tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86353370674827202422024-03-12T20:21:24.515-07:00ConversationsA Peek into My Life & TimesSujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-60202014659693917382024-02-24T06:31:00.000-08:002024-02-24T06:37:31.219-08:00Frenemies - A Book Summary<p style="text-align: center;"> <b style="text-align: center;"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">frenemies</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">The Epic Disruption of the Advertising Industry (and
Why This Matters)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">KEN AULETTA<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><u>P.S: This blog post is a book summary written in 2018 for bookbhook.com. an online reading app</u></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Advertising</span></i><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">
means to give attention to. Advertising connects seller
and buyer. Media is dependent on advertising revenue. The same is true of
music and newspapers. But in today’s digital age, its survival is under
threat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">The book gives us a ringside view of how former
friends have become foes. The term <i>frenemies</i> is used to talk of <i><u>companies that cooperate and compete</u></i>.
They are present everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Consumers are true frenemies because while
they hate intrusive ads, they are dependent on them for free media. Advertisers
do not know how to sell products on mobile devices without annoying consumers
or how to reach a younger lot that skips ads. They do not know how to retain consumer
attention. The consumer chooses from a multitude of options. A mass audience is
rare. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Adding to this chaos is the disruption
caused by Facebook and Google. Digital innovations have impacted the media
industry economically. Newspapers, magazines, television and radio have
witnessed a decline in their advertising revenue. This revenue is diverted to digital
entities. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Earlier there were only 6 media channels to
connect with the customer – television, print, radio, newspapers, outdoor
advertising and direct marketing through mailers. Today, there are many
different channels, and billions of smartphones, and personal devices with
apps. These allow advertisers to both talk and anger people. Television viewing
time has decreased because people are glued to their mobiles. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Facebook argues that data gives more
information about each individual. Earlier, the brand would address an audience
with a TV ad. They would not know who had been hit. It was marketing <b>at</b> people. Digital companies help them
target individual consumers. Every digital platform assures the brand of this
innovation. This is marketing <b>for</b>
people.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Data has always been there but the
difference is in the analysis of the data. The difference also lies in the
consumers’ decision to choose what they wish to interact with and when. 2007
was a landmark year for consumer empowerment when Apple launched the iPhone,
the first smart phone. Facebook also re-directed its attention from college
students to everyone. Amazon launched Kindle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Big data comes from 3 sources. First-party
data comes from companies that interact with customers directly and retain
their credit cards. It also comes from department stores, credit card and car
companies, Amazon, magazines and newspapers and companies depended on
subscriptions. Facebook and Google bank some of the richest first-party data.
Second-party data is anonymous. It has a lot of individual information from
different sources, like clients, and data companies like Nielsen. Third-party
data is got from catalogues and stores. The task is to assemble all this data
to match the products of its clients with targeted consumers. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">A smart phone platform and its embedded GPS
enable brands to track and engage with users. There are limitations to the
mobile platform too. Ads on mobiles soak up battery. The small screens are
restrictive. Consumers dislike the ads and install ad blockers to avoid the
interruptions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Clients want to introduce new products and
build brand identity. But how can they do it when ads on mobile phones are not
as effective? Also, consumers are scattered across several channels and social
networks. How can they reach the mass audience critical to their business?
Another issue is how to target the next generation. The millennials, in the age
group of 21 to 34, are digitally savvy. The Generation Z, born after 1997, hate
being sold to especially when people get an astonishing 5000 marketing messages
every day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Facebook and Google help advertisers build
the brand business. They compete with each other in consumer data collection. This
data is loaded with targeting information. However, they are adamant about not
sharing the data with anyone. They are the new-age digital frenemies. With the
help of marketing services like DoubleClick (Google) and Atlas (Facebook) they
leverage the data. They are agency and platform rivals. Brands are petrified of
Amazon too because Amazon has even better data. They know when a customer
actually bought something. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">If people learn that their privacy is
compromised, they will approach the government and demand protection of their
data, leading to widespread protests against such companies. While data helps
agencies with improved tools to target customers, it also helps clients know
which of their ads sell and which don’t. Today, technology has demonetized
information and given people more alternatives. They can easily skip ads,
express their views, vote, and escape old media platforms. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Frenemies<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Facebook’s entire business is advertising.
They claim they are only trying to help boost sales by helping brands think
through real business problems and understand how mobile is impacting
marketing. They will eventually gain because clients will invest more with them
as they have the dominant platform. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Facebook sells under false pretences. They are
not a technology company; they are just a platform, a media platform. It is a
frenemy. It is competing for advertising dollars. It complements television
because with TV viewing down among the millennials, it is great at finding that
audience. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Fear about Facebook’s advertising ambitions
is fueled by its size, and its refusal to share its data. By 2016, it
collected $27 billion from ads and made profits of $10 billion. Of every new
digital ad dollar, 85 cents went to Facebook and Google. Their digital
dominance increasingly mattered. Facebook and Google have two-thirds of mobile
ad revenue. They have first-party data on people. In a mobile world, it is the surest
way to identify people. Its goal is to entice people to spend 100% of their
time on Facebook. They want to become the Internet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Since Facebook and Google protect their data
from advertisers, clients cannot target consumers on other platforms or in
their future ad campaigns. If the agencies can extract more information from
Facebook about what their users like and do, their ad targeting would be more accurate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Digital companies know much more about consumers than non-digital platforms. Facebook, Google and Amazon are the 3
digital giants. Advertisers want the data from all three. Facebook’s user data is
based on their social interaction. Google’s data reveals a person’s intent because
it is a search engine. Amazon has actual purchasing data. They all have a
monetary incentive to safeguard their data. They claim that they are protecting
the privacy of their users and assure them not to share names or personal
information. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Facebook depends on selling ad space. It
pitches advertisers. Mobile video is the new frontier of advertising, the
new television. 100 million hours of video were watched daily on Facebook. No
other medium in marketing has ever been as personal as the mobile. We carry it
with us everywhere and all the time. We store personal information, pictures, and apps on it. We don’t loan the phone to others. Since it is so personal, ads
have to be personal too and must not interrupt. It presents opportunities to
communicate to consumers in new ways. Hence, clients divert ad dollars to
Facebook to drive business results. Facebook boasts that it reduces costs and
serves customers by eliminating middlemen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Consumer
- the Ultimate Frenemy<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Consumers are against all advertising. Mobile
technology has brought ads relentlessly into people’s lives. It has also given them
tools to block them. To the consumer, it is a happy solution. Consumers are
annoyed by pre-roll and banner ads. They are angered by lethargic ad page load
speeds and troubled by unsolicited marketing messages draining their batteries.
They are anxious that their privacy was being invaded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Apple earns barely 1% of its revenues from
advertising. It helps consumers protect their devices from ads. Apple
prioritized the user experience. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">But websites, media companies, marketers, and ad-dependent companies like Facebook and Google cry hoarse. They say that
ad blockers adversely affect their ability to inform users and subsidize
content. They allege that Apple and ad blockers are killing the industry. Apple
and ad blocker advocates, on the other hand, say advertisers are committing
suicide with their senseless, pushy ads. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Apple’s move was part of the tussle between
Apple and Google for smartphone supremacy. Apple makes money selling
hardware and software, Google by selling ads. Apple intentionally offered
consumers something Google couldn’t. Apple knows that when an online service is
free, you are not the consumer; you are the product. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Data has gained
prominence in targeting consumers. Technological innovations are changing
the landscape of consumer engagement. </span></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-57006034111621547232022-08-03T04:16:00.002-07:002022-08-03T04:22:02.308-07:00God's Money<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was Tanvi’s 6<sup>th</sup> birthday on the 6<sup>th</sup> of
June 2012. I had decided to spend exactly six thousand rupees this time. I wanted to see if
I could give her a memorable birthday without spending an exorbitant amount of
money. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And I did! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Here’s how: Lunch at </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Malleshwaram Sevasadan (home for under-privileged girls) - Rs 600, Make A Wish Foundation - Rs 1500, and the rest for dress, cake, and going out. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The plan, then, was when
she turns 7, the budget will be Rs 7000. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Why am I writing all this on my blog?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I remember Saru Singhal’s FB status message, long back, when
she had mentioned, how someone was constantly bragging about the causes he was contributing to. And Mithlash responded that, at least, he is
showing off about a good thing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">For the longest time in my life, I too believed in the saying
that when you do something good, even your left hand should not know what your
right hand is doing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I started earning in the year 2000. My very first job was as
an English Lecturer in a Government First Grade College. The salary was Rs 3000.
I got my first paycheck after 3 months of working – Rs 9000. The first thing I
did was keep aside Rs 900. I had created various heads Home, Shopping, Mother, Savings, and God’s Money. The 900 went under God’s money. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOYPYRyW6yDgHJcJhKyfnSSLXPwpIsDjkPo0P7sokc7nVIXxHr2C1OKXtkGk5_x08XE2K0On0dR72kKXPyv5rysEiZd1DCVnk6xRxvNNtytgurBnS19zhIi_u_jdicbe82l3daEd44ZxPi_UPHHRYKtMp6SSm2cNfH5pew8fWxP9yfK2KJ_G1DO8I/s640/8597022144_350d35152e_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOYPYRyW6yDgHJcJhKyfnSSLXPwpIsDjkPo0P7sokc7nVIXxHr2C1OKXtkGk5_x08XE2K0On0dR72kKXPyv5rysEiZd1DCVnk6xRxvNNtytgurBnS19zhIi_u_jdicbe82l3daEd44ZxPi_UPHHRYKtMp6SSm2cNfH5pew8fWxP9yfK2KJ_G1DO8I/s320/8597022144_350d35152e_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I had
read that 10% of what a man earns must be kept for God. It basically means to keep aside some amount from your earnings for a social cause, to help someone less fortunate than oneself. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">From
2000 to 2009, the year I quit my full-time job, I have been having God’s money allocation. From Rs 3000 in the year 2000 to Rs 37,000 by 2009, God’s money moved from
just Rs 300 per month to Rs 3700 in 2009. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">That’s ten years of using that amount
for causes I felt strongly about. Even my mother didn’t know what I was doing
with that money. She thought I was putting it in the hundi (donation box) of
temples. After all, it was for God. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Somehow, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea. I
wasn’t sure if it went to the upkeep of the religious place and thus helping the needy and the poor or if it was misused by the government. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It took me more than a decade to realize that my reservations were right. When I learned </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">about the State Mujarayi Department, I couldn't believe it at first. I was glad I did not put any money in the hundi all those years. The government controls Hindu temples. Ironically, in a so-called secular country, the government does not control churches and mosques. All churches, mosques, and madrasas use the money they collect for their own welfare, expansion, and growth. But, the money (nearly Rs 7300 crores; Tirupati alone contributes almost 3000 crores) collected from 1,30,000 temples across India is used for <b>"minority"</b> </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">(Christian & Muslim) </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">appeasement. It is used for activities like sponsoring Hajj pilgrimage with subsidies (it has recently been stopped), special salaries & pensions to mullahs & fathers, education courses & scholarships, and so on. Barely a small amount goes to the actual development of the temples themselves. The loot and the misuse are unimaginable and have been going on for ages, thanks to the ignorance and spinelessness of idiotic Hindus like me who are fooled every day in the name of secularism. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Anyways, at the time, I did not know any of this. I searched for
organizations to contribute to. In the early 2000s, I still did not know what Google was, and
that it would throw up any information we sought in a jiffy. So I would search various magazines and
newspapers and make a note of institutions I wanted to support.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I was looking for institutions that were making a
difference in the lives of others. CRY was the first institution I contributed
to. It was for the cause of girls education for a year, and survival needs for 2 years. Later on, I added Akshaya
