term that captures the tendency some men have to repeat a woman's ideas and get credit for them. In a large meeting with clients where I was contributing actively, I realized one guy was repeating most of what I was saying and the others were giving him credit for my thoughts! I couldnt figure out what to say to him today but next meeting he does that, I am using my husband's advice "thank you for repeating what I said...". Ridiculous really!

Three different instances that bothered me enough to warrant a post. Rant over :)

A friendly traveller

We just got back from a beautiful vacation in New Zealand with my sister and brother-in-law, thanks to some amazing planning by my brother-in-law. As I think back over my experience, apart from the gorgeous scenery that seems to paint the land of the Maoris, a recurring theme strikes me -- how friendly my husband is as a traveller.

For someone who's probably the least travelled of my family, my husband has a very open demeanour when interacting with strangers we encounter on our travels. On this trip, that fact came home to me during an impromptu music and dance performance at the Te Papa, New Zealand's gorgeous national museum in Wellington. Always keen on exploring interactive displays, he found a musical exhibit in the Polynesian section of the museum that let one hover over different musical selections to create a 'mix'. As he started to play DJ, a teenaged schoolboy wandered over to the display and began dancing. What started with one kid, grew into a flock of about 10 within a couple of minutes. Clearly trained dancers, the impromptu performance had me both laughing and cheering at a scene that drew parallels to the Pied Piper of Hamlin.

Just a day later, as we boarded the near-vertical Wellington cable car up to the Botanic Gardens, our local (seemingly well-travelled) co-passenger struck up a conversation with my husband. He talked about everything from his travels in the US and Brazil to the similarity in architecture between San Francisco and Wellington. My husband responded easily in a conversation that occupied the majority of the short ride. Just before they started chatting, the same friendly local had attempted to kick off a conversation with me, but my response, while polite, had been fairly short.

So, why, I wondered, did my far more extensive travel experience not help me be as friendly a traveller as my husband?

Well, for a start, I am not Caucasian. And second, I am not American. And I think these two characteristics influence your temperament as a traveller.

From the last few years of living in my adopted home, the US, if there's one thing I have learnt it's that the average American is confident. Equipped with an education that largely focuses on their own country (albeit mostly only on the period following the European occupation of the continent) and a news system that almost exclusively covers stories that touch Americans, s/he tends to assume that the world knows about the US and (allow me this stretch) by extension, them.

A Caucasian American has the added advantage of being Caucasian. So, not only are they denizens of the "world's most powerful country", they are also members of a race that typically only experiences "positive racism". With that in your back pocket, you can't help but be a friendly traveller, right?

Whereas, when you are not Caucasian and travel in a primarily Caucasian foreign country, and (very importantly) are sensitive, you see instances of racism around you. Ok, let's not generalize, I see racism around me.

For instance, when an air hostess seems to behave a little differently with me than she does with my Caucasian co-passenger, I attribute it to racism. Because, to me, that behaviour seems different in a condescending sort of way, whether it's the lack of a smile or greeting or just simple impatience with my request.

So, when I travel, and encounter a relatively friendly Caucasian stranger, my default reaction is to get out of a conversation, instead of using it as an opportunity to get to know a local.

What would you do in a riot?

Yesterday, I watched Firaaq, (yet another) movie about the Gujarat riots of 2002. Like any well-made movie, it made me think, prompting questions and introspection long after the credits had rolled. With Nandita Das as director, I had a hunch that the movie would adopt the popular Leftist lens. And although those shades exist, I think the movie is especially strong because it is ultimately human.

For this post, I am not going to dwell upon why riots that massacre Hindus, Sikhs or other non-Muslims in India do not become a fixture in public (read media) consciousness. Instead, I am going to wonder aloud about the one thing that has been pounding away inside my head since I watched this movie -- what would I do in a riot?

And my question is not about whether or not I would participate in a riot but about my role as a bystander. In the movie, it's about Deepti Naval's predicament. A meek housewife, married to one of the rioters, Deepti is haunted by a desperate face begging to be let in to escape the rioters. As far as the viewer can tell, Deepti does not let the woman in, and continues to be shaken by the memory (and presumably, guilty conscience) a month or so after the riots are over.

And I have been asking myself - what would I do? If helping a stranger puts my family's life in danger, is it worth the risk? Clearly, this was the question that many non-Jews answered in Nazi Germany one way or another. And one that many people continue to be forced to answer across the world today.

I guess the question is important to me because for some reason, I came away from the movie feeling that everyone's vulnerable -- riots and violence can hit any of us. As an Assamese, I have never really been the member of a 'majority' community wherever I have lived. Today, living in a Western country that continues to be racked by race, I have an honest (possibly, irrational) apprehension of being lynched, because I look different. To counter this, I choose to live in a 'diverse' neighbourhood, instead of the homogeneous ones many of my compatriots prefer. To me, the only safety net that humans have, is living with others who are not a replica of ourselves.

My Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, who continues to be blamed for the Gujarat riots, said in a recent TV interview that international relations today are not just about governments but also about people-to-people relations. I think that applies within a country as well, especially one as truly diverse as India. Whether it's religion or language, caste or race, humans don't really need a reason to build barriers.

But getting to know individuals who are different from oneself and recognizing that other perspectives exist, is probably the only chance we have of saving ourselves from annihilation at our own hands. And maybe if we do this long enough, one day, that stranger won't be a stranger any more and we'll never have to ask ourselves the question I pose to myself today.

To feel powerful again

The other day I was talking to a colleague who's spent some time in India. As always happens with our conversations, the Indian political scene and Narendra Modi popped up. When she asked me if I thought Modi had made a difference in the two years he's been Prime Minister, the answer, surprisingly, came easily to me.

"I don't think anybody can change India in two years or even five or seven. But I think Modi's biggest attempt and potential for making a difference is changing our outlook on our country and ourselves", I said.

Every speech he gives, each 'Mann ki baat' he uploads, he always focuses on the small things that individuals can do to make a difference. Whether it's a kid who suggested setting out a dish of water for birds in the hot Indian summer or another who wishes his parents would celebrate his exam score instead of lamenting it, Modi singles out instances where individuals can and do make a difference. He seems to be sending us a clear message -- "this is your country. You are not victims and the government is not here to rule or dole out justice (or injustice) to you. It's here to serve you but you will succeed only if you help yourself, and very importantly, your country. And it's not a tall order. There are others just like you who are making a difference in simple ways every day. Pick something small and do your bit and you will see how you can change your country and your life."

When Papa told me about a news program on Doordarshan called Good News India, it almost felt like an extension of what Modi seems to be doing. One of the news stories on this program was about an ordinary Indian who shared the water from his borewell with the rest of the village during a mean drought. Something most of the 'bigger' media channels wouldn't touch with a barge pole.

Stories like this give us hope -- that our country's not full of cheats and criminals. And that it doesn't take money and power to make a difference. That each one of us, however poor, however insignificant, has the ability to make a difference in society. That hope gives us power to choose action over despair and propels us towards a sense of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. As human beings in a world that seems to be composed of individual digital islands moving away from each other at a rapid pace, this powerful sense of community is probably the most beautiful gift a leader can give us. And one, that only an uncannily perceptive leader would know to give.

If Modi is indeed trying to do what I think he is; that, above all policy and international relations he succeeds in building, will likely be his single biggest contribution to my country. And, contrary to what the media may have us believe, we, the people of India, will be grateful, Narendra Bhai.

When standing up to Goliath means having faith in yourself

I went to schools that gave me the freedom to think for myself despite being situated in the uber-structured Indian educational system. But these were also schools that tried to teach me to be a good (read obedient) student. And as I was telling my husband the other day, that usually translated into trying to be the angelic, teacher's pet whenever possible.

Growing up, I was always some sort of a school 'leader', whether it be class monitor or house prefect. But, I rarely challenged adult authority openly, much preferring the comfort of agreeing with those in power.

As I started to work in communications, traditionally seen as a 'support role', this tendency continued. My job was to write and do what was needed to make the company and bosses look good. So, I did that to the best of my ability. As I changed companies, I also came across a variety of bosses, from very good ones who wanted to teach me 'the trade' through plain crazy to those who cleverly took the credit for my achievements. True to self though, I continued to stay away from challenging my superiors at work.

Until about a year ago, when I volunteered myself to manage communications for a client, who has since turned into my favourite client of all time. That partnership was my professional turning point. From a communications support person, I transitioned to becoming a communications partner; able to advise and brainstorm ideas with a senior executive who is both intelligent and genuine, a rare combination in the shark tank that is the corporate world.

So, recently, when I was asked to take on another senior client, I had the skills and more importantly, the confidence to start the new engagement with a high-profile assignment. But as I was preparing for this assignment, something strange happened -- I had to challenge somebody over numbers -- a topic I try very hard not to argue about. When I saw some numbers that made no sense to me, however, I politely asked about their accuracy. The owner of the information was taken aback but agreed to look at the content more closely. Apparently that did not reveal any discrepancies and I was asked to explain my question. Not quite sure of my own footing, I ventured to provide more detail, all the while trying to be as polite as I could. At the end of the exchange, the owner of the information understood and accepted my perspective as accurate. Also, very sadly, admitted that nobody had ever questioned that content.

The admission made me both sad and happy. While it made me sad to think that there are those of us who do our jobs and consume content numbly, it made me really happy to know that in a good workplace, standing up to Goliath is about having faith in your convictions. Especially when those convictions stem from common sense and are in an area you don't necessarily consider your strong suit.  

Do our roots come from our language?

As I write this, exceptions start popping into my mind. But I think it's worth writing about it anyway.

