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.

Bright lipstick does not equal rebellion

She is old news. The media, maybe even her celebrity family have moved on to more current topics. But I have had this note in my drafts for some time and I wanted to write it out. So, (late) Sunanda Tharoor, here's why I think you don't deserve my admiration.

I don't know much about you except for what little the media (social and otherwise) has decided to publish and I apologize in advance for my ignorance. But since this blog is just about my opinion, here goes.

You  were lauded by many and criticized by many others for your decision to live life on your own terms instead of following patriarchal rules. Both of these are values I admire. But I don't think you really lived outside those patriarchal norms. You may have ignored the rules of 'virtue' but you definitely seemed to adhere to other patriarchal rules. You seemed to personify the 'modern' high-society (read Page 3 socialite) woman. The kind that is typically distinguished by a particular kind of make-up and fashion choice more than anything else. The kind that helps establish the 'requirement' that women must look a certain way irrespective of the profession they are in -- a very patriarchal expectation.

So, if you were conforming to the patriarchal rules that worked for you and rejecting those that didn't, why were you lauded as a rule-breaker? Is that a crown that's now awarded to those who wear bright makeup and fashionable apparel? Because that is not the definition of a rebel. This smells like a new patriarchal rule to me.

Palpitations are pesky

I have decided that I don't like 'overly happy' people. (I don't think overly is a real word but it's the right adjective in this instance). I guess I always knew it somewhere deep down but just hadn't figured out if saying that out loud would make me a misanthrope.

And it's not as if a particular trigger set this rant off. It's more a case of having to deal with the overly happy-type too often. The kind that seem to pour excitement down a phone cord/air-wave, into myriad social media channels and (the worst) in-person. The kind that makes you feel like a misanthrope just because you don't automatically love all of humanity (I am not even sure if loving all humanity is necessarily safe). 

The kind that I have recently discovered, gives me palpitations. And forces me to calm my quick breathing. I think somewhere along the line, social media is to blame for pulling the dust covers off the overly happy-type. Pre-the barrage of constant emotions on display for the public to consume, the overly happy-type was probably bereft of the right communication channel. That's certainly changed. And with it, the ability to display unceasing happiness has increased manifold. Now, an unsuspecting (often sarcastic) comment by me on my limited-audience social media profiles risks being flooded with 'Likes' by an overly happy-type. This, in addition to the fact that the overly happy-types will always share the many joys in their life -- new cars, clothes, partners, holidays, babies, houses (if Indian, preferably in foreign lands) ad nauseum via their own social media profiles.

I think I would feel a little more kindly towards the overly happy-types if their updates sometimes included sarcasm/a mention of someone who was not themselves or somehow connected to them/some form of negativity. Anything, basically, that proved to me that they are less angelic and a little more human. I guess angels just cause my heart to palpitate. They feel a little too unreal. Fake, maybe?

Of Nomu's mysterious ways and passports

The first 'one a week' blog post, a little over a week late. For someone who calls themselves deadline-driven, I certainly am lax with personal deadlines!

Anyway, I suggested to Ma that she and I write at least once a week (hopefully the frequency will increase) through this year. I think it will be a good way to motivate each other to write more frequently and also stay in better touch. We'll see but no harm trying :)

Warning as you (my precious few readers) start to read this: this is yet another travel-related post. It's about lost and found and messed-up passports. As I stood in the security check line before boarding my flight to India, chatting on the phone with my husband, telling him (in great detail) about the snaking queue, I was only half-paying attention to anything else.

So, when the ground crew came by asking that we check our belongings for someone else's passport, I was pretty sure that that didn't apply to me. I remembered collecting my own passport at the check in counter and made sure it was in my hand. Since I knew I couldn't have picked up anyone else's passport at the counter or anywhere else, I only gave my bag a cursory glance through. Security check done, mad rush to the plane since I was among the last few to board and I settled down for the 14-odd hour flight home.

A little over midway into the journey and after chatting about Indian politics at length with my seat neighbor, I decided to fill out the immigration forms and dug for my passport. I can't even begin to describe my horror when I opened it and saw someone else's face staring up at me. I flipped through the pages in the hope that I was seeing things and my face would appear when I came back to the bio page. Naturally, that didn't happen. So, I dug in my bag again fervently praying that I would find my own passport. Thankfully, the next passport I pulled out was indeed mine.

Since my seat neighbors were fast asleep, I buzzed for the attendant and waited. After three attempts, one of the flight attendants stopped by and I explained to him that I had found someone else's passport in my bag. He looked confused and then alarmed even as (I am sure) I looked horrified at the thought of how the owner of the passport must be feeling. He took the passport from me and went to consult with the team. By now, my neighbor was wide awake and very curious about what was going on. I repeated what I had said to the attendant and he tried to console me saying that I had done the right thing by returning it. One of the lead attendants came by and asked me to step to the back of the plane with her. Once again, I explained the situation to her as she incredulously asked me how this had happened. As I sadly (and patiently) explained to her that it was impossible to find anything in my bag, I had visions of Ma's blue-black travel handbag which would bring forth the most amazing treasures as soon as we needed them--from paper napkins to water bottles to Vicks. As an adult, I had definitely succeeded in packing a world into my travel handbag but was far from being able to make things appear magically!

Anyway, end of this story, the airline took my name and that was that. Fast forward to the end of a very relaxed vacation with my family and a six-hour halt at Delhi airport before boarding the flight back to the US. After practically hugging a phone booth at the domestic terminal for most of that time and then sauntering into the international section a couple of hours before my flight, when I stood in the final security check queue at the departure gate, I was in for another shock.

I heard the airline/airport personnel announce my name. When I identified myself, the person who was calling my name asked me to step out of the line and show him my passport and other travel documents. As I took those out of my bag, the episode from the inward journey flashed into my mind and I sent a quick prayer up for help.

But unlike the person who's passport I had brought with me, I had a knight in shining armour who had a phone with a broken screen--Avneet Singh Matta. Mr. Matta was the airport security person who had announced for me and who kicked off a series of phone calls to set things right. In between calls, he told me that the dunderhead airline official who had checked me in (extremely unwillingly) at my original port of entry, had entered an incorrect passport number. As a result, the international travel security system was throwing up an error. After about 40 minutes of some serious negotiating, he was finally able to get me and my bags on that flight.

As I was about to board the flight, I asked if I could recommend him to anyone for his amazing help and he said that there was no need. Desperate to show some sign of gratitude to this unbelievably low-key individual, I dug into my bag for a bar of chocolate I knew I had. Of course, this was my bag that we are talking about. It swallows passports, so a chocolate is no big deal. So, I had to let Mr. Matta go without even being able to thank him properly.

I arrived at my seat and settled in, continuing to dig, just in case the chocolate magically appeared. And I guess I was nearing Ma's handbag magic, because this time, it did. The plane was still being held for another passenger who was receiving medical attention, so I rushed to the front and asked if Mr. Matta was still around. He wasn't but thankfully, one of his colleagues who had talked to us earlier, was. So, I explained what had happened and asked him to give the chocolate to Mr. Matta. After an initial refusal (I can only imagine how puzzled he was by my insistence), he finally accepted, smiled and said he would give it to Mr. Matta.

As I walked back to my seat, feeling a little happier and extremely relieved, one of the attendants laughingly said to the colleague that Mr. Matta should go on the airport and airline's ads. I agree, my knight in shining armour would be a good partner for the Maharaja!