Patra (meals). Parikrma (food and education), Help Age India (senior citizens), and Make A Wish Foundation (fulfilling wishes of terminally ill children).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Jean Sasson writes in her book, <i>Growing up Bin Laden</i> that "t</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">he joy of giving is more acute when sharing creates personal hardship. It is easy enough to share when one has plenty". True that! Given my background and my financial condition at the time, the money I was keeping aside was hard to part with. But the dogged determination to continue doing the right thing ensured that I never once held back. It gave me immense joy then. And today, after all these years, as I look back, it is the same feeling of fulfillment. I don't know where the 90% of the money I earned went. Survival needs ate up everything. But that tiny 10% is the reason for a satisfied smile.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Jean Sassion also states that "Sharing does not necessarily mean the giving of money or
goods. There are times that the greatest gift is to set aside one’s own
troubles and listen, to care about another’s heartache". But I have learned that planned and consistent monetary help to institutions and individuals that are deserving is the need of the hour.</span></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-16039496144905265042022-07-19T04:05:00.008-07:002022-07-20T03:33:45.925-07:00Middle-Class Dreams<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdi1FHc2UBHfSPLGOvWVPZeyI50p_y0-vS-ahvQhuLpVJmR1hjsYR2wxXVavJR8LvEMJ7LmlsHd8Z54b4OfpDZHoSegBCjLBmAKG78-Aul6_4RMyg0QJm9j9EoPvjqpUV_z7vHMmhdGRtbeXFNmlG5XTeR1D4XtuKOxB075AgGsVIND-yJXfQA1hZ_/s1024/2021_9$largeimg_892120969.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdi1FHc2UBHfSPLGOvWVPZeyI50p_y0-vS-ahvQhuLpVJmR1hjsYR2wxXVavJR8LvEMJ7LmlsHd8Z54b4OfpDZHoSegBCjLBmAKG78-Aul6_4RMyg0QJm9j9EoPvjqpUV_z7vHMmhdGRtbeXFNmlG5XTeR1D4XtuKOxB075AgGsVIND-yJXfQA1hZ_/s320/2021_9$largeimg_892120969.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remember this picture of Neeraj Chopra? He had posted this on social media saying a small dream of his had come true, that he was able to take his parents on their first flight. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Why is it so hard to go on an airplane? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As an 80's kid, an airplane was my ultimate fantasy. I was your typical middle-class kid, fascinated by strange objects, unfamiliar people, and far-away places. Cities and their modern gadgets had a particular pull. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I was growing up in a village 450 km from the state capital (Bangalore). It is an 8 hours drive, by today's driving standards and road conditions. The nearest airport (Mangalore) was 75 km away. It was a 2 hours drive from my village. The airport itself was 13 km away from Mangalore city. Today, it costs around Rs 1000 just to come to the city from the airport. Multiple options for airport transfers are still not available. You either take the prepaid taxi or be at the mercy of the drivers outside. They are waiting for return passengers to take back to the city as they drop off the others at the arrival point. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THAT is the extent to which an airplane was a "far-away" thing for us. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Forty years ago, it would have been easier to die and go to heaven than go to the airport.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No wonder, the mere sound of the passing airplane was enough to make us stop whatever we were doing. We would rush out, look up at the sky, catch a glimpse of this wondrous modern invention, and wave at it vigorously. I really thought people inside could see us and were smiling or waving back at us! Also, sometimes, this flying machine made thin, white lines in the sky. We were told that </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">chocolates</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> were given to all the passengers on board and that it was free and unlimited. Can you imagine the power of the two words - Free And Unlimited? We love these words. Even separately they were great and here, they were together!</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For those of us, who went to Dharmasthala on an annual temple trip, in a 'rented-for-the-day' Ambassador, an airplane was </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">mesmerizing. I remember the moment when I looked at the airplane for the first time. It was on our school trip to the Mangalore Airport. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The plane was huge. It was long. It was white. It was slim. It had tiny windows. I wondered how people could look out of those windows? Did they have to stand? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My only references for windows were, those on our local, private buses and the 'big-as-a-door' Ambassador car windows, in which you could slip a child in and out with ease. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I dreamt about the tray the air hostess would bring to my seat and I would choose the chocolate I wanted. Those dreams, those little wishes, those nights thinking of the airplane - it was haunting. It was haunting because I knew very well, that I did not have the money then or perhaps, worse still, never have the money in the future either, to actually be "inside" an actual plane and go from place to place.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Many years later, during one of my training sessions, I remember a girl saying, her only dream was to take a flight from Vishakhapatnam to Hyderabad. This was in 2020. I knew exactly how she felt. I knew, without saying anything more, exactly what her dream meant to her. But at the same time, I wondered how a dream of a villager like me, from an unknown village, from a bygone era, was still a dream of many, in better jobs, better cities, and in the year 2020! For a middle-class person, these are what dreams are made of - irrespective of where we live. <i>Hum aur hamare sapne!</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, did my airplane dream come true? Yes, it did. It was from Hyderabad to Bangalore in 2003. It was an Air Deccan flight. The low-cost airline of the 2000s. It was the cheapest flight available back then. It was famously said, at the time, that traveling by Air Deccan was as good as traveling by AC first class train, almost the same fare. Captain Gopinath's dream to make flying accessible to the masses had certainly made it possible for many like me to fly. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I do not remember now the fare we paid. Or where we bought the tickets. Can't be online, right? Most likely it was through a travel agent. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We were sweating inside the cabin and I was thinking, "Come on now, the machine of my dreams cannot be this uncomfortable, can it?" Someone told us it was so hot because the AC had been switched off. They were waiting for everyone to be on board and the flight to take off for the AC to be switched on. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fortunately for me, many of my </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">subsequent flights were paid for by the </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">companies I worked for. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As a family, paying for an air ticket is something we still go back and forth on, for days on end. I just cannot digest that it still costs so much. I remember our trips to Orissa, Gujarat, and Assam. A large part of the expense was just the flight. Sometimes, 50% of the total travel expenses! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">No wonder, flying is one of the most treasured middle-class dreams.</span></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-72921992226458599762022-07-11T07:01:00.002-07:002022-08-01T22:38:21.244-07:00Paiso How Sindhis Do Business<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Book Summary</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This book outlines the history of Sindhi businessmen.
It shows how five chosen businesses benefited from being Sindhi.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04sPmcO1YQOgU4-_vrthx8G64CMy2tO3MOdjJN0ffgSLFtm1VgyOfVeBbaEJgcSVYzX_lEbGb5c4TXAun7udGKNlNeA2zwMaUGyHegOinSGOAucm-CJuxflhv5k-UuKqz53igkdkTHKTfZ5zgdZM6YXRUwzjve3fY6x55EnGEbgIWZRfpq4YpgoVI/s475/36586677._SY475_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="307" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04sPmcO1YQOgU4-_vrthx8G64CMy2tO3MOdjJN0ffgSLFtm1VgyOfVeBbaEJgcSVYzX_lEbGb5c4TXAun7udGKNlNeA2zwMaUGyHegOinSGOAucm-CJuxflhv5k-UuKqz53igkdkTHKTfZ5zgdZM6YXRUwzjve3fY6x55EnGEbgIWZRfpq4YpgoVI/w259-h400/36586677._SY475_.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The Sindhi Community – A Look into History<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sindhis came from Sindh, now in Pakistan, and were mostly
businessmen and traders. They introduced the system of hundis or bill
discounting and parchis or promissory notes. They were a witness to innumerable
invasions but prospered despite them. They
are capable of thriving even in the face of adversity. No wonder, there are
many rags-to-riches stories in this community. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sindhis sacrifice profit margins for a large turnover.
They are sector-agnostic and are focused on, profit and growth, earning their
wealth wisely and spending it smartly. Their business has evolved from trade to
finance, export, retail, computers, and real estate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The heirs nurture business aspirations from an early
age because they are trained in the family business from childhood. Sindhis do
not promote formal education as they feel the same time could be better spent in
earning money. After all, there is nothing better than practice and experience
to refine one’s business sense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A Sindhi’s sole goal in life is to make money. They
are satisfied only when they accumulate wealth. They are known to brazenly
display their wealth. They indulge in showiness and present a picture of abundance
because business needs a steady supply of large credit. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sindhis engage themselves in various philanthropic activities.
They regularly donate to charity but the donations are seldom anonymous. They
are made in the name of a parent, or some family name, bringing the donor
prestige. Many Sindhi institutions are behind the education and healthcare
foundation of Mumbai.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">There are some common traits among the business
families. One person or one family owns the business. Not many Sindhi
businesses are publicly listed companies or professionally managed. It is also unusual
to see a joint family doing business together over two generations because of
the commonly held belief that partnerships between brothers do not last long. All
this is due to Sindhi values and the lack of professional training. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But things have undergone a sea change with time.
Sindhis have evolved with the world as illustrated in the book with the
following accounts. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">v<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Harilelas of Hong Kong </span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">proves that 100 members of one family
can live under one roof, lead independent lives and do different businesses. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">v<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Lakhi Group </span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">shows how brothers can live apart but run the same
business all over the world, continuing the same values. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">v<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Harish Fabiani </span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">is India’s
first-ever individual angel investor. His company is completely professionally
managed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">v<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Jitu
Virwani of the Embassy Group</span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> is the largest office space
landlord in India. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">v<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Ramola
Motwani of Merrimac Ventures</span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> exemplifies how educating the next
generation has enhanced the business horizon and how being corporate
strengthened business practices. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-indent: -18pt;">P.S: This book was read and the summary was written in September 2018 </i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-indent: -18pt;">for bookbhook.com, a reading app.</i></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-48808456440217679582022-07-07T04:55:00.000-07:002022-07-07T04:55:33.469-07:00Alcohol<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I don't drink. This sentence is a statement. It is a fact. It does not come from a place of judgment. I do not speak it from a moral high ground. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I have never felt like drinking alcohol. I did not drink it hiding from my parents as a youngster. I did not drink when I lived in Bangalore away from home and my parents, enjoying the freedom and my hard-earned money. I did not drink it when my beer-guzzling husband nudged me to try mocktails or at least just a Breezer saying it does not contain alcohol. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I did not drink because I simply hate the smell. It is not that I have smelt every bottle, but whatever I have smelt, has put me off. That is one reason - practical and simple. The other is because I never understood the need to drink to feel "high."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">People say they drink for various reasons:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">a) socially. They drink to belong to a group. Drinkers instantly bond, and a group of friends who drink together, stays together. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">b) to feel light. When you are stressed out, there is nothing like liquor to destress you. It totally relaxes you. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">c) to feel the high.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">d) to sleep well. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">e) no reason. It is a habit. I want to have at least one bad habit. I have been doing it for years now and I don't want to stop. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I have not felt the need for an external stimulant to feel high. I am high on life, as cheesy and cliched as that sounds. There is so much to do and see in this world and being alive is an opportunity every day to strike off one small wish from your list, that there is no greater high for me than that. For instance, when I know I will go trekking the next day, why would I spend the previous night drowning myself in liquor? I would rather sleep well dreaming about the trek. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">People drink and forget where they are and what they did. If something makes you forget, why do it? Aren't things that you spend money on, supposed to help you make memories, that you will remember and cherish? You should want to remember and relive the moments. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I kind of get the bit about being able to bond better after a couple of pegs are down your throat. I have seen strangers loosen up after a drink. They chat with random people and random people become pals at the end of the night. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I just think spending so much money to be pals with strangers is a bit too much. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And sometimes, misunderstandings and fights are brushed under the carpet with the excuse, "He was drunk when he said that."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">As for the sleep better rationale, if I need alcohol to sleep well, night after night, there must be something bugging me, right? A good day in your life is one where, you are so tired, mentally or physically, depending on your job type, that the bed calls out to you, embraces you in a soft slumber, and awakens you to the refreshing start of another beautiful day. And assuming that alcohol does give you sound sleep, wouldn't that be dependence? A man does not tolerate being controlled by his wife. But he is okay with being controlled by his drink. That is something I cannot fathom. Anyways, I have nothing against people who drink. I don't understand the logic, that's all. Ultimately, to each his own. Live and let live. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I can't stand alcohol, but boy, do I love the bottles the damn thing comes packed in? I am truly like the kid in a candy shop when I accompany my husband as he shops for his beer. I explore the isles, looking for quirky bottles. Some in vibrant colors, some in lovely designs. I am totally fascinated by the bottles. The myriad shapes these bottles come in! Exquisite designs!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Cheers to that!</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sXdszUFnQKe4m2UjbG7pbvRj2MU3mzT9XM8-lor4KcLdKCkPov1EnUFQea5qAZ1uLlgb0OiynOjapr5K_UbvzWZ4NeOIO1k2swva4BQwa-CJ0daJzxuVo-AsPjOWmB9zL3xbGUzhwLHsP547NKL-VoNvgU14I264p-nSO8oMvrvRuclBc2lLf0iE/s825/a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="825" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sXdszUFnQKe4m2UjbG7pbvRj2MU3mzT9XM8-lor4KcLdKCkPov1EnUFQea5qAZ1uLlgb0OiynOjapr5K_UbvzWZ4NeOIO1k2swva4BQwa-CJ0daJzxuVo-AsPjOWmB9zL3xbGUzhwLHsP547NKL-VoNvgU14I264p-nSO8oMvrvRuclBc2lLf0iE/w640-h570/a.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsW70_J_Dc745t-UWL5O2nLgfmAV2kPa6zaVZ8bMz_ICLp_jcnDlTEfx1FHvNfoZoZE1U7jldUdSqnm9RpF0HL7k3QWUui1KVitODNGHaXdDOG2UvtvlR231XZPHgXGQqv1bN4VtuOdumwL0WJodawU5bnkfhYMUDhHc_Xb29dSk_gS9HHG1kfquwp/s742/d.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="725" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsW70_J_Dc745t-UWL5O2nLgfmAV2kPa6zaVZ8bMz_ICLp_jcnDlTEfx1FHvNfoZoZE1U7jldUdSqnm9RpF0HL7k3QWUui1KVitODNGHaXdDOG2UvtvlR231XZPHgXGQqv1bN4VtuOdumwL0WJodawU5bnkfhYMUDhHc_Xb29dSk_gS9HHG1kfquwp/w626-h640/d.jpg" width="626" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iG1RV5T99ZyERghcSIa96Tv0hJyNuThCTqm3oyxb8QPM2JGQSV-3gU-IEZt7k7TGfZjN4mBhnEvzgJaYiWOljVFTo890UgWZpUBvJbZ1ggvPRxmetgTREjRXxm3p6HGSFzepswE3_KomKFu1M8knOp-1hQQLxRtsC02S5hgm14DSRjvkcl2-o8xh/s1231/b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="1231" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iG1RV5T99ZyERghcSIa96Tv0hJyNuThCTqm3oyxb8QPM2JGQSV-3gU-IEZt7k7TGfZjN4mBhnEvzgJaYiWOljVFTo890UgWZpUBvJbZ1ggvPRxmetgTREjRXxm3p6HGSFzepswE3_KomKFu1M8knOp-1hQQLxRtsC02S5hgm14DSRjvkcl2-o8xh/w640-h386/b.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYo08IO3o7WuBCntWAPamCX7hQ_96OxnTJEUv-NVmOHgCFn-gxaNOV9alpENwEG0LtAf8yTNDTxzc9XeN6E8AU_OIeJA_juXThS6bT_mXBhKZBZIQmrUC1xrOisb9ir-vJ4226lBaSCBA0mh9rLo6FMudmzcfB1SxWQTZpFiYRTZ1z9s2Tx4JOAD7/s729/f.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="709" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYo08IO3o7WuBCntWAPamCX7hQ_96OxnTJEUv-NVmOHgCFn-gxaNOV9alpENwEG0LtAf8yTNDTxzc9XeN6E8AU_OIeJA_juXThS6bT_mXBhKZBZIQmrUC1xrOisb9ir-vJ4226lBaSCBA0mh9rLo6FMudmzcfB1SxWQTZpFiYRTZ1z9s2Tx4JOAD7/w622-h640/f.jpg" width="622" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXAoB9J1d6GsLDh2s9nCoxv0rX4HiInXLHlX6oFqA5SgTIe0FiAQeWShhKPbUXs78wbcS4X5qi43uKTsf9MewYyOd8_jDPwYYCaTjLzHgibKh2DEaF0Qa6BAptXExlePpWUbGOUVjepnXEPZ-32X2S-ldaDFEoEtUXsbFQNs6bE82Y6FpIG6-_apm/s1181/g.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="1181" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXAoB9J1d6GsLDh2s9nCoxv0rX4HiInXLHlX6oFqA5SgTIe0FiAQeWShhKPbUXs78wbcS4X5qi43uKTsf9MewYyOd8_jDPwYYCaTjLzHgibKh2DEaF0Qa6BAptXExlePpWUbGOUVjepnXEPZ-32X2S-ldaDFEoEtUXsbFQNs6bE82Y6FpIG6-_apm/w640-h398/g.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2GtEcxODqNjiIAUbbujfEIwDxL2VDB4rxSc8LjNKKbhbPKKmAeCGh1r8Vg3dvFyXG7BTCy1qrI4PJDzk3pIb8flweYUEvy9EULd0CEmshByN40gBLxJyYj6JBmiBAo3H_dfU_-ZvieY6QyjCQgsejx3S7FvdIfdJibQU2geIwS9SLDD_QrzcBS_D/s1316/IMG_20220626_085128.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="740" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2GtEcxODqNjiIAUbbujfEIwDxL2VDB4rxSc8LjNKKbhbPKKmAeCGh1r8Vg3dvFyXG7BTCy1qrI4PJDzk3pIb8flweYUEvy9EULd0CEmshByN40gBLxJyYj6JBmiBAo3H_dfU_-ZvieY6QyjCQgsejx3S7FvdIfdJibQU2geIwS9SLDD_QrzcBS_D/w360-h640/IMG_20220626_085128.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-53560315901567273882022-06-16T04:04:00.007-07:002022-08-03T05:39:52.398-07:00The Birthday Frock<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The park reverberated with the screams and
cries of the neighborhood children. The exercise equipment meant for the
adults was taken over by the kids. Whether their brittle bones could handle the
stress of gym equipment was a matter of least consequence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">They giggled and raced each other as they
did the squats and the waist turns and the push ups. The sun was inching
towards his descent and the parents were getting impatient to take their kids
home. But there was no sign of the games ending any time soon. I knew, slowly,
the scene would change. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">In less than half an hour, I would see
mothers dragging their kids away from the swing and the slide. I would see fathers
sternly ordering their kids to begin marching home-wards. But there was still
time for all that.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">As I sat there, watching the proceedings, I
noticed two girls, playing in the sand, under the tree. The older one must have
been around 11 and the younger around 8. The eight-year-old looked like the
daughter of the labourer who was working in the building that was being
constructed right across the park. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just then, the mother of the older one
walked in. The daughter saw her, ran to her and asked her if she had bought her
birthday frock. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-IN"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89A2bi6cXla70EUvdvtlSK7xFxYxKzL0rkAoKhRKX_H-slZCo9nn5TgXU3Doi8MiL2lf7x_jaPv4T97t_8WQ0A2SCnGCZns-WX_SdrqgJdfdreduvsV8BoBDOMljWn8jJ8Owf0KmYXuqoM3mYyqI091VBsP_N230FfxSwevphzd81UcCIySWcdqO2/s500/birthday-frocks-500x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89A2bi6cXla70EUvdvtlSK7xFxYxKzL0rkAoKhRKX_H-slZCo9nn5TgXU3Doi8MiL2lf7x_jaPv4T97t_8WQ0A2SCnGCZns-WX_SdrqgJdfdreduvsV8BoBDOMljWn8jJ8Owf0KmYXuqoM3mYyqI091VBsP_N230FfxSwevphzd81UcCIySWcdqO2/s320/birthday-frocks-500x500.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: large;">The girl’s birthdays fell a day apart.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">The younger one wore the same birthday
frock that the older one had worn for her previous birthday. She was on cloud
nine. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">The older one wore the new frock for a day,
threw it on the floor once the party was over and forgot all about it. The
novelty had already worn out for her. She was already making a list of what she
wanted for her next birthday.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her mother quietly picked up the Rs 3000/-
frock from the floor, caressed it and mentally made a note of giving it away to
the laborer's daughter for her next birthday. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some children will be happy with used
frocks and some not even with new ones. The joy that a new one brings to the
face of the rich kid can never match the joy the poor kid feels even with old
one. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 144pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;">**********</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-43804148344543555892021-11-30T21:43:00.008-08:002021-11-30T21:47:26.225-08:00Published My First Book !<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">30 November 2021 - memorable day in my life. My very first book got publised on Notion Press and is now available on </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Notion Press </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">link: </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">https://<a href="http://notionpress.com/read/40-and-pregnant">notionpress.com/read/40-and-pregnant</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">and </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Amazon </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">link: </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">https://<a href="http://www.amazon.in/dp/B09MS8RG5Q">www.amazon.in/dp/B09MS8RG5Q</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">and soon will be available on Flipkart as well. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Gn0cWWSZiutbRu9VYs5fK2GWT3IR4MgFJSqSRKoZbUQFOgz9o42hqYKcUARgVMBVcDssxWok-J3bEQ2gakHetZLrbuLTF-TX9kwNGrCqqSn5VOH2wgKaaWY0bc9RIHYwTq-Ra2CwlFw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Gn0cWWSZiutbRu9VYs5fK2GWT3IR4MgFJSqSRKoZbUQFOgz9o42hqYKcUARgVMBVcDssxWok-J3bEQ2gakHetZLrbuLTF-TX9kwNGrCqqSn5VOH2wgKaaWY0bc9RIHYwTq-Ra2CwlFw/" width="160" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Want to thank all the readers and followers of my blog. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You are the reason I continued my writing journey. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thank you all for your encouragement. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-586140180345777432019-06-14T02:46:00.000-07:002019-06-14T02:46:21.759-07:00Give and Take<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20190515T1452; mso-comment-reference: S_1;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The</span></a><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"> </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> book <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Give
and Take” </i></b>by Adam Grant vindicated my beliefs. The book talks about how
you can be a kind-hearted person and still get ahead in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-68VHDySUc/XQNrwmhI6CI/AAAAAAAAO7o/kGZiTrTKjyAfQDz7S9EfhLfiTD4vl-5HgCLcBGAs/s1600/559db24eae8d7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-68VHDySUc/XQNrwmhI6CI/AAAAAAAAO7o/kGZiTrTKjyAfQDz7S9EfhLfiTD4vl-5HgCLcBGAs/s320/559db24eae8d7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have been sceptical and unsure of my approach to life and
work and people and relationships. Though I believe in the workings of karma, I
have had numerous instances to question its efficacy. Life is not fair at all and
all of us have heard enough stories of people stamping on others to get ahead
in life and actually being visibly more successful and famous.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Grant says in the book that people are either takers or givers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">We all have met a few “takers” in our lives. They like to get
more than they give. They put their own interests ahead of others’ needs. They
feel that to succeed, they must be better than others. They self-promote and
ensure that they get plenty of credit for their efforts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Givers are a comparatively rare breed in the place of work.
They prefer to give more than they receive. Givers are other-focused. They pay
attention to what other people need from them. Giving can be infectious. It
spreads quickly and widely especially across social networks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">What is noteworthy is that these preferences are not about
money. The gives and takers differ in their attitudes and actions toward other
people. If you are a taker, you help others strategically, when the benefits to
you offset the personal costs.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg--Sz1KUnc/XQNsBLvJtcI/AAAAAAAAO7s/jPagzlth33oPvZWX0FbKbE4sVZrXLe8GgCLcBGAs/s1600/quote-every-time-we-interact-with-another-person-at-work-we-have-a-choice-to-make-do-we-try-adam-grant-92-31-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="768" height="187" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg--Sz1KUnc/XQNsBLvJtcI/AAAAAAAAO7s/jPagzlth33oPvZWX0FbKbE4sVZrXLe8GgCLcBGAs/s400/quote-every-time-we-interact-with-another-person-at-work-we-have-a-choice-to-make-do-we-try-adam-grant-92-31-44.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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If you are a giver, you might use a different cost-benefit
analysis: you help whenever the benefit to others exceed the personal costs. In
short, as a giver, you help others without expecting anything in return. If you
are a giver at work, you simply endeavour to be generous in sharing your time,
energy, knowledge, skills, ideas and connections with other people who can
benefit from them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I read Grant in Feb 2017 and wrote this post a year later in
2018. I have read and re-read the draft of this post several times in the past
one year. It is mid-2019 now and I have not yet published the post. Why couldn’t
I finish editing the write-up? Why did it take me so long? Am I not entirely
convinced with Grant’s categorization of people? He has provided several
real-life examples to prove that all is not lost for the “givers” and if one
is, by nature, a giver, one must lost hope. Though the world seems to be quite ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">matlabi’ (self-serving), </i>it is<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>surprising how many people actually go
out of their way to help others in whatever capacity they can. There really are
many “good” people out there. There really are many “givers.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess this post is just a big shout out to
all those GEMS. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-74949170445811508302019-05-16T02:48:00.001-07:002019-05-16T02:51:07.402-07:00Divorce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
didn’t marry the first guy I loved. I love the guy I married. Had I married B
and then felt suffocated, which I am sure I would have, divorce would have been
a messy option. </span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-amCegyrmFSs/XN0yPnH8tvI/AAAAAAAAOoo/XxsJtlBL-dgJLNue0XVF-xYG7Ax-MDoUACLcBGAs/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="267" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-amCegyrmFSs/XN0yPnH8tvI/AAAAAAAAOoo/XxsJtlBL-dgJLNue0XVF-xYG7Ax-MDoUACLcBGAs/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is interesting that second relationships or marriages have a
stronger chance of endurance than a first relationship or marriage, especially
one that happened at a young age. This post comes in the heels of having just
finished reading ‘</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Committed’</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> by
Elizabeth Gilbert. I read the book a few years back and wrote a draft of this
post back then! The book dwells upon the institution of marriage and its
history and what makes it so desirable and in some cultures, essential.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">For
me, marriage hasn’t been a sacred or religious entity. It wasn’t so when I almost
got married to the guy I fell in love with in college nor when I finally
actually got married to Sathya. Though I respect all the customs and rites
involved in a Hindu wedding, the force that wants me to believe in marriage,
and one that is still binding me to Sathya, is not that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Had
I felt as strangulated and gasping for air with Sathya as I felt with B, I am
sure I would have considered living on my own and not been in a marriage that
had turned into a farce. I am fortunate it doesn’t feel so. And I also
understand and know that for many women, and even men for that matter, marriage
can be debilitating. Sometimes, we all feel like the wild animal that has been
caught by the ring master of a circus. He has no choice but to perform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Most
Asian and Middle-Eastern cultures regard marriage very highly. Children,
family, social responsibilities are built into the expectations of a young
adolescent. The ultimate aim is to “settle down.” For the woman, the search is
on to find a man who earns well and can afford to look after his wife and kids
financially. For the man, to find a wife who will cook well and raise
well-behaved kids. So naturally, divorce is an extremely stigmatized word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why couldn’t the woman have adjusted? That is
the first question people ask. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
have thought of that option too, many times, over a 13 year marriage.