Yesterday, we had some friends over for a very fun evening. Among the many things we talked about, the one that stuck with me was 'the feeling of home'. The U.S. is a country of immigrants and rarely do you get to meet someone that really belongs to this land. It's a strange thing to hear but two to three generations in, people still cite as their heritage, the nation or nations that their forefathers had come from. And even though one is born in a certain state, the 'allegiance' to that state is minimal.

To me, as an Indian and an Assamese, that is a very strange thing. Wherever I may live, I will always feel Indian and Assamese. When asked, I always differentiate between where I live and where I come from. And yesterday's conversation brought those feelings to the fore. When a friend commented that a town they had lived in for over a decade did not quite feel like home, I had to stop and wonder why.

Do human beings feel rooted to a place because of a certain kind of bond -- the bond of their mother tongue? Maybe that phrase exudes a power that we don't typically think about. And maybe the fact that language does not distinguish one part of the U.S. from another, removes that critical element, rendering many Americans unable to feel rooted to any one city or state.

I wonder if people in England feel that way too? Or France? Or any other country which is not like mine, where your language is a distinct marker of your ethnicity and your very being? Not that there aren't markers in the U.S. This is after all a country that has created its current heritage after having obliterated almost all signs of its native people. The sports teams of a state seem to be the clearest markers of state pride that I see in this country. Young or old, you swear your allegiance to your home state via the team it hosts.

But what if there isn't a state team? What is your marker? Other than a handful of cities, each town and city in this country carries a thread of homogeneity, with the same shops, restaurants and man-made landscape. The natural terrain feels like it would be the strongest mark of difference between one part of the country and another, but do the citizens of this country see it that way? Does that terrain root them to a certain part of their land over another?

Or does the fact that they speak the same language, overpower any need to have those roots to a certain part of the country?

Politics Trumps writer's block

As I write for a living and try to stay creative at work, sometimes I struggle to be creative outside of work. This is one of those times and I scratch my head about a topic to write about.

Most of my personal writing's inspired by the contrasts I see around me, which probably explains why the bulk of my inspiration comes from the queen of all contrasts, my country, India. Or when something in my adopted home strikes me as a contrast with India.

A lot of people I know are currently agog with interest in Trump. The namesake of the towering Trump towers in downtown Chicago is apparently shocking the world with political incorrectness. And my only response (that stifles conversation) to any questions about Trump is, I honestly have better things to do with my brain than fill it with nonsense. Of course, I freely admit, I will sing a different tune if he comes into power and increases my taxes.

But honestly, when one's workday is packed, I would rather devote the rest to reading something intelligent, cooking something creative and talking about something that matters. And Trump and his ilk don't fit into any of those categories.

End of the day, irrespective of whoever comes into power, the lobbies will continue to move and shake the world, the Indian Parliament will be stalled into perpetual inaction and Biblical creationism will continue to be taught to school students as a parallel theory next to evolution.

So, why spend time discussing Trump?

Insulation is cosy

When I first moved to the U.S., I went to a large public University in the country's third largest city. Having spent most of my life in the metropolises of India, I didn't for a moment expect to have difficulty adjusting to life in Chicago.

And, while the cold is something else, to me, a place is mostly about its people. And I was in for a rude shock. Since I was here to get an M.A. in Communications, the program was not dominated by Indians (unlike most technology-related higher-ed degrees offered by American universities). So, for me it was truly a foreign exchange experience, with classes populated mostly by Americans and a sprinkling of Europeans and East Asians. As the weeks went by and the very different body of literature became a little more familiar (my Bachelors is in Sociology), I began to sense a very peculiar social trait -- people in this country love to talk about themselves and better (or worse) still, they have very little interest in knowing about the 'other'.

Before I proceed, I will admit that there are exceptions. I am married to an American and have some very good American friends who are exactly the kind of people I would have been friends with anywhere in the world. However, my conviction stands. As I have gone on to work in a large global corporation and attended networking, social and volunteer events, I continue to find the same attitude. Here's how a typical conversation goes -- I start with a question, which begets a long-winded answer. And that's it. Typically, there is either no attempt to ask me a question in exchange or if one is asked, my answer, however short, prompts glazed eye-syndrome.

I could guess at a few reasons -- ranging from a social and cultural system that promotes a very strong sense of national pride and an educational system that largely focuses on the U.S. While the former is likely the legacy of having built a new country after scratching out all traces of the past, the latter is a powerful tool to promote the sense of 'us', bringing about a very cosy sense of insulation. And maybe that unwillingness to take the time to understand other cultures is responsible for the range of fiascos that have been U.S. foreign policy for a while now.

I don't know if my guesses are correct but I do know that the end result is a culture that's extremely difficult to navigate. 

Because "every single child matters" no matter where they are born

One always knows, doesn't one that different people and by extension kids have different lives?

I recently watched Oranges and Sunshine, a beautiful film that talks about a vicious child deportation racket from the UK to Australia and other countries in the Commonwealth, which spanned decades. Many of these children were forcibly taken from single mothers and sent to Australia to build churches, work on farms and perform other forms of child labour. The movie rests on the shoulders of the protagonist, a social worker who stumbles upon adults who were deported as children and skeptically at first, starts to investigate.

