013. Flying Roses

Kingdom of Bahrain

26 December 2009

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Acknowledgement - as always!

Once again, thank you very much for going through, and commenting on  my previous entry - "A Christmas gift!".  I acknowledge my sure-shot readers and new readers - they have not disappointed me.

A big thanks to all those who visited my site, read and commented on.

This incident is churned out from a relatively old memory chip!   Let me muse happily on some of my childhood tantrums and  funny moments!

Walking back to the 80s, circa 1982-83.

This is Ravi Chettan, my eldest brother.

 Ravi Chettan,  was on his annual vacation from the Gulf.     He is a person having varied sports interests.  To the best of my knowledge, football topped his list.  He transformed himself to a strong  anti-cricket advocate,  after he reportedly got injured during a cricket match,  during his childhood.  The following bitter experiences he had, might have forced him to hate cricket like hell!  Cannot blame him at all !

But, neither that part of his history, nor his constant preaching of anti-cricket slogans to us stopped either me or Hari, my neighbour-cum-schoolmate-cum-classmate from playing cricket on the front portion of our house.  A rectangular area, called as muttam (in Malayalam), was our cricket pitch.   The pitch (fully cemented) was a tough "wicket" to play on, due to the presence of  various plants and sensitive (& sentimental)  flowers all over the place!

Our house was located on the side of a main road.  There was heavy traffic of city buses and all other sorts of vehicles from cycle to heavy tankers!  And, to make (our) matters a little worse, there was a bus stop just  in front of our gate.  Almost all the city buses stop there and hence we had to be extra careful to make sure not to hit the ball on to the road.

Rules and regulations were also very funny.

To penalize the batsman for making any "rash hits", we considered the flower pots as fielders.  If a ball fell in to a flower pot directly without touching the ground, the batsman was considered out and our scoreboard said,

- "Renjith    c  FlowerPot        b Hari"   or

 - "Hari       c  FlowerPot        b Renjith"

Similarly to penalize "heavy hits", the batsman was considered out, if he hit the ball on to the road.

With these stringent constraints in place, I challenge, even Sachin Tendulkar would not have played well in our "home pitch".

Flying Roses?

Out of the blue,   a passion to grow roses got into Ravi Chettan's nerves during that vacation of his.  One fine morning,  I saw him bringing home, dozens and  dozens of (additional) flower pots containing roses of different varieties and colours.   Sadly, for us, the "cricketers", he  placed them on the center of our "pitch", disrupting our future cricket matches.  On his face,  I could not see any mercy to the poor cricketers - Hari and me. 

He religiously spent a lot of time nursing the roses.

The "home pitch" was completely closed.

There were no other places approved by the concerned authorities (parents, in this context) in the vicinity of our houses to play cricket.   We spotted many places to play cricket, but our parents cruelly  rejected our plea due to various reasons, better known to them only.

Our cricket matches came to a dead end, almost!
Or, to say the least, we felt like that.

As a stop gap arrangement, we started to play Book Cricket.  (For information, Book Cricket is a game,  which we, children used to play, wherein the "batsman"  randomly opened a thick book; noted the the even page number per turn.  If the page number ended in 2, then he got 2 runs, if 4, then  4 runs, if 6 then sixer, if 8 then a single and if it was 0, then the batsman was declared OUT).  

Nothing to fear.

No physical damage to players or flower pots.

No rain disruptions,

No bad weather problems.

Interesting.

Fascinating.

The beauty part was that -  we could play Book Cricket any time, even in front of our parents,  pretending that we were studying!!

Progressively, Book Cricket became a part of my life.

One night, during dinner, the following was the talk of the hour.

"Ravi,  when are you going to see Ammoomma (grand mother) ?  How long have I been telling you?"  It was Amma, reminding Ravi chettan,  referring to his much awaited visit to our native place, a two hour drive from home.

I crossed my fingers while awaiting Ravi Chettan's response. 
Did I pray silently for a positive answer?  Perhaps.

Knowing him, I was sure about his night stay with Ammoomma,  whenever he visited her.

"I will go sometime next week", Ravi Chettan replied to Amma, which the latter rejected, categorically.

"No, it is too late.  You should have visited her during the first week of your vacation itself."

"Ravi, you should try to go tomorrow, if it is possible.  Moreover, it is a Sunday, so there would not be much rush in the bus.".   That sounded like an order, this time from the father.

Ravi Chettan nodded his head - affirmative.

I slept that night praying for a quick sunrise!  Because,  I somehow wanted to see off Ravi Chettan to our native place, summon Hari, play cricket for two days, continuously, starting from the very morning!!

I was so excited!

When I got up the next day morning,   the first thing I did was to search for Ravi Chettan.

I checked his room.

I checked the verandah, where he used to spend hours, reading newspaper.

I checked his "nursery".
I checked him near the rose pots.

I checked the full house.

I asked Amma.

Great!  I confirmed that he left for the native place.

Relieved.
Very much.

Quickly brushed my teeth, jumped the wall across to Hari's house.

Hari was sleeping.   No worries, I woke him up.
Told about Ravi Chettan's absence from our "pitch" for two days. 
Hearing that, he too got excited.

He also brushed his teeth.

We both jumped the wall across back to my house.

In a few minutes, we cleared the pitch by shifting the rose (flower) pots to either sides of the pitch.
After a laborious task, we certified the pitch, "cricket enabled"!

Sheets of paper were torn from our notebooks to make the score sheet.
Neatly, with utmost care, we drew lines on the paper and made a beautiful score board.
Impressive!  No doubt.

We anticipated shouting from either of our parents for playing cricket from the very morning, and that too, without having breakfast.

So, we decided to give a sample dose.

We bounced the ball on the "pitch", made the sound of the rubber ball audible to our parents.
No response.
That meant to us, that they would not come out, scold us and stop the match.

Sure?  Yes, go ahead.

Gradually, the stumps were placed.  

Using red stone and some chalks, the creases were marked.

We tossed a 20-paise coin to select the first  batsman/bowler.

One of us, obviously won the toss, don't remember who!
The photograph above is view from the wicket (batsman) side.

Hari started batting.  He took stance, like Sunil Gavaskar.
Imitating Kapil Dev (one of my cricket idols those days), I rubbed the ball on my shorts, as if we were playing cricket using a cricket ball!   Like Kapil Dev, I used long run ups (within the available space!!) and bowled to Hari.

As usual,  Hari hit a sixer.   He was like that.  He scored many centuries and half centuries against me in my "home pitch". 

He was in good "form" (lending cricket commentators' words).
No way!  I could not take his wicket.

Finally, I decided to change my strategy!
I bowled over a loose ball to him.
He came out on front foot and hit the ball.

It was not just a hit, but a HIT.

I could not believe my eyes.
"Are my eyes getting blurred?
Am I becoming blind?
Black out?"

In slow motion, I could see the ball travelling like a bullet, hitting the stem of a rose, "disconnecting" the rose flower from its stem,  straight to the wall................

Four runs!

For a split of a second, due to the impact, I could see the rose accompanying the ball, like Siamese twins, before falling on the floor.

A flying rose!

Oh! my God! 
What to do?

We both became panicky.

Looked around.  No way, we could wash off this "crime".
Luckily, there were no "witnesses".


"He must have definitely counted the blooming flowers that day morning, before leaving for native place".  I said to myself.   Because, I knew that Ravi Chettan, maintained a brilliant mind-inventory of his rose pots and flowers. 

"Renju, what to do, now?",  Hari's question accelerated my panic.

"Can we hide this