Misunderstandings and fights and the isolation and that ‘being alone’ feeling
that follows makes us think of divorce as a solution. If we move apart, live
far away from each other, we reason, at least one of us can be happy. I have
said this explicitly to Sathya “I will work and take care of the children, you
please live peacefully at least from now on as we have messed up each other’s
lives for so many years. Be a free bird”. You would think a man would want to
hear that. He would be waiting for it. A bird is the ultimate symbol of
freedom. But even that bird flies back to its nest as the sun sets. Every one
of us longs for the security of a place we can call home. Many men are like
that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If
a relationship is about repeated fights, constant misunderstandings, endless
anxiety, continuous worry, what is the point of being together? I walked out of
one relationship and into another in the hope that each fight would be better
than the last; that as the sun sets, you would still want to be with each
other, that being together was a better option than being alone or apart. Thank
God, it is!</span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-12624809356441665282019-05-15T02:11:00.001-07:002022-03-29T08:15:18.254-07:00Women and Spending Power<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I was
on a child-raising break to be with Tanvi as her daycare center was not good, I picked up a few freelance training assignments during that period, tasted blood, and have only been freelancing</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why am I getting into all these humdrum details? Because whenever I have
been without work (read: without a steady income), some months with no money at
all (freelancing is an unpredictable work choice), I have been very (to the
power of 10) depressed. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I have been depressed because I couldn’t shop for myself,
couldn’t shop for my family, couldn’t shop for the house, and least of all,
could not even do grocery shopping. Shopping offers a temporary high, is
exciting for a fleeting moment. I have heard that tirade against shopping a
zillion times. But the freedom - to flash my debit card (earlier) or electronic
wallets (now), on a sudden impulse to buy something that lasts, for the house –
is supremely tempting. The irresistible itch to pick up stuff from a flash sale
or abuse insane discounts during public holidays or festivals or the crazy
cash-back deals they flaunt online, I am guilty of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just knowing you have money on you in case
you need to buy something on an impulse – that’s a coveted feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But this beautiful joy, which comes with financial power, is
lost when you don’t earn. And then I go into severe depression. And since I am
an incurable worrier, at times, I have been so depressed that I go online and
do those (free) Tarot card readings! What a horrible phase that was - feeling
unwanted, desperate for attention, feeling the lack of respect. I would upload
the same resume twice in one week hoping for a head hunter’s call. Not because
I would join the first company that called, but to reassure myself that my
skill-sets still had a market value and that if I chose, I could be the earning
member of the family again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I love running my household. I love planning, buying, securing, and cushioning for the family. I even love buying milk and coriander leaves as
much as I love buying a laptop or phone and paying off debts and budgeting for
road trips. It fulfills me. I am ‘masculine’ in that sense; more a provider than
a nurturer. Being an enabler makes me happy. Providing for the needs of our
home makes me feel proud of myself. Never having to say ‘no’ or ‘don’t have
money for that when my daughter asks for something, is my ultimate success parameter.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The kitchen stifles me. I don’t really enjoy being in that
part of the house. I feel trapped. I feel like the cockroach that scuttles away
at the sight of a human. But the cockroach has nowhere to go, as every corner
is sprayed with insect repellent. It knows the spray means sure death in a few
minutes. Husband’s money, what husband bought, what husband gifted, what
husband planned, where the husband took - it has never given me joy. Strangely, I
have eyed women with jealousy when their husbands have showered them with
expensive gifts or vacations. I have thought to myself, “Wow! What a life. How
lucky is she.” And then go right back to feeling sick that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b> am not that kind of “husband.” I
would be bored being a wife whose sole purpose in life was to ‘keep house’ (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ghar sambhalo</i>) for which she would be
rewarded with monthly shopping sprees in various malls in the city. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The buoyancy you feel when you know you are still wanted in
the job market – that’s a high. The exhilaration of cash in your wallet, the
pride when you hand over your card to the waiter at the restaurant, the look in
the cashier’s eyes as you punch in your password on the swipe machine, the
smile on your face when you look at things around you and realize you bought
them – I miss that. It’s been ten months since my last training assignment. My
baby is 8 months old now and I have not been able to get back to work. I am
depressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i>[This post was written 7 months back. I could publish it only today. My daughter is 15 months old now. And I am back on the work track.]</i></span></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-39209155555079531582018-10-25T01:24:00.001-07:002018-10-26T02:17:24.448-07:00Character Flaw<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Remember that scene from Simran
where she asks her fiancé if he has any character flaws? He replies saying if
she had a boyfriend, he wasn’t going to hold it against her. And she quips,
“Having a boyfriend is not a character flaw. If anything, it takes skill to
flirt. My character flaw is I am addicted to gambling and stealing.”</span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iqfXvCBCpdE/W9F9re7daDI/AAAAAAAALmw/3lOXWtPaGJodxrRnmo50rpDhBPcQynvEACLcBGAs/s1600/character_flaw.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="650" height="196" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iqfXvCBCpdE/W9F9re7daDI/AAAAAAAALmw/3lOXWtPaGJodxrRnmo50rpDhBPcQynvEACLcBGAs/s320/character_flaw.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The dictionary tells you a
violent temper is a character flaw because it affects the person’s actions. So
a flaw is something of an imperfection, a limitation. If you look at
Shakespearean heroes, each of them had a distinctive flaw that defined them and
ultimately, destroyed them. Othello was suspicious, Hamlet indecisive and King
Lear loved flattery.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of my character flaws
is (oh yes, I have many. Not a Shakespearean heroine to have just one!) I keep
quiet in situations where I know I should have spoken. Keeping quiet is my
undoing. But I keep quiet, nonetheless. And regret it to eternity! I keep quiet
when a friend or family member or even an acquaintance (just realized that the
category ‘friends/family/acquaintances’ – practically covers the entire world) hurts
me or says mean words, or throws sarcastic comments, or insults, or generally behaves
badly. I keep quiet thinking, if I speak, things will turn ugly; there will be
a full blown war and the relationship will end. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know. I know. It is a
stupid logic. It never works. That is why it is my most potent flaw. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I keep quiet till I can
keep quiet no more. No more could be in terms of months and years! It depends -
a) on the person or the kind of relationship I share with him/her: close
family/dear friend/close friend or colleague of the spouse b) how long have I
known the person: couple of meetings, random encounters, or repeated
interactions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">I keep quiet for so long
that I can’t take it any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
too much negativity to take in. I lose sleep over it. I think I got this trait
from my mother. Or it’s just that we both are Aquarians. According to Sigmund Freud
“unexpressed emotions never die. They are buried alive and will come forth
later in uglier ways. An outburst of anger is the outward expression of inner
pain that has been silenced for far too long.” Trust the experts. He is right. All
that buried frustration and pent up anger just explodes like a volcano one day.
And then, what I feared the most, all along, from the first instance, actually
happens. The relationship ends. </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">For the longest time, I thought why did I leave behind so
many friends and why did so many leave me? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">The blame falls on me for the end. I become the ‘bad’ person who
spoilt a good thing. The silence costs me my name and my respect. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But I never learn. Another
relationship, another hurt, another silence, another outburst. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A research states that humans
are wired to forgive. It is a problem. This ‘maaf kardo’ mind-set is why some people
continue to stay in bad relationships. Humans have a tendency to give others a benefit
of the doubt. We forgive even when we have evidence that they don’t deserve it.
We do so because people sometimes behave badly by accident. We think we may be <i><b>mistaken</b></i>. If we act on
negative impressions <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">too soon</i></b>, we might miss out on the
many benefits of social connection and end a relationship abruptly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, that’s some strong research
backing my character flaw!</span></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-10421196244451922102017-10-29T00:06:00.001-07:002017-10-29T00:06:59.144-07:00What is my Legacy?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">What is my legacy? I came across the word in some Whatsapp forward.
It was the word I was looking for to encapsulate all the questions that floated
in my mind regarding my life. What was I doing? Why am I alive? Was 40 years
worth it? Did I do what life wanted me to?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Legacy – sounds perfect, sounds right. So what is my legacy
going to be? What will it be that will make my being a burden on Mother Earth
worth it? My two (one is on the way) children? Would they carry on my values
and thoughts and sprinkle the Sujatha sawdust on the world and make my
existence relevant? The people I taught and trained throughout a career that
lasted a good 13 years, a fruitful decade - would they be the ones to lend meaning
to my life? While teaching them the concepts that I had to as the equivalent
for what I was paid for but also touching their lives in some small ways –
would that be my redemption? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I have wandered along these lines for a long time. I guess
being jobless, at home and carrying a child in you, one has all the time in the
world for these inane thoughts. Otherwise, one would be too busy “living” life
or “making a living” to care about what it will all mean at the end of the
journey. Have I reached the end of my journey?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">One afternoon, as I was cooking, I overheard my neighbour
yelling at her maid. She keeps all her windows shut and drawn with heavy
curtains. But her voice was so loud that it blasted through my kitchen door
which leads to our utility area and is always open. Her words were not clear
but the anger was evident. The maid was mumbling something in defence. She
works for my neighbour for Rs 2500 for 3 hours of back breaking work. It’s a 5
member family. So imagine the clothes and utensils that the maid has to clean.
The clothes are washed by hand. How do I know? Our backyards are adjacent to
each other. I can see the 4-5 long rows of clothes including bed-sheets,
curtains and floor mats being hung out to dry daily. The neighbor has, in less
than 2 years, changed four maids – fighting with all of them, sometimes screaming
for coming 10 minutes, sometimes shouting for doing the work 10 minutes early. Everyday
there was some problem. At first, I thought the mother-in-law and
daughter-in-law were at each other’s throats. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And then, I sat on the sofa, rested my head back and closed
my eyes for a long time. I felt a strange sense of calm. I knew my life was
indeed worth something. I was not a loud, abusive woman like my neighbour. I
don’t say that all maids are nice. Some are nasty, some lazy, some downright
greedy. I heaved a sigh of relief that I was not, never was, a monster. For a
few 1000 rupees a month, working 2-3 hours daily, with no holidays or weekly
Sunday off, no hike, most of them illiterate and hence not able to work
anywhere else or at anything else, it’s definitely not easy being a maid. And
if I have been civil and tolerant with them, this insignificant life hasn’t
been so insignificant after all.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18Qxc_U0PXs/WfV9CR2TDDI/AAAAAAAAGFU/EUi8No3Hd5g8fnOcwZFfUw3UTSwwfQPagCLcBGAs/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="120" data-original-width="421" height="91" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18Qxc_U0PXs/WfV9CR2TDDI/AAAAAAAAGFU/EUi8No3Hd5g8fnOcwZFfUw3UTSwwfQPagCLcBGAs/s320/download.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">At an age where everyone mistreats everyone else, sometimes
just to be human, is a big deal. It is easy today to consider someone even a
wee bit below us as “low”. To not succumb to abuse of power, even if that is of
a house lady over her maid who she hardly considers a human in the first place
– is quite something. If nothing else at all, I’m glad I passed at least this
test. I’ve never ever been mean to any of my maids. Even the ones I fired, I
politely asked them not to come from next month telling them I’ll do the work
myself. It takes a great deal of effort
for rich, educated people to not be rude to others. Empathy and decency are the
first casualties in the pursuit of wealth and knowledge.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-58965808422921553592017-10-09T05:42:00.001-07:002017-10-09T05:52:09.882-07:00How Do I Improve My English?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get asked this a lot.<br />
<br />
I am an English teacher.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are two assumptions people make. One, my English is good because I studied in an English
medium school. It was a CBSE school. From 4<sup>th</sup> to 12<sup>th</sup> standard, I studied there. Before that it was state syllabus. Two, my English is good because I
did my Masters in English. Both these are true; but only partially. CBSE education by itself doesn't guarantee good language skills and nor does an M.A.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtzOvU23h2M/WdtukZdBYGI/AAAAAAAAFv4/IfcgUk9eVAEkOzQU1_nslW8adDWPa4YmQCLcBGAs/s1600/WorldsBeautifullanguage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="448" height="144" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtzOvU23h2M/WdtukZdBYGI/AAAAAAAAFv4/IfcgUk9eVAEkOzQU1_nslW8adDWPa4YmQCLcBGAs/s320/WorldsBeautifullanguage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I can cite plenty of exceptions for both scenarios. I have seen it with my own school classmates and I see it now with the class mates and friends of my daughter. Those who studied with me, many from better backgrounds, <b>suck </b>at the language. Their grammar is pathetic and so is their sentence formation, even basic sentences and comprehension skills are non-existent. And if M.A in English guaranteed good English, my batch of 20 students would have produced writers and bloggers. There are none that I know of. Not yet, at least.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wait, doesn't CBSE education ensure greater English fluency? Not necessarily, definitely not equally among all learners. But it helps. These students can navigate daily, mundane social interactions in English with greater ease. They are only slightly better than the others. But what makes the actual difference is the individual student's efforts.<br />
<br />
How did my English become better? My parents were not educated; neither of them could speak or write English. We never spoke English at home, I did not go
for tuition. Nobody in my immediate family is a doctor or an engineer to have
their language skills brush off on me. Here's what made the difference:<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--> A.<span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>Reading.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In high school, I spent a lot of time in the library. I finished Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys - the whole series. I had read all the classics. I didn’t know meanings of simple words
like gasped, shrieked, and yelled. I still continued to read. I searched my big, fat Oxford dictionary and wrote the words and their meanings in my notebook. By the time I finished one library book, I had so many words whose meanings I didn’t know! These words, slowly and gradually, crept into my language. Over time, I graduated to reading a wider variety of books without being fazed by the difficult language used in them.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
B. <b>Talking.</b><br />
Conversing in English, with as many people as possible, as
many times and as often as possible is one of the best ways to improve your English. Many of us whose parents didn’t speak the language, had to work extra
hard at it. And we did. Hard work didn’t scare us nor were we lazy. We did all
we could to improve our fluency. It paid off - many years
later. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--> C.<span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><b>Liking the language.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scored
just about 60% in my 10th and 12th in English. Those were the lowest marks on my
mark sheet. I had scored more than 80% in other subjects. But I was passionate about the world that knowing English gave me an access to. I loved the myriad stories and was fascinated by characters whose lives
were so different from my own. I liked learning, reading and speaking English.<br />
<br />
When I joined Mangalore University, and sat through the lectures of Parinitha Mam and R.