Armed with her department's support and funding, she heads to Australia to find these children, who are now adults and scattered all over the country. She leaves behind her children and husband for long periods of time to help these deportees, who, albeit in varying stations of life, seem scarred by the forced labour during their childhood.

While, according to the movie, the UK government tried to brush the deportations under the carpet for the longest time, it finally issued a belated apology to the victims. And one can't imagine this crime occurring in modern-day Britain. However, whether it's slavery in their own country or human trafficking to those countries that judge the rest of the world on human rights, children in India and countries with large populations in poverty live this reality even today. According to the Kailash Satyarthi foundation, about 78 million, nearly half of all child laborers, are in Asia and the Pacific followed closely by Sub-Saharan Africa. And their cries go unheard by their own governments as well as the armchair intelligentsia that pontificate about the ills in these countries.

But, as I said to a friend recently, to complain is not enough. For, many of us are fortunate enough to be able to do something. Whether it is to contribute our time and expertise or donate money to organizations that are fighting this unfairness, each one of us can do something. While things will not change overnight, the more we join hands to force that change, the greater the hope that we can make the change happen.
   

Homeless and welcome in Austin

When you walk the path in Austin's Ladybird park, you see dogs (lots of them), people and some interesting artifacts. While a statue commemorates American musician Stevie Ray Vaughan, there is also a different kind of shrine -- one that I don't believe I have seen anywhere else -- a shrine to the homeless.

Having arrived in Austin a day earlier for a quick trip, I had been remarking to my husband about how strange it was to see the largish homeless population on the streets. Even though I have spent quite a few years in the U.S., it is tough to accept that the cities in one of the world's wealthiest nations have such a visible number of homeless people. Without delving into the reasons behind this phenomena, I also had the strange sense that Austin took a different view of this phenomena. While there are soup kitchens and shelters for the homeless as well as fantastic non profits that work for their cause in my adopted city of Chicago, I continued to feel that Austin somehow almost welcomed the homeless.

When we came upon this colourful shrine in Ladybird Park, my hunch was confirmed. This shrine was meant to commemorate the homeless who died in anonymity and mourned the loss of these lives. And this odd gesture, more than any other aspect of Austin gave me the feeling that this city has a heart.

A red man spreads Christmas cheer all the way to Austin

Christmas to New Year's Day, the time when the western world shuts down. And if you reside in this part of the world, a wonderful time to plan an escape from work. So that's exactly what we did--the husband and I. Our destination? Texas.

When I told friends about the plan, reactions ranged from 'that sounds like fun' to guffaws. But the constant theme was -- ''Why Texas? Do you have family there?" And my answer remained the same, "Nope, no family. Just another state to cross off our U.S. travel list. Plus I hear they have great food, so hopefully that will cancel the gun-love!"

So, after surviving the pre-Christmas work week, we arrived at the airport along with hordes of similar geniuses who thought travelling on the day of Christmas was easy. While the traffic was probably a tad heavier than usual, I loved the Christmas decorations (though I still maintain that NOBODY does festival decorations like India). But both of us were a little worried that we might not quite make the flight.

As the Security Check line snaked on, and I watched a woman whose flight had been cancelled throw a minor tantrum, a red man appeared and told us to follow him to a different line. Like lambs, we set off behind our piped piper. And lo behold, he led us to a line which had about 10 people in it. And thanks to this kind soul, our worries vanished and we arrived at our boarding gate well in time. Maybe he was our Christmas miracle :)

We landed in Dallas a little earlier than expected and headed straight for Austin. Having learnt that a long drive on the day of our return flight is not our thing, we had planned to stop in Dallas on our way back. Our first stop therefore, would be the city that our friends unanimously seemed to love -- Austin. So, off we went on our 3-plus hour drive to the 'most liberal' city in Texas, also home to University of Texas, Austin.

Apart from wisdom learnt on the way to NEVER eat at a Jack in the Box, we arrived uneventfully in Austin and checked into the downtown Hilton. And immediately fell in love with the adorable gingerbread village made by the hotel chefs and decorated by patients at a children's hospital and our 22nd floor view of a surprisingly non-homogeneous array of rooftops. As darkness fell, we walked through a fairly-shuttered downtown in search of Christmas dinner at a new Asian fusion place, which was much-loved on Yelp. Interestingly, the only other people we crossed on the darkish streets bore signs of homelessness. After a short walk, we discovered a 2.5 hour wait at the hot new place and resolved to continue to stay away from fancy restaurants! Fortunately, Ra (a Sushi and Asian fusion place), only a few blocks away, was open and had no wait. Destiny had us down for an Asian Christmas dinner after all ;)

We had heard of the Austin live music scene and decided to go to a Jazz performance at the Congress Ave. basement club Elephant Room. Incidentally, this music club draws its name from the elephant head lampshades that adorn its walls. With an hour to kill between dinner and the performance, we

strolled up Congress Ave. in the direction of the Texas Capitol, the largest state capitol building in the United States. On our way, we crossed a mix of old and new stores, which would likely make for a very vibrant main street in the light of day. At about 8:30 p.m. on Christmas however, two excellent drummers seemingly locked in intense competition, were the life of Congress Ave. The tourist numbers swelled as we arrived at the pretty Christmas tree outside the Capitol gates and it was easy to mistake this stately government building for Austin's favourite Christmas destination. Surprisingly, the windows to the building were left open--not sure if that was a welcome sign or just forgetfulness!