Shashidhar Sir, I was transfixed. Their depth of knowledge and way of articulating a thought had me
spell bound. It was not an inborn talent. It took years of reading to
reach that level of excellence. I spent my two years in the University mostly in the library - picking up random books, reading them, making notes. I devoured the pages.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It also helped that, by then, English had become my linguistic anchor. Growing up in Bombay, I was fluent in Hindi and Marathi. But for class 4, when I came to my village, I had to pick up Kannada. I learnt Kannada alphabets at the age of 12 and over the years completely forgot Marathi. At a time when I was
rudderless, English became the language I thought and spoke in, in my mind. Does
that help? Yes, it does. When you “think” in a particular language, you express
yourselves better in that one. Even today, I can’t express myself very well in either Hindi
or Kannada or Tulu. I don’t have the bandwidth needed for it. Sad but true.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
D. <b>Applying.</b><br />
So, passion for the language, willingness to put in hours and hours of reading, and talking are 3 main prerequisites for language development.<br />
<br />
Next, is the application. Reading will throw at you many words, styles of writing, sentence structures, grammatical usage, idioms and phrases. But if you don't
consciously, I repeat, <b>consciously </b>use those words in the sentences you speak
and write in everyday conversations, they will stay dormant and you will continue to know and use only the few 100 words that helps you manage everyday language transactions.<br />
<br />
Let me
give you an example. Here are some phrases I came across during my recent reading:<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<i>Twice the trouble for half the price </i><br />
<i>By the time we got back to her, I was about to throw up a lung.</i><br />
<i>What he doesn't have in brains he makes up for in speed.</i><br />
<i>A heart on two legs... a good person </i><br />
<i>Turns turtle (slow) and crashes </i><br />
<i>That stinks like an eight week old pile of fish guts</i><br />
<i>Super stealthy silence </i><br />
<i>Quiet as a ghost walking on cotton balls</i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
have not yet used them in my writing or conversation. They won't be a
part of my active vocabulary until and unless I actually use them. As a student,
I religiously used the words I learnt. I almost forced them into sentences so
that I could remember them. But now my vocabulary has stagnated because I have not
been applying the new words learnt with
as much devotion as I did earlier. If I had continued the practice of learning
at least 5 new words everyday and actually <b>USING </b>them, my English would have been even
better. </div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-76582695463125290192017-09-07T02:27:00.001-07:002017-09-15T06:02:03.252-07:00Why Me? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I recently watched
many videos on YouTube on Rheumatoid Arthritis. The first time I heard that
word was from a friend who said she had it. The videos disturbed me and I
recalled snippets of her blog entries describing similar experiences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">This friend
had first appeared in my high school class in the middle of an academic year.
The Gulf war had broken out and they had to flee and come back to India. She was
stout, with a big, round mouth and prominent teeth and a big laugh. In my eyes,
everything was big about her except her hair. Her hair was short. Or what we
called, bob cut. I, the villager, didn’t know then that there was a
country called Kuwait. Since she had come from “foreign”, I thought she ate a
lot of chocolates and was privileged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Some people’s
struggles with sickness are the stuff that many of us cannot imagine. But it resonates
with people who suffer similarly; just as she has found strength and comfort in
reading those that have suffered more than her. But is that the purpose of her
life - to inspire others like her. Motivate those who may be having a harder
time than her; to say to them, to not give up; to hold on for just a day more;
to keep the faith. That despite her illness, she has found ways and means to
share laughter and jokes, build friendships with people she may not have met in
real life or renew those from her past – online. To experience the selfless
love of her spouse who stood beside her like a rock of Gibraltar. That life can
have meaning even when one feels there is none. That the daily chores of cooking,
cleaning and washing can either turn into an unbearable drudgery or ways to
engage one -self in tasks that keep one’s mind busy. She has lived through her
illness with a lot of grace and strength. I wonder if she’d be the kind of
woman she is if it weren’t for what she went through and is going through.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pJZ7GiTrseA/WbvPBrT8WQI/AAAAAAAAFfk/BKLpIXtXxXMXD6qZ3XrFgngfmyqi-1BGACLcBGAs/s1600/FB_IMG_1503198614969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pJZ7GiTrseA/WbvPBrT8WQI/AAAAAAAAFfk/BKLpIXtXxXMXD6qZ3XrFgngfmyqi-1BGACLcBGAs/s200/FB_IMG_1503198614969.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I have been
reading a lot on the role of pain in human life. Is pain good? We all want to
be happy. We actively chase happiness and do everything in our capacity to
avoid pain. Being healthy is a huge part
of being happy. But what if pain befalls us? What if it is our destiny to be in
a state of health that needed constant medical intervention, family support and
care? How does one live through it? Why should <b>I</b> live through it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.4px;">Someone wrote it beautifully when he said the following. Here is a snapshot of the lines. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18.4px;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YEBnJbDmlT8/Wa_kv4Cv7lI/AAAAAAAAFcU/SzErJTdCZMsSZ3ph-68CmK-6Ub_5qmc9wCLcBGAs/s1600/LongScreenshot_2017-08-10-08-36-53.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="1056" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YEBnJbDmlT8/Wa_kv4Cv7lI/AAAAAAAAFcU/SzErJTdCZMsSZ3ph-68CmK-6Ub_5qmc9wCLcBGAs/s320/LongScreenshot_2017-08-10-08-36-53.png" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IvHFdWJuOrk/Wa_kQNwwYPI/AAAAAAAAFcM/L6BPetV4-v40rdwgfflRjBeQl8Lq5KuzgCLcBGAs/s1600/FB_IMG_1504670859074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IvHFdWJuOrk/Wa_kQNwwYPI/AAAAAAAAFcM/L6BPetV4-v40rdwgfflRjBeQl8Lq5KuzgCLcBGAs/s200/FB_IMG_1504670859074.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Many of the
stories of grief and sorrow, of loss, of bereavement, have the power to comfort
another similarly suffering, weary soul. </span>When we read some of the life
experiences of people on the internet, we are thankful that our load is a lot
lighter. That life truly is a gift, even when it sucks and you feel there
couldn’t possibly be anything worse than this. That life is short. That some days
are really good and pleasant even when there is an overcast sky outside. That
family is everything. That family need not mean 10 siblings and 100 relatives.
Sometimes, it’s just your spouse beside you and he alone is equal to an army.
Many say grief is similar to death. When you go through something that is
sorrowful, your old soul dies and you have to recreate your life from nothing
but the will to live. You know that if you have been able to get through this,
the worst, you can get through anything.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Pain
cleanses and purifies us in a way that happiness cannot. I guess the people
who suffer unbearable physical or emotional pain leave behind a whiff of hope -
that all is still not lost. I remember reading the story of this labourer from
Rajasthan who was gang-raped, and was left to die on a railway track. Her
mother tried to make some money by brokering a deal with the rapists and then, abandoned
her. She is fighting a legal battle, all alone. She is now working for an NGO
and learning to read and write. One life and such power to transform the lives
of others! </span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-37825345137023635562017-07-29T07:24:00.000-07:002017-08-31T07:55:53.173-07:00The Love That Never Was<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are all mothers loving? No! They are not. Most of
them are; just not all. My granny was not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Granny had five children - 3 daughters, 2 sons; my mother the
eldest. My granny did not love her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She stopped my mother from going to school.
Grandpa was the headmaster of a small school, a very good teacher. But in front
of his wife, he was a mouse. He couldn’t stop his eldest, dearest and most
obedient of all children from being abused in the hands of her own mother. He
remained a mute spectator throughout his life. May be granny thought that since
she had so many children, one after the other, she needed an extra hand to
manage the household. She sent my mother to work on the rice fields – from the
age of seven. My mother would finish her back breaking work, eight hours or
more daily, and come home – to continue to work some more. She had to help cook dinner and wash clothes
of the family and do the dishes too. Watch the Japanese serial “Oshin” to have
an idea of the kind of hardships some young girls are put through in life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother described
her childhood in one word “Tired.” She was tired all the time. She didn’t have
friends her age because she wasn’t allowed to play. She had to work. The only ‘nice’
thing she recalls is her rare walks with her father, the only person who loved
her and cared for her. She continued to work and support her family. She got her
siblings married and helped her brothers set up businesses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother never cried as she narrated her childhood stories.
I guess sometimes the pain one goess through is so much that the tears never come
out. They harden and lie in your heart – insoluble, occupying a large part of
it. Maybe they flowed like a teaming river once upon a time but now they have
turned into little rocks of sorrow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother forgave my granny because granny carried her in
her womb for nine months. I thought that was a stupid excuse to pardon
someone’s sins. If I ill-treat my children, I have no moral right to do the
melodrama of the womb thing even if it’s true that carrying a baby is an arduous
journey. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qRwAlxQlhxI/WXyZqh71fhI/AAAAAAAAFHc/Jeqvnurjk7owQ7qkrEp4xNqT0jDmL0sFwCLcBGAs/s1600/74151_10150321946375495_7381059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="720" height="291" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qRwAlxQlhxI/WXyZqh71fhI/AAAAAAAAFHc/Jeqvnurjk7owQ7qkrEp4xNqT0jDmL0sFwCLcBGAs/s400/74151_10150321946375495_7381059_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother used to peep through the windows of the classroom
her father taught in and my granny would pull her and drag her back to the
fields. What kind of a mother does that? A cruel mother! Do cruel mothers
exist? They do. But we as children are fed on this glorious narrative that
mothers are Gods, mothers are all forgiving and all loving and since God
couldn’t be everywhere, he sent mothers. Or some such crap. When I read about other
cruel mothers, I am not shocked. I am pained. I believe that these horror
stories are possible. Our social narrative hurries to portray the father as the
evil one and finds it hard to accept that mothers can be mean too. Truth is, some
of them are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I think of my own childhood, it was way, way, way, way
better than hers in every possible way – schooling, clothes, food, games, fun, and
affection – EVERY aspect. Sometimes, I sit staring into empty space, thinking
of the futility of my mother’s sacrifices and hardships. Why is life so hard
for some? My eyes warm up; tears cloud my vision and slowly trickle down my
cheeks in a feeble attempt to right the wrong. They sting my cheeks. They are worthless.
But I can’t stop them. They don’t listen to me, my voice of reason, to my
pleading, to let go, that it’s over. They choke my throat and there is a
numbing pain in my head. How do I stop it? How do I move on? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel guilt and shame when I complain of silly
things. I complain Sathya didn’t call me from office to check how I was. I
complain Tanvi didn’t finish the work I had told her 10 times. I complain and I
complain. The tears mock me. They drip down and wet my heart. They soak it with
remorse. A heart of gratitude - wouldn’t that be a good enough reward for the
life I have received? The heart softens, momentarily. The tears have drenched
it. It is warm and moist now. I turn my head and look at the pictures of my
family. I smile - immensely thankful. I have been blessed - for nothing. Like my
mother; cursed - for nothing. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dILEB667k0M/WXyZ5HX_hpI/AAAAAAAAFHg/Kp6BIDHxBWgh9Os3F3UGt00Yh0ulNoNQACLcBGAs/s1600/74829_10150321945370495_5376307_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dILEB667k0M/WXyZ5HX_hpI/AAAAAAAAFHg/Kp6BIDHxBWgh9Os3F3UGt00Yh0ulNoNQACLcBGAs/s400/74829_10150321945370495_5376307_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it karma? The only explanation my mother gave was maybe
she was a monster in her previous life. She was paying her dues in this one and
trying to secure a better life in her next. The only explanation I can give for
my good life is I am reaping what my mother sowed. Her kindness has earned me a
decent life. Like Ajay Devgan says in a movie, “Dua mei yaad rakhna”, I guess
there are people who remember me in their prayers. </div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-18752401477015453432017-07-12T23:57:00.000-07:002017-07-12T23:57:04.322-07:00Letter to My First Born<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear Tanvi</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">This is the second time
I am writing to you. I had written to you, once earlier, about <a href="http://sujathasathya.blogspot.in/2011/03/how-i-met-your-father.html"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">how I had met your father. </span></a></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I had also expressed, in
a post not addressed to you, what I had felt, for the longest time, with
respect to having a <a href="http://sujathasathya.blogspot.in/2011/01/second-child.html"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">second child.</span></a> The
only reason I could think of, back then, to go for a second child was to be
able to give you a sibling, for companionship. </span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But all three of us, Sathya, you
and I, were not in favor of a second one, particularly YOU. You always
said, very categorically, that you didn’t want any sister or brother. You
commanded both of us to love you and only you. You insisted that you alone were
enough for us. You were firm in your opinion that you had enough friends to
play with and I needn’t worry about companionship issues. You knew you didn't
want to be bothered with helping clean a new "dirty" baby. This was
how you felt as recently as the beginning of this year.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Your reactions had vindicated
us somehow. See, she doesn’t want, then why should we? She is enough for us. So,
for ten long years, I was on IUCD because none of us wanted a new member in the
family, </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And now, when you are 11
years old, we learnt that you are going to be a big sister! Next year!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lTKnfUC-kpo/WWcZQRy1AsI/AAAAAAAAE_A/wKMv90MTkmM6Mz18Cjq3N7WoHbNsDkhVACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170213_134327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lTKnfUC-kpo/WWcZQRy1AsI/AAAAAAAAE_A/wKMv90MTkmM6Mz18Cjq3N7WoHbNsDkhVACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170213_134327.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">You have always had
friends of all age groups – Surya and Siddharth the brothers are just 4 and 6
years old, Sonith is 5 years old. I have seen you playing with even smaller
kids in the park. But the two weeks of summer vacations spent in your grandfather’s
apartment complex – meeting and playing with Vedanth has stirred something in
you. You have spent hours playing with little Vedanth, who runs to you and
roars with laughter. You actually told me, when you heard from me the 'shocking
news' that I was carrying, "Amma, keep the baby. I don’t care if it
is a boy or a girl or a transgender" (wait, where did you learn that
word!!!). From a child who was very adamant about not wanting a sibling to now this
seemingly grown up, mature girl who is very clear about keeping the baby - THAT
is the change that prompted us to realize that this baby is a welcome addition.
What has changed is now YOU WANT a sibling.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And I am feeling
more convinced, as each day passes, that this awkward gap of almost twelve
years between your sibling and you is actually a blessing. (Someone remarked,
hearing about my ‘accidental’ pregnancy, “Jisko Aana Hota Hai Woh Aake Hi
Rahega” - One who has to come, will come, no matter what). If I had had the
second child earlier and by all probability I would have had if I hadn’t been
on IUCD for so long, I would have had to take care of two young children. And
that would have driven me nuts. Now that you are on your own, independent and
strong, I can concentrate on the new baby. Your strong desire to have the baby has
pushed me to cherish this unexpected pregnancy.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The reason to go for a
second child this late in life (at 40) is because I can see you taking care of
another life. And I want to see it. I want to lie down and look at my two
children, cuddling and playing with each other. I can see myself as a mother
hen as I write this. I can also relive all the moments with you and take you
through your own development, with this baby. Taking care of an expectant
mother and a new born – you are about to shoulder a huge responsibility, my dear.
I hope and pray, quite selfishly so, you are going to be the mother I missed
during my first pregnancy/delivery. You are going to be my source of strength
and motivation that I lacked earlier. Last time, I remember constantly
consoling myself with the lines of the famous Hindi song that went “Jiska Koi
Nai Uska Toh Khuda Hai Yaaro” (God is with the person who has no one else). I
was alone and God was with me then. This time, he has said he is busy handling
more critical cases and has left me in your care. You are God’s own assistant
to me.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love you, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amma</div>
</div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-22520148518369878122017-06-23T08:50:00.000-07:002017-06-23T08:50:02.653-07:00Touristy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone once remarked to me, right after a trip, “Oh I see
that you did all the touristy things?” That was not the first time. I have
heard this before – from acquaintances, strangers and even close friends. Many
have said this. I am sure you too, at some point, would have heard this same
retort from someone in your circle. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is this “touristy” thing? I checked the dictionary to
see the meaning. It says “it relates to or visited by tourists” and “often used
to suggest tawdriness or lack of authenticity”. Oh so that is an underhand comment meant to
mock your style of travel. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let us look at the logistics of a trip. Food, cost of
transport, accommodation, clothes, camera, sight-seeing costs – that’s a whole
bunch of expenses a person who travels has to factor in, excluding the planning
that goes on weeks in advance. One has to be decently rich or at least willing
to spend one’s hard-earned money on travel for any trip to become a reality. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So tell me, if you are going on a three day trip to another
country, spending nearly 50,000, what are you most likely to do or see? Which
fool will sit in a cafe and watch life pass by? Would you too not do the same ‘touristy’
things that you sneer others about? Or at least, see the most frequented and
talked about paces first and then if time and money permits, explore lesser
known places. Spending so much money for so little time in a new city or a new
country, one of course would like to see the most famous places first. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only a
person who lives there would go around exploring the lesser known places. That
is because having lived so long there he would have heard about it from
someone. Or if you are a super wealthy traveller or travelling on company money
then yeah you might skip the more famous places for the quieter ones just to
relax and be away from the crowd. Or if you are a solo backpacker, you would
again focus your energies on few select places not frequented by more regular
people. In all cases, you would either have the luxury of time or money. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think any normal person, by which I mean a middle
class, working class family like my own, who has saved money and planned for
the trip for months in advance, will go to a new place and choose to sit in a
remote corner of the town just so he can boast about saying “oh, I don’t do the
touristy things.” I mean, who goes to Singapore for the first time ever, and
doesn’t see the famous Night Safari or the Jurong Bird Park. Or who goes to Mysore
and doesn’t see The Palace, the Zoo or the Chamundi Hills? Or who goes to Sikkim
and doesn’t visit a Buddhist monastery or eat momos? Who goes to Chennai and doesn’t spend some
time in the Marina Beach? Who goes to Kanyakumari and doesn’t visit the
Vivekananda Memorial? Or who goes to Jaipur and doesn't see the Hawa Mahal?Is that touristy for you?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MrNf065zOJw/WU03pBqklvI/AAAAAAAAExE/kcOPKYzWTgspNfU5Cm4z6kPuvQgxxNSAQCLcBGAs/s1600/c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MrNf065zOJw/WU03pBqklvI/AAAAAAAAExE/kcOPKYzWTgspNfU5Cm4z6kPuvQgxxNSAQCLcBGAs/s320/c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
If it is, I really want to peep into
your travel diary. I want to see what were the things you did and places you
visited when you first visited a city with your saved up money. Two places in India that we as a family have
gone repeatedly are Mysore and Udupi. Each time we have explored a different
facet of the city, the little nukes and corners, the lesser known eateries that
serve absolutely delicious local dishes. But the first time we went to both
these places, we visited the Zoo, the Palace, Chamundi Hills and so on. They
are a must to see places in Mysore. And if that counts as “touristy” “tawdry”
or lacking in imagination, that is only because, may be, You haven’t gone out enough. So, pack your bags, loosen your
purse strings and go visit a new place. And then we will sit and talk of all
the things You did “differently.”</div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-31757091850504360272017-06-10T07:25:00.000-07:002017-06-10T07:25:08.359-07:00My Own Money<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I get confused between the five zeroes in a lakh and the six
zeroes in a crore. I still don’t know how many crores make a million. I am
dependent on a calculator even to check how much I have to pay the iron-man if
I give him 16 clothes to iron and each costs Rs 6. My knowledge of maths is
pathetic. I failed twice in class four in maths and the fact that I have still
not forgotten it shows how deep the humiliation was for me, an otherwise
academically good student. Addition and subtraction is fine but even that, if
it goes beyond four digits, I quickly pick up my calculator. I am a double
post-graduate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My mother never went to school. She could count a couple of lakhs,
in her head, in a matter of minutes. I did not get her financial acumen or her
flair for numbers but I did inherit from her a taste for and an understanding of what
money could do. I turned out to be fairly good with money, or rather, at least
did not mismanage it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I remember I once said to a colleague that I am someone who
can live on Rs 2000 or Rs 20,000 which only meant to say I know to use it well.
For example: if I earned Rs 10,000 every month, 5000 would be set aside for
utilities, 1000 as God’s money, 2000 for savings and 2000 to blow it up.
Multiply that income with multiples of 100 or 1000 but the base formula would remain
the same. Now that I have time on my hands to pause and look back at my life,
(I am a freelancer), I realized that whether my salary was 3000 or 30,000, my saving
and spending pattern has remained almost the same – the naive but safe magic
formula. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KjyGn9RCor8/WTl9VSWkd4I/AAAAAAAAElk/gOJ2C4o7Makvk_5YRrZfaogHousHAjXYACEw/s1600/little-girl-counting-money-677915544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="212" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KjyGn9RCor8/WTl9VSWkd4I/AAAAAAAAElk/gOJ2C4o7Makvk_5YRrZfaogHousHAjXYACEw/s320/little-girl-counting-money-677915544.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Greed has never been the driving factor for me when it to
came to money. But what it could do was always a motivator. For instance, I
wanted to experience the high of buying my first vehicle with my own money. “My
own money” had such a powerful ring to it and I always fantasized about it
constantly throughout my growing up years. I couldn’t wait to get a job and buy
things with “my own money.” I opened my first LIC policy in the same year that
I started working as a Lecturer for a small salary of Rs 3000/- in the year
2000! I bought a TVS Scooty in 2003 just three years after I started working. My
second car, a Maruti 800, purchased with my money, in 2006. All the mobile
handsets, nearly 7 in over a decade, all with my money!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">None of these are there anymore except the most recent mobile
handset. The policy matured last year. The Scooty and the 800 were sold off a
few years after the purchase. But what still stays with me is that high of
ownership I felt then. It was a sign of achievement, a sign of progress, of
having made a ‘considered choice’ to spend my money in a way I wanted. It is
sad many women, for whatever reasons, their own choice or family pressure,
remain deprived of this great joy. It is this that is called power and this
that drives men to strive harder and endlessly at their careers.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I truly
believe that money, well earned and thoughtfully spent, injects you with a
great deal of confidence. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And God willing, I will continue to enjoy such simple joys of
life!</span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-47832770045471683392017-06-03T07:33:00.001-07:002017-06-03T07:35:49.512-07:00Shortcut To Happiness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">No, this post is not a sermon on how to find happiness in your life. I am the last person to have any kind of clarity on the topic. The whole "find happiness in the smallest of things" is really not my type of logic anyways. This post is about the movie by the same name and how and why it has stayed with me even after all these years. </span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">So, have you seen the movie Shortcut to
Happiness? If you haven't and you blog, you must watch it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is about this exceptionally gifted but small time
writer (Alec Baldwin) who pledges his soul to the devil (Jennifer Love
Hewitt) in exchange for fame and money and becomes one of the best-selling
authors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3NgkENCA7jY/WTLEktb6-0I/AAAAAAAAEaQ/J01twEfDngYGkt9OnxU6WZdDsXXV_6-GgCLcB/s1600/MV5BMTIwNzY2MDQ1MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzY4MDA1MQ%2540%2540._V1_UY1200_CR89%252C0%252C630%252C1200_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3NgkENCA7jY/WTLEktb6-0I/AAAAAAAAEaQ/J01twEfDngYGkt9OnxU6WZdDsXXV_6-GgCLcB/s320/MV5BMTIwNzY2MDQ1MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzY4MDA1MQ%2540%2540._V1_UY1200_CR89%252C0%252C630%252C1200_AL_.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
slowly his writing suffers. His 2-3 best friends and genuine readers cannot read his "popular" books
anymore because it lacks quality and they tell him so but
he doesn't even have time to listen to them because he is so caught
up with his new readers who are in millions now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">He has it all - readers, money, huge number of published books - everything he
ever wanted and then he realizes that actually, he never really wanted any of this. All he ever wanted was a reader who responded to his writing and connected to his words. He was happier being an unpublished writer who wrote
brilliant stuff whose real readers actually read him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the beginning of my blogging journey, way back in 2010, for
one whole month or so, or longer than that perhaps, I caught myself obsessing over Alexa Rank, comments, number
of readers, and number of followers, page views, so on and so forth. I even
compared it with others. I sometimes returned comments and visits for the sake
of it. And this is the shameful part, I wondered why some common
readers don't read me but read others. I frequently doubted the quality of my blog, and asked repeatedly was my blog not nice. I worried that though I was nearing 2 years, I was still at 85
posts in 2012. I was caught up in this indivotes (votes that your post gets on
a bloggers network called indiblogger), statistics, followers, widgets, and the
world of other bloggers. I lost myself somewhere, bit by bit and I was so
aware of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had forgotten why I had actually started blogging. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
had started blogging to quiet my mind. I was constantly in a monologue with
myself and I had to find a way out of it - the constant chatter in my head. It
was like I was always talking, even when there was no one else in the room or
mostly then! Today, almost 7 years later, with a four year break in the
blogging journey, it feels great to be in a space of contentment. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now that I am
almost 134 posts old (nine on my travel blog and 125 here on this one), I have often gone back reading my older
posts. They always bring a smile of joy. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">I surely find it amusing that there was a phase where I felt a particular way about a particular issue.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Interestingly, many of those emotions and opinions that I put forth in my earliest posts are
still true today! Even after 7 years! </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or maybe, seven years is really not that long a time for a person to have a drastically different opinion on the same issue. Maybe, the number seven is a landmark number for married couples only, what with the itch and all the accompanying troubles. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, sometimes, I wonder, what would it be
like, reading posts of 2010, say in 2050? Would I be ashamed? Not, I hope. </span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-28941153801467956192017-05-25T07:07:00.002-07:002017-05-25T07:09:00.380-07:00Death <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">My daughter's best friend lost her father. Last year. She
was in 5<sup>th</sup> standard. Ten years old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">She didn't cry. Or rather, I didn’t see her cry. Two
weeks later, when she came to our home, I didn’t see her sad or mourning or
weeping. I was looking out to catch a tear waiting to roll down. There was
none. So normal she was that I was appalled to see it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">But wait! Why was I so desperate to see her sad? Why
was I scanning her eyes? Why was I waiting for her to start missing her father
any moment now and maybe either start howling in sheer grief or sit in a corner
and sob silently? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3iugeU85y_E/WSblGqLqdVI/AAAAAAAAEMo/qsBoYLEMWjI48ltb25Wn80xQe8QSOeGVACLcB/s1600/death-title-image_tcm7-187855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="730" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3iugeU85y_E/WSblGqLqdVI/AAAAAAAAEMo/qsBoYLEMWjI48ltb25Wn80xQe8QSOeGVACLcB/s400/death-title-image_tcm7-187855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">Is it because it pushed me to think of my own death? It
made me wonder how would Tanvi my daughter, react when faced with a similar unfortunate
and clearly mentally devastating situation, so early on in life. Will she also
be “normal” in two weeks flat? Most importantly, do I </span><b style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><i>WANT</i></b><span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"> her to cry for days
on end when I die?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I do. I do! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Oh My God! Did I just say that out loud? Such a vain
woman! So vain! So utterly despicably vain! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Thoughts of mortality – are they morbid or actually
uplifting and beneficial? Visiting my mortality, time and again, in my
thoughts, over the years, has been a see-saw ride for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I have said this, to many people, many times, that if
I live till 50, that’s all I ask. I don’t want a long life. 50 will do for me.