Photos done, we headed back to listen to Jazz and gained entry despite a surly doorman. As the crowd grew for this Texas-born Jazz band and people started to offer seats at their tables to those who were standing, the city charmed me a little more. At a table near us, someone paid the tab for a set of strangers who had invited them to their table. This definitely seemed like a city with a different kind of heart. While three members of the four-people band were older Caucasians, the drummer was a slight Asian woman. Despite the standing room-only crowd, I think she and I were the only Asians in that room that night!

The next day would bring more sights of Austin. But for now, it was time to say good night to this lovely city.

A bright-eyed septuagenarian in a world that doesn't make sense

"We'll buy something from him on our way back", Ma said as we got off the cable car to reach the far bank of the Narmada at Bheraghat. In my rush to see the magnificent river and take the mandatory 'selfie', I completely missed seeing the seller she was talking about.

The Narmada is awe-inspiring and yet, in a way that only water can be, inviting. Led by my sister we picked our way through the semi-rocky path to find a relatively quiet spot with convenient rocks to sit on. As we were getting ready to settle down and dip our feet in the water, a good Samaritan accompanying his family to see the same sights cautioned us against stepping into the fast-flowing river. I smiled at him and proceeded to do what we had come to do aka sit on a rock and dangle our feet in the water. Soon after, when I saw that he was the only one in his large family keeping safely out of the water, I figured he was used to people ignoring his well-meant advice ;)

This was the later part of November and Jabalpur (in the state of Madhya Pradesh), where Bheraghat is located, was experiencing a warm 28C.

The Bheraghat falls on the Narmada.
Photo credit: My family

Our chosen spot was across the river from the main 'ghat' and could only be accessed by a cable car, which was (strangely enough) run by a company from Kolkata. Thanks to the additional cable car fee, a lot of the local people typically visit only the main ghat. So, from the far shore one can get a birds-eye view of the great Indian male clad in underwear taking dips in the river without a care in the world (if you have travelled to any popular water body in India, you will know exactly what this looks like). The women, of course, take their dips fully clothed!

We finally had to drag ourselves away from the beautiful waters of the Narmada to make the five-hour drive ahead of us. As we walked back up the path to the cable car, Ma stopped at a ramshackle stall where a scrawny septuagenarian artisan was carving handicrafts from the famed marble of the region. We had bought a similar batch the last evening from a lady on the main ghat but Ma and I knew we had to get something from him. So, we bought another batch, paying him the prices he quoted, even as I struggled to understand how a lovely hand-carved marble flower or turtle could be worth only INR 20 (less than 30 cents in American money)*. Right next to him was a man selling cucumbers and guavas and I asked the artisan if he would like something to eat. He refused, smiling at me toothlessly with the brightest eyes I have seen in a while.

And as I did that day right after he smiled at me and do today, as I write this from the heated comfort of my home in a first world country, I can't stop the tears streaming down my face. Tears that stem from the unfairness of it all -- from the under 30 US cent-value placed on a hand-carved piece of work compared to the shiny plastic trinkets that sell in American stores for much more than a few dollars. It's just one of those times when the world and its ways don't make sense to me.

*Side note: If you read this and ever travel in India, and can veer from the beaten track, go buy your trinkets from the artisans instead of the metro-centric 'ethnic' stores that share very little of their takings with the artisans themselves. Also, I encourage you to ignore the guidebooks that tell you that bargaining is part of the fun of the Indian experience. Do not bargain with artisans. Most of them, especially outside the metro cities, are likely never even going to make it into the lower middle class. 

The bards of the Narmada

"They aren't reciting poetry. On my last ride, they did, all through the ride", said my sister as our boat meandered down the Narmada through the marble canyons of Bheraghat.

And of course, as soon as she finished saying it, the guide began to recite poetry a.k.a narrate the myths of the mighty Narmada. As we sat tightly packed in a boat with about 20 other tourists, the scrawny man with a booming voice and great sense of rhyme, shared stories and historical facts about the river and its canyons. As happens with most film shoot locales, a good number of the facts involved items from various Bollywood movies including from the Shahrukh Khan-Kareena Kapoor starrer Ashoka.

In silhouette: Our bard against his Narmada

While the vista was awe-inspiring and our co-tourists a treat, the most interesting part of the tour to me was the guide. As his two colleagues pulled mightily to steer our well-laden boat into the canyons and back, he told us about how the floods raise the river high enough to cover a good portion of the rocks walls. When the water recedes, it leaves a portion discoloured, creating a marked two-tone rock face.

This and other facts helped add more colour to our 45-minute ride into the canyons and back. As we paid our fares and added a tip for the guide, he thanked us profusely, neither having asked nor expected one. And that made me think about the cruises I have taken time and again in the U.S. where even a short commentary is followed by a request for tips. Before we stepped out of the boat, I asked the guide how many years he had been doing this work and he said he started as a child, so for about 15-odd years. "It is a family heritage", he said. "My dad did this work and so do I." "And what about your kids, if you have any?" They go to school, he said. "I didn't go to school but I am making sure they do."

Will educated children mean that our guide's future generations will cease to be the bards of the Narmada?Maybe. But I won't romanticize poverty. Instead I will hope that education will give our poet-guide's children access to a life with more opportunities. And maybe this bard's children will 'startup' an organization that gives the bards a higher quality of life and our future generations continued access to the poetry of the Narmada.

The scourge of the distracted

I had talked a couple of blog posts ago about my tendency to chase rainbows. That sounds poetic and quaint and brings to mind pastel images.

In reality, it can be more like a pulsating strobe light that emits very different, violent colours and ends up tiring you. I know because I chase rainbows every single day, at work and at home. How many do I catch? I am not really sure.

Recently, I have been trying to ask myself the question -- what do I want to be. I have advised many people to ask themselves that question and answer it as honestly as possible, after deep thought. I have, however, not followed my own advice in this regard. I dither as I try to push my brain to take that next step. Or maybe I see a rainbow that needs to be chased just as my brain tries to focus on the task at hand.

I know I want to succeed and my hierarchical culture tells me that success comes from designations at work. On the other hand, my own instinct is to do the best job possible and shy away from touting my own achievements. As I culture and personality clashes, the rainbows appear. I get attracted to the many role models I could follow, the myriad paths I could take and the many causes I could espouse. Which one or ones, should be mine? And this attraction causes instability and distractions that stop me from doing my best at the tasks at hand.

As my husband put it the other day, "you admire and envy successful people you know, don't you? Stop and look at all that you have to be happy about". I know he's spot on because it's just another version of my deep inner voice that deserves to be listened to. And I know I have to do something before imagined defeats and feelings of being left behind drown out the shine of my opportunities at work.

May be challenging myself to give my best to everything I do is the only way to be, at least for me. May be, the designations will have to figure themselves out without any help from me, for the time being at least.

And that involves hunkering down, setting my priorities right and then getting the job done, creatively and effectively. May be if I start with "I will focus on what I am working on right now (since I do have really cool projects at work)", I will then be able to take the next step of "here are the things I enjoy and want to do more of and here are the ones I want to drop". That seems like a recipe that should work for me.

Maybe that is what I will do. I will pick my 'blue chip' rainbows. Others, flit away. I owe it to myself (and my happiness) and those I love not to chase each one of you.

Motherhood and its gifts

No, I am not a mother to another human being yet. And the only time I have been closest to experiencing this state of being was while taking care of mowgli, our family's short-lived experience with a pet when I was still a pre-teen.

Anyway, that's not what I wanted to blog about. As my husband and I contemplate parenthood, as is often the case when you are considering something, instances of motherhood seem to pop up more often in front of me.

On the flight back from my last work trip, I was sitting next to a mother and her 6 or 7-year old son. I offered to give up my window seat so that the little boy could look out but the mother smilingly refused (much to the son's chagrin). As the one-hour long flight progressed, the son chattered non-stop about the little he could see out of the window and his mother paid close attention. She answered every question he asked and responded to each comment he made. And then both of them worked through a puzzle in his puzzle book together. She didn't do the puzzle for him but instead they took turns. It was a very interesting experience for me in a world populated by kids and parents occupied with their own individual 'devices'. Not only did the son have a paper puzzle book, they were actually sharing a pencil to work on their puzzle!

But more importantly, I enjoyed seeing how much they were enjoying each other. I am pretty sure there are instances when the little boy manages to drive his mother crazy (and vice versa) but on that plane journey, she was clearly enjoying him and he, her. And for their co-passenger, it was a beautiful thing to watch.

During that same work trip, something a colleague told me, also made a huge impression. A young mother of three, she is a very creative and efficient professional and with seriously amazing visual skills. When I asked her how she managed to get everyone ready in the morning before she came to work, she said that her kids were old enough to dress themselves. So, I asked how old her youngest was and her answer? Three. You have a 3-year old who dresses himself? I am sure a huge share of that credit goes to you!

She smiled and said that she had once heard a colleague talk about feeling really bad when she had to travel for work, because her son, who was a lot older than three, was unable to get ready for school on his own. At that point, my colleague resolved that she would raise her kids differently. They would know how to do things on their own, even if that took a little while longer initially. That just makes everything so much easier for everyone at home, she said. As she said this, images of whiny, dependent (sometimes obnoxious) children in many Indian 'malls' followed around by their doting parents, flashed in front of me.