And to think, that’s just another ten years ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Sometimes, this thought of death is accompanied by a
sense of urgency and unreasonable bouts of jealousy. Knowing that there are so
many places I still have not visited and desperately, (yes, desperately in bold
and red), want to see, and so little time to do it all. That makes me wonder if
I will be an unhappy soul. An ‘atrapth atma’ (unfulfilled soul) roaming the
streets pushing tourists off the cliff or drowning others as they splash in the
beach or choking some as they relish their food in a fancy restaurant. Will I
be doing that? Will I turn into a vengeful, dissatisfied ex-traveller snuffing
out the lives of other seemingly happy travellers? I can very well see myself
doing that! What a shame! But I swear, if I die before I have seen all the
places I want to see and do all the things I want to do, I will come back and
haunt YOU – You who are now onto your next lovely travel adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Then my thoughts turn to my daughter. 11 years old now.
How will she manage her life without her mother? The question is almost always
followed by a long, thoughtful pause. And then hits the piercing, stabbing-my-heart-till-it-bleeds-and-wets-the-floor
realization. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">She will do just fine. She is far too practical and
far less emotional than I have ever been. And that is both scary and comforting,
at the same time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">It is scary because I am a selfish mother. Won’t she
shed a few bloody tears bemoaning her great loss? Don’t I deserve a few months,
(no, make it years), of sorrow for having given birth to her and raised her and
then gone, wooof into thin air, leaving her all alone? I the mother, the
creator, the nurturer, the nourisher - forgotten easily and surely – is that my
fate? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">It is comforting because for a mother there is no
greater achievement than knowing that her daughter is confident. That she
raised a girl who is self-reliant and can live her life without being a crutch.
That all the sweat and sacrifice one endured has resulted in a child who will
be just fine, even without you. That’s huge. I know. After all, isn’t that the
whole purpose of parenting? To raise a young one such that one day they can set
out on their own and not depend on you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Sigh! I have to make peace with not getting those
bucketful of tears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Damn!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-41286904217869766882017-04-17T01:37:00.003-07:002017-04-17T01:40:46.596-07:00Sikkim - Part Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">The Make My Trip Package we had chosen<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">is called </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">'</span>East Delight with Lachung<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">.' Cost per person for this 6 nights <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">trip <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">was <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">R</span></span></span>s 37,000</span>. It included the <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">flig</span>ht tickets from Bangalore to Bagdogra, airport <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">transfers from <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">B</span>agdogra to Gangtok and </span>1 night stay in Lachung, 1 night in Darjeeling and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>3 nights in Gangtok<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> with breakfast and dinner<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> on all days. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">In Gangtok, the <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">ho</span>tel was Summit Namnang Courtyard and Spa. Summit <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">is<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> a</span></span> group of hotels quite famous in this part of the world. In Sikkim itself, they had 3-4 hotels and in <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">Darjeeling too<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gMT0vAkB_0E/WPGkmLpRcdI/AAAAAAAAD2o/DZCyesXB0hMqo94l1BYmsfE_FT18PdVLwCLcB/s1600/2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gMT0vAkB_0E/WPGkmLpRcdI/AAAAAAAAD2o/DZCyesXB0hMqo94l1BYmsfE_FT18PdVLwCLcB/s200/2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">The rooms were beautiful, with a great view of the mountains. </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">But what didn't work was<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> </span>the breakfast and dinner spread. The service of the staff at the restaurant was poor too. They were slow and quite unresponsive. We hardly ate anything. </span></span></span></span><br />
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">In Lachung, the stay <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">was at </span>Cliffview. Spacious and decent accommodation. True to its name, it had the best view. I don't remember staying in a hotel where you opened the windows to this majestic view of the mountains and THAT close. It was like if you stretched out your hands, you could feel the ruggedness of the rocks and run your fingers through its curvaceous paths. But of course, you couldn't stretch your hands out because it was so SO cold!</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FS5XHyBPhPs/WPGqpQgrdEI/AAAAAAAAD3E/Ccfvn3AF2I0yGCpOxxSvaA2TjiWQnOG7wCLcB/s1600/IMG-20161114-WA0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FS5XHyBPhPs/WPGqpQgrdEI/AAAAAAAAD3E/Ccfvn3AF2I0yGCpOxxSvaA2TjiWQnOG7wCLcB/s640/IMG-20161114-WA0027.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">The distance from Gangtok to Lachung is 125 kms and takes about 7 hours. Painful, seemingly never ending <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">journey on bad roads. </span>On the way, we stopped at various view points and reached the hotel in the night and went straight to bed. <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">T</span>he itinerary was such that on all days during the week lo<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">ng trip, we would reach the hotel just in time for dinner and CRASH. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"></span></span><br />
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">In Darjeeling, we stayed at Springburn. The hotel had good breakfast and dinner. The staff were all Nepali. Great service. Very courteous boys. </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"></span></span></div>
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mp3dqa03jWQ/WPGpShcKs1I/AAAAAAAAD20/q139Io3S46Ing4N9GnLMXz0BF4_qm0udACLcB/s1600/IMG_20161117_055729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mp3dqa03jWQ/WPGpShcKs1I/AAAAAAAAD20/q139Io3S46Ing4N9GnLMXz0BF4_qm0udACLcB/s320/IMG_20161117_055729.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVUOTofZDf8/WPGpU7v0aUI/AAAAAAAAD24/kTsJDNycHBkhqoCSDoRxsvpqofUbnmWJwCLcB/s1600/IMG-20161118-WA0019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVUOTofZDf8/WPGpU7v0aUI/AAAAAAAAD24/kTsJDNycHBkhqoCSDoRxsvpqofUbnmWJwCLcB/s320/IMG-20161118-WA0019.jpg" width="179" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">MMT prom<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">i</span>sed that there would be a<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> tour <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">manager throughout the trip. There was n<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">one. The<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">y cl<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">aimed there would be assistance at the</span></span></span></span></span> airport at the time of arrival and departure. There was none.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">Out of the 7 days, two complete days were dedicated for traveling – 5 hours from Gangtok
to Bagdogra airport and then, more than 4 hours in the flight from Bagdogra to
Bangalore. So we spent the whole of 11<sup>th</sup> and 17<sup>th</sup> , the <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">first and last days of th<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">e trip, </span></span>in cab
and plane. In addition to that,
we spent one whole day traveling to Lachung from Gangtok and another whole day
traveling back from Lachung to Gangtok. When the itinerary is sent, you don’t
realize the extensive travel it involves. We used to reach the hotels just to
spend the night sleeping. Next day early morning hit the road again!</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">MakeMyTrip</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">
service was atrocious. Not just us but <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">many </span>others, we met during our stay in the
hotels and on our flight, had had bad experiences with them. For
starters<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">, </span>many of them had been given wrong flight information. There were no
such flights in that hour to that location. So any info regarding flights you
get from MMT, always double-check. We realized from experience, our own and
other fellow travelers', that MMT is extremely negligent with respect to
information as critical as flight detail<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">s. <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">An</span>d when you talk to them abo<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">ut it, they blame the airlines (Indigo, in our case). And <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">Indigo, of course, <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">wipe their hands off it saying it<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">'s<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> the responsibility of the tour o<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">perator.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">When we spoke to the customer
service, their response both on mail and over phone was clearly of “what do we care?”
types. They had done the group bookings for hotels, flights and sight-seeing
taxis and they were not obliged beyond that. They got their cut from every
transaction. The customer saved a few thousand rupees thanks to shared cabs.
All this meant, MMT was not ready to listen or take responsibility for anything
else. Since we had booked online and the person who interacted with us was from
another city (Delhi) there was no way we could directly approach him. Our driver was narrating incidents of how people<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> would come through MMT<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> and get into verbal and sometimes even physical fights with the <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">local cab driver/hotel. S<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">ome <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">threatened of beating up the MMT guys<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">, some of complaining t<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">o the </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">police. The reason was always all the false pro<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">mises made by <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">MMT<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">. The drivers themselves were <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">paid a pittance and had to endure delayed payments repea<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">tedly</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oYpHpWfVa9w/WPR_burs-1I/AAAAAAAAD4U/OhZXc1taPXYf2GCj25sLtj8z2ofaSg6rwCLcB/s1600/index.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oYpHpWfVa9w/WPR_burs-1I/AAAAAAAAD4U/OhZXc1taPXYf2GCj25sLtj8z2ofaSg6rwCLcB/s1600/index.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">One young couple we met suggested to always go <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">to </span>local offices for any bookings with these package travel dealers. You tend to <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">have <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">a be</span></span>tter experience when it <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">is </span>done across the table rather than online. It is easier to get an answer from them as one specific person handles your account and he is directly responsible for you. In the case of online bookings, the mails are read and replied and calls attended to and passed on from person to person without any sense of accountability. The email ids and phone numbers they provide for assistance is of no use.<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> Once the payment is in their account, they are least bothere<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">d what happens <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">to<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"> you. You will have to chase and do all the follow-ups whether it's for the flight tickets or contact person <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">details. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">Lesson <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">learnt from this trip? No more Make My Trip for me - ever. <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">E</span>ven if their current brand ambassador is Ranveer S<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">i</span>n<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">gh, <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">who I am a bi<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">g fan of. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-29135593162392540512017-03-28T01:32:00.002-07:002017-03-28T01:36:31.778-07:00The Girl And Her Clothes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Sometime, last year, there was this video that I saw on Facebook. I
learnt later that it was part of a UNICEF social experiment. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">It showed a six year old girl, Anano, a child
actor, dressed shabbily, loitering around restaurants and street squares of
Georgia, clearly looking helpless and lost. The intention was to capture
people’s reactions to the girl. Would they help her? Approach her? Talk to her?
How would they respond to her?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fAlb4wmCudg/WNocMlPr_gI/AAAAAAAADtg/683U7BNwNcwsw2NRN5JcAt8hh3A5hdcoACLcB/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fAlb4wmCudg/WNocMlPr_gI/AAAAAAAADtg/683U7BNwNcwsw2NRN5JcAt8hh3A5hdcoACLcB/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Most people moved away. They didn’t ask her where she wanted to go
or where her parents were - nothing at all. They simply walked away from her,
throwing questioning, “What are you doing here, you dirty girl” glances at her.
Those who were eating looked away, avoiding eye-contact with the girl who
clearly looked very hungry and would have appreciated if someone offered her
something to eat. One lady actually pulled her bag closer to her, fearing
theft. One man asked the waiter to take the girl away. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">All of </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">them distrusted
her, disliked her. She seemed to be </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> intruding into their space. She clearly
didn’t belong there, </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">had no right to be there. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">The same girl had earlier been groomed well and dressed in
beautiful clothes, with neatly done hair and face. She looked rich. She gave
the impression of being the lost kid of wealthy parents. How did the people
react then?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Many approached her and inquired where her parents were. The ones
at the restaurant offered her a seat, an indulgent glance and admiring looks.
Many smiled at her. Some bent down, spoke to her and waited with her for a
while, hoping her family would come. Most of them were concerned as to how did
the sweet, angelic child was all alone at an eatery or in a public place
without a guardian. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLK2DzCyNy8/WNockcLvuMI/AAAAAAAADtk/yuxidsu_zgYPxwX2XyIiSX0x6UeO3CrDACLcB/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLK2DzCyNy8/WNockcLvuMI/AAAAAAAADtk/yuxidsu_zgYPxwX2XyIiSX0x6UeO3CrDACLcB/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nxWqG_7dGjU/WNocweE-V7I/AAAAAAAADto/egRxikM_YkUOze26zPWy2i_E8ximzl5GwCLcB/s1600/14-1467386036128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nxWqG_7dGjU/WNocweE-V7I/AAAAAAAADto/egRxikM_YkUOze26zPWy2i_E8ximzl5GwCLcB/s320/14-1467386036128.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">UNICEF concluded their research saying, among a host of other things, that the world’s poorest kids are more likely to die before their fifth
birthday. They wrote that the poor kids, the world over, would be constantly malnourished.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">It was a very telling experiment, indeed. Google 'Anano Unicef' if you wish to watch the video. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">It was the same girl. They were the same people. But their responses
differed so drastically; simply because she was dressed differently. In fact, the
experiment had to be called off because Anano started crying when she saw how
people pushed her away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I thought all of our religions taught us to be, least of all,
kind. But then, maybe it takes a lot for us to look beyond outward appearances;
almost superhuman efforts. No matter how many such videos come, transformation
of the heart is never going to happen. We will share, like, comment and make
socially appropriate noises and say ‘oh it is so sad for the girl’. And then, go
right back to going gaga over pictures of friends’ kids dressed to kill and
turn our noses up at the sight of a “poor” kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Maternal instincts, humanity, concern, respect, and a few kind
words are not free. You have to earn them – with the right clothes, right
shoes, right complexion, right hairdo, and right accent.</span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-39340393308731688282017-03-24T01:30:00.002-07:002017-03-24T01:30:54.110-07:00Uber and Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I am a devout Uber user, have been using it for many years
now. I always choose UberPool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tW1S8KmK9SE/WNTQFhUsGNI/AAAAAAAADs0/4bCDxPXzJbAj5P4VudzBytaMP26RdaZLgCEw/s1600/uber-calle1-960x623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tW1S8KmK9SE/WNTQFhUsGNI/AAAAAAAADs0/4bCDxPXzJbAj5P4VudzBytaMP26RdaZLgCEw/s320/uber-calle1-960x623.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I have had many interesting conversations with both the
drivers and the co-passengers. The co-passengers are unique. Not everyone likes
to talk. Women hardly look, let alone talk. Men, if young, stay quiet. If
older, engage in a conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Since I stay at Sanjay Nagar and most airport taxis have to
pass through Mekhri Circle, being clubbed with airport goers is a common
scenario, if I take the cab from the southern part of the city. Many of these
airport goers happen to be Ube Pool users too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">One encounter I remember quite vividly was when I was
returning from HSR Layout after a training session. He looked young,
out-of-college types. We started speaking. He was an entrepreneur from Mumbai
and had come to the city to set up their local office in HSR Layout.