I couldn't be happier to witness these beautiful exceptions that make me a little more open to the idea of motherhood. And not surprisingly, they remind me of the choices my parents made when they trusted my sister and I (both under-10) to take our first plane journey on our own. The memory of the air hostess telling us that the boarding cards were tickets for our dolls, makes me smile and thank my parents for their choices.

Independence and trust are probably the toughest gifts for a parent to give and my sister and I are lucky -- our parents gave and continue to give both freely.

2015, here I come before you go away

Back again. Let's see how long this round lasts but I have a hunch it might be a little longer, maybe as long as Blogger lasts? We'll see.

Anyway, as I like to do yet get to do very little, here goes a stream of consciousness.

I am feeling very beaten-down right now. Before I go down that path, however, I will be the first to acknowledge that I have a lot to be grateful for, in life. Be it a great family, a wonderful home or a good employer that challenges me and simultaneously allows me the time to explore my ideas and interests. I even signed up to volunteer so that I could develop my communication and social media skills more than my internal communications job might allow. So, why do I feel defeated?

And the answer, as first-world as it may seem, is that I don't think I get the recognition I deserve at work. Is it because I occupy the margins--I am brown in a white-skinned world? No, that can't be true. I do diversity communications and I 'know' big companies don't operate like that. Is it because I am not based in a 'central' location for the company and don't have the ability to pop into bosses' offices? Could be, but I don't want to believe that. Surely the quality of my work overcomes the need to make sure the big bosses remember what I look like.

Or is it something else? Since I just came out of a two-day culture workshop that my company flew me out for, I am going to believe that the reason lies elsewhere. Maybe it lies with me, in my inability to 'sell' myself hard enough because I am not sure I have the right proof points.

Let me explain.

As I learned during that same workshop, I am an analyzer. I trust data and base my decisions on data. While that doesn't sound so bad on the surface (I mean the rest of the data-crazy world can't be wrong, correct?), I am a relative anomaly in the world of internal communications. While some of us are stepping off the beaten path, traditionally, a lot of internal communications practitioners have been firm believers in 'give them the content and they will come'.

Umm, no, it doesn't work that way, screams my 'analytical' brain.

Sending out an email on behalf of a leader or posting a blog entry DOES NOT mean the audience has received the message. As media planners have done in advertising and marketing for eons, you have to know where that message landed, whom it reached and try to understand, who (if anybody) did what you had asked them to do. Only then will you have some understanding of whether or not you achieved what you had started out to do.

But it's also wise to know that measurement is only one element of your communications plan. And depending on what tools you have, measurement will give you a limited amount of information and therefore, limited understanding of your audience. So, what do you do?

Well, I think, you still measure. Use that measurement as your first listening outpost. Then you talk to your leaders and members of your audience. You work hard to find out who your audience is, maybe build personas. And then you build a communications plan with multiple channels to try and get the leader's message to those different personas.

Ok, you say, but other than the persona bit, what is new? Internal communications has always used multiple channels. Yes, we have but have we been able to tell you much about what the impact of those channels is? Whether an email sent at 2pm has a different readership compared to one sent at 8am, so you should pick one time slot over the other. Have we been able to tell you if your blog title made a difference to your readership? No, and well, it's internal right? Nobody's buying our product based on internal communications, so why does it matter. And you are right, sometimes it doesn't matter.

But at other times, it does. It matters when your engagement scores dip and you are not delivering the best you can to your customers. It matters when you don't really know how to tackle the morale issues that seem to abound in your company. I think a little understanding courtesy measurement would help at that point. Because, that understanding will help break your 'mass of employees' down into understandable types. While people are more complex than a 'type' or a readership score, getting a glimpse of that type and a hold of that score would be a start. It might help you decide which of your multiple channels could help you reach that person who sits a million miles away and is culturally a complete mystery to you. Or so it seems to me!

Anyway, trying to rein in the rambling here. So, why am I feeling 'unrecognized'. I think the answer lies in my rambling. Because understanding is so important to me, I often chase rainbows. While they are sparkly and understanding the font of colours at the ends might be really cool, I do need to focus on the rainbows I absolutely must understand. To do that, I have to force myself to hone in on what's most important to my employer and how I can use my skills to address those needs.

And outside of work, I have to hone in on what's most important to me in life. And maybe, once I have both of those things figured out, I will be able to truly understand what I need to do to be recognized the way I think I should be.

Diversity is our way of life

Diversity is a hot topic in global corporations with headquarters in the West. The home bases of these corporations, traditionally homogeneous societies, have begun to witness and finally acknowledge a change in their racial and religious demographic. And, as a result, have discovered diversity.

Of course, as with everything new that the west discovers, be it human rights or diversity, the issue becomes the hottest and most urgent topic around. Kind of like a new toy that a child discovers and then wants desperately until the toy loses its charm. So, diversity continues to be blared from every loudspeaker backed by huge budgets.

And I am fine with that until you come telling India how to conceptualize diversity in its own social context i.e. maligning hindutva. This is India you are talking to. And before you tell us what to do with hindutva, take the time to understand what it means (check out this super long post by Arun Shourie). Like many other things you consider yourself an authority on, but actually know very little about, you probably have no clue that hindutva is synonymous with life in India. Because hindutva and hinduism are ancient concepts that recognize that nature itself is diverse. And by corollary, that people are diverse.

I am going to stretch this a little further. If India were ever to be defined in a dictionary, the only word that might capture it, would be, diversity. There is nothing that one Indian has in common with another except that we are citizens of the same country. Though, full disclosure, we identify with our community and state way before we do with our country. We do not speak the same language or more often than not do not worship the same god. And very importantly, because we live it, we also realize that diversity isn't always a good thing. Maybe, that's why, at some point, someone tried to make up songs on national TV about Unity in Diversity. I don't think we paid much attention to that either.

As usual, I digress. But here's my final call to the west - stop trumpeting the virtues of diversity and decrying hindutva in the same breath. It just makes you look ignorant. 

Finally, look ahead

I am trying to be rational and positive but the cacophony is getting to me. Here is our first chance at things changing, at growing a backbone after decades of being a doormat and there are too many whiny voices. And the complaints are laughable and most times, extremely self-centred.

I will be the first to admit that Narendra Modi's appeal to the people of Varanasi to start cleaning up the city made me selfishly happy. All our lives, especially when city dustbins haven't been easily available, our parents have drilled the value of not littering, into us. As a result, I continue to hold on to greasy wrappers and juice tetrapaks for hours (and days, if needed) until I find a dustbin. I absolutely hate it when others litter and don't understand the kind of person that can just throw garbage on the side or middle of a street. So, Modi's call, in a sense, was vindication of a personal principle for me.

But I get really annoyed when people whine on social media about how a BJP government might end India's freedom to wear jeans or infringe upon the rights of Indians to live with a partner of their choice. Are you serious? Do you really think, instead of tackling the inherited legacy of more potholes than roads and a state of permanent hunger and crippling destitution, the new government will expend effort on stifling an upper middle class Indian's right to don jeans? When it needs to prevent the rampant acts of terrorism and punish those who dare commit those acts, it will spend time hunting down those who choose to live with a same-sex partner?

Really? That's what is top of mind for you when a huge chunk of your compatriots live without any basic civic amenities or dignity despite working harder than you or I, in our middle-class existence can ever imagine? Contrary to whatever dynastic mouthpieces may say, poverty is not a state of mind. It is a very hard fact. It is crippling and we have to work very very hard to make it go away. Because when you watch your children starve to death or watch your wife die in childbirth in extremely unsanitary conditions, neither your religion or your sexual orientation matters.

And lest I be misunderstood, nobody should ever be persecuted because of their way of life if they are not hurting others. But we are not a developed country and do not have the luxury of only focusing on the rights of the middle or upper classes. As Indians, we owe it to our country to make it a more equal place. And a huge part of that is pulling our countrymen (and women) out of the crushing poverty that has become their lot.

So, keep those jeans on and live with your partner, married or otherwise, gay or straight. Just make sure you think about your country first. Because only when we are developed and people don't live in desperate want, will any of us really be secure. Even building our little gated Elysiums won't save us from the wrath of real poverty.

So, let's look ahead and give it our best shot. Let's work with this government that wants to change things for the better and see how their work measures up to their promises. We will be stupid if we don't.

Unplugging and haat-mukh dhuwa

As we stepped in after walk-celebrating the first hopeful glimpse of spring/summer, I made a beeline to change into my 'home' clothes. And, out of the blue, remembered my family's tradition of ghorot-pindha and baahirot-pindha kapur.

Somehow that jolted my brain into thinking of a recent Tweet (or was it Facebook post) about the pointlessness of trying to 'unplug'. And how, I really don't unplug anymore other than my almost automatic need to change out of 'office-wear' and into home-wear. As I tried to distill it for (read ramble at) my 'phoren' husband, I told him about my family's emphasis on 'haat-mukh dhuwa' (washing your face and feet) as soon as you came home for the day. We were expected to wash, change and would only then get something to eat. And I can barely remember any exceptions.

Thinking back, this practice seems like unplugging to me. A way to make sure that you don't bring home your work and are able to devote yourself completely to your family. Conversely, with the lack of ubiquitous connectivity, you could typically devote yourself pretty completely to school or work while there. Ma always says that Hinduism and Indian traditions developed from societal need and were very logical and this particular one definitely seems to fit the bill.

As we explore values like 'Being Present' at my company in a time when it's become so difficult to focus on one thing at a time, I promise to hold on to haat-mukh dhuwa. I have a hunch though that this might be a case of keeping the symbol alive while allowing the meaning to slip away.