Interestingly, they were in talks with a well known actor from the Kannada film
industry who was keen on investing in their startup. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The other interaction I remember the most was when I was
returning from a spa in Indiranagar. He hopped in a stop later at M.G.Road and
was heading to the airport. The front seat was empty and yet he chose to sit at
the back and almost immediately started talking. He worked for Reliance, he said
and from the looks of it, at a very high position, I surmised. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">We talked of different things – from our travelling stories,
to the South-North divide in India, to typical behaviours of people from other countries
especially U.S and U.K where he travelled extensively. Coincidentally, we had
both visited the National Park in Borivli at the same time! He was a Mumbai
resident and yet had never been there until then. It was his first time. I was
born and raised in Mumbai, yet I had never been there either. It was my first
time. We both had visited the place in August of 2016. He showed the pictures
from his phone. I spoke of my trip to Chandigarh and Manali. He is from
Chandigarh, but settled in Mumbai. That’s when he said South Indians are
modest; North Indians show off too much. I observed that North Indians make
great entrepreneurs. He said the banking sector had lots of South Indians
dominating the field. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I never asked his name or designation. It didn’t matter. The unexpected
conversation in an unlikely place with a total strange did. It was one sweet
memory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">These two trips are etched in my mind. What struck me was
their humility. It was almost tangible! Both of them were responding to the driver
also very politely. Position and education had not sullied their minds – not the
young one nor the old one. Quite contrary to the attitudes that I have seen
some good-for-nothing losers throw. The absolute arrogance and disrespect in
their voice when they talk to the driver is nauseating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I have had drivers share incidents of how some passengers put
their feet up on the seats, cross their legs and sit so comfortably that their
knees press against the back of the driver’s seat and he has to lean forward
and drive in that uncomfortable position for the rest of the trip, how some
fight and demand that they be dropped almost a kilometre away from their actual
drop-off location, how some bang the door shut so hard, not realizing that for
the driver, the vehicle is his “lakshmi”, and he has paid through his nose to
purchase the car through high down-payments and huge EMIs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But then we all know there are always two sides to a story. I
have had instances where the driver surely deserved a one on a one to five
rating. Once, a driver said he would be there at the location in five minutes
and kept me waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Reason? He was having his breakfast. Another time, a
driver drove to Forum Mall clocking an additional two kilometre distance saying
the main road had traffic jam and this was short-cut. Uber reimbursed me the difference
amount and debited the driver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But such incidents have been rare. Very rare. The good experiences
have far-outweighed the unpleasant ones. Or maybe I have been very lucky! So I
continue to be a Uber loyalist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #EEE9DD; color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 23.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-22780185512943692412017-03-12T23:07:00.000-07:002017-03-14T04:11:18.082-07:00The Story of a Letter-Writer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I recently read the book "The Lost Generation by Nidhi Dugar
Kundalia. She describes in the book 11 professions in India that are on their way out;
the last of the dying professions. One of the professions she writes about are the Letter Writers of Bombay. When I read that chapter, I remembered that I was once a letter-writer too, though, an unpaid one, unlike the writers of Bombay outside the GPO who were paid for their services. <br />
<br />
I used to
write letters for others. My neighbors. There was Narsajji (Narsamma was her name plus ajji meaning grannny. So Narsajji) and her daughter
whose name I've forgotten. Narsajji used to live alone, her two daughters in
Bombay. During the weekends, or after school, she would call me or send someone
to fetch me. She had a walking stick. I used to write in Kannada on an inland
letter. Those of you who don’t know what an inland letter looks like, here it
is. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rdZAShn214Y/WMYyG0POVYI/AAAAAAAADqo/xwJiAI3GpQIMZrpFtHI7fJUCSzUcx5RlgCLcB/s1600/inland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rdZAShn214Y/WMYyG0POVYI/AAAAAAAADqo/xwJiAI3GpQIMZrpFtHI7fJUCSzUcx5RlgCLcB/s320/inland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I must have written for them for nearly 5
years till I was in my 12<sup>th</sup> Std. Strangely, I had learned the
alphabets and then to read and write Kannada only in the 4<sup>th</sup> Std. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Narsajji used to give me a guava or a mango for my efforts.
Not always, only sometimes. I used to write what she said verbatim. She always
talked of how she was doing fine, the coconut yield was low, it has started
raining or it is too hot, no water in the well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember sitting in the stone bench or what we call in our village in
Kannada “jagli” and she would hand me my weapons – a pen and an inland letter. I knew what the opening and closing lines of the letter
would be but would still wait for her to say it out loud and match my writing
speed with her speech. I
would fill the space. She would always ask “is there more space?” A few years later, one of
her daughters came and stayed with her as she was unable to move or cook. Now, she commissioned me to write letters for her sister in Bombay. She never gave me anything. </div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
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</div>
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I
was their official letter reader too. So every time the postman delivered a
letter to them which I would know because he had to pass our house to go to
theirs, I knew my summons would come. It used to take half an hour for the
entire exercise - the reading followed by the writing. For the longest time, the letters were sent to an unseen
recipient. I hadn’t seen the old lady’s daughter and family at all. Years
later, when they came down, for her funeral, they thanked me and I felt a sense
of pride and satisfaction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder who writes for
them now! Are they still alive! Does anyone anymore do this? With cheap mobiles
and cheaper messages, I don’t think it is even required anymore.Not even in the villages. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have written for others too – only the elderly. But
Narsajji was a regular. The others were once in a blue moon clients. I remember
sometimes being pissed off and not wanting to go. The letters always read the
same, over and over again. It was so repetitive. And I would also need to
listen to Narsajji’s complaints of the bad weather, bad crop, bad back, and so
on. I detested it as the years went by. But I never stopped. Mostly to please
my mother. She hadn’t been to school either and though she had managed to be
self-taught, she too struggled with the written word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would tell me never to refuse. Half an
hour of my filling up a blank page meant a lot to Narsajji and her family.
There were no phones then. And letters were the only way to know if someone was
dead or alive. My mother used to say, "Imagine you are writing it for me, doing a
favor to me and do it for them". So I did it. Every time.Twice a month for almost five
years. And then we moved houses. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I wonder if my empathy stems from my mother. I
think it does. If it weren’t for her, I would turn out a very selfish, uncaring
person like my father. She really grounded me. Not with lectures but just the
way she looked at things and people. “Ayyo papa” is a common refrain in my mind
when I meet people and hear the stories of their daily struggle. If I had taken
after my father, I would have been least bothered. I wouldn’t even have
listened to them. But I took after my mother. Stories don’t tire me. What stays
is the feeling that there isn’t a lot that I can or could do to alleviate their
agony. Mostly a knowing nod is all that I
can offer. </div>
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<br /></div>
As the book illustrates, things took a complete turnaround in 2002. In the already
thriving mobile communications market, incoming calls became free and Reliance
announced its launch. ‘I miss you’ could now be sent in seconds across the
country. Priced at a few 100 rupees, mobiles were in the hands of traders and
hawkers, and in over a few months, the Letter Writers of Bombay were pushed out of business.
India Post stopped the services completely.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it is good that that happened. No one has to ever ask anyone for a
favor of this kind, a personal-to-the-core kind. No illiterate person must ever
be obliged to an educated person. Like Narsajji was to me.</div>
</div>
Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635337067482720242.post-88088567715823461022017-01-10T04:00:00.000-08:002017-01-17T07:40:54.299-08:002016 A Blockbuster Year <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I hardly ever look back at the year gone by. I did not do the
very popular Facebook feature “Year in Review.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But 2016 was definitely different. I indulged
generously in two of my life’s biggest passions: writing and traveling.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Writing:<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
finally breathed life into my blog after 4 long years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I had started blogging in 2010, wrote <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">100 </span>posts in 2 years and then in 2012 stopped. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In 2016, <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">revived the blog and</span></span> wrote an additional <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">13 </span>posts, almost one for every month ( far too less, I know but a good start nevertheless). <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of the posts was <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">my</span></span> first ever book review (The Calling by Priya Kumar). </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X6r3TFObtNc/WHR4e1Lry3I/AAAAAAAACso/AA8DsoKeCb8i0Og9S-kKz88Jrn8GFcDcQCLcB/s1600/IMG_20170110_112757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X6r3TFObtNc/WHR4e1Lry3I/AAAAAAAACso/AA8DsoKeCb8i0Og9S-kKz88Jrn8GFcDcQCLcB/s400/IMG_20170110_112757.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I also started my first paid writing
assignment, for Bookbhook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Com<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">pleted 7 summaries</span>, from Aug to Dec. In a single month of Dec<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, wrote 3 summaries which <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">is a personal record. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The bo<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">oks </span></span></span></span></span>ranged from autobiographies (Shoe Dog by Phil K<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">night, the founder o<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">f Nike)</span></span> to biographies (Alibaba by Duncan Clark, the story of <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jack Maa</span> and <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Everything Store by Brad Stone, the story of <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">mazon's Jeff Bezos) to ones on culture (</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We are <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Poor But So many by Ela Bhatt),</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>history (</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Lost Generation by first time writer N<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">idhi <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Duga<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">r</span> Kundalia<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">) </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>and technology (<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hooked by Nir Eyal and Salt S<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">u</span>gar F<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">at by Michael Moss)<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span>The feeling
of exhilaration when you put that last and final full stop on your writing
assignment or on your blog article cannot be adequately described. It is a mix of
ecstatic relief and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Traveling</b><span style="line-height: 115%;">: 9 trips
in a single year and 15 new places visited in just 12 months is a wow thing for
us as a family. We have a family pact to do at least 3 trips a year – one each
for our birthdays. And the birthdays too are conveniently spaced out and fall
well through the year. Mine in the beginning (Feb), Sathya’s in the end (Nov)
and Tanvi’s right in the middle in June. We have stuck to this pact religiously
for several years now. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">But, 2016 turned out to be a blockbuster year. Practically
every month we saw a new place. Except 2-3 places, most of them were hill
stations is what we realized in hind sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Wayanad (Jan)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Hampi –Hospet - Bellary (Jan)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Dandeli – Karwar (April)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Ooty (May)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Hoganekkal - Male Mahadeshwara Hills (June)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Bombay -Lonavla –Matheran (July)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Sakleshpura, Bisile Ghat, Dharmasthala (Sept) </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Horsley Hills (Oct)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>Sikkim – Darjeeling (Nov)</span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pboxr7TOU-0/WHR5DF2LFbI/AAAAAAAACss/lnBpiMdY5dIP5ZuJh5Q_zOyt0aAEaYKgwCLcB/s1600/wayanad%2Bflower%2Bshow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pboxr7TOU-0/WHR5DF2LFbI/AAAAAAAACss/lnBpiMdY5dIP5ZuJh5Q_zOyt0aAEaYKgwCLcB/s640/wayanad%2Bflower%2Bshow.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">At the Wayanad Flower Show</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Only Ooty was a repeat place. We had been to Ooty as a couple
in 2007 when Tan was about a year old. We had hired a bike and raced through
the streets, carefree. This time we had gone full family (in-laws plus
brothers-in-law), boxed in with the others, seven of us in a big four-wheeler.</span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWDeveVNU_k/WHR5c9BxkfI/AAAAAAAACs0/8NImUKPirA8LGgM5B8eg5d3mfyRj9yeZgCLcB/s1600/FB_IMG_1478253423664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWDeveVNU_k/WHR5c9BxkfI/AAAAAAAACs0/8NImUKPirA8LGgM5B8eg5d3mfyRj9yeZgCLcB/s640/FB_IMG_1478253423664.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Malalli Falls, Coorg</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Imagine doing all these trips right through Tan’s school year! The only
thing we dread when we go on a road trip is her absence from school and what
excuse to furnish for her repeated absenteeism. God save us if our trips clash
with her exam or test dates! </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">A<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">s for me, l</span>uckily, I have been freelancing since 2013 and
there is no hassle of leaves! No begging the boss for sanctioning one week
leaves every couple of months! That is one reason why I have stubbornly refused
to work full-time despite some good offers. The loss of a steady income from a
full-time job is sacrificed at the altar of the flexibility to travel. No regrets
whatsoever. </span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LhVCI8e8KQs/WHR5xtOUY2I/AAAAAAAACs8/obyC6Lcx2xQIZ16pL2B0w7dHi9HzoGJ5ACLcB/s1600/FB_IMG_1479567423066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LhVCI8e8KQs/WHR5xtOUY2I/AAAAAAAACs8/obyC6Lcx2xQIZ16pL2B0w7dHi9HzoGJ5ACLcB/s640/FB_IMG_1479567423066.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Zero Point, Yumthang Valley, Sikkim</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We hope 2017 is going to be a bigger year for us in terms of
traveling and exploring more of India. India never disappoints the greedy
traveler. Each city, each state is a treasure house of unique experiences. The
country surely satiates our hunger for novelty. </span></span></span></div>
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Sujatha Sathyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00448034391267400236noreply@blogger.com20South East Asia20.3034175184893 79.453125-9.9660829815106986 38.144531 50.572918018489304 120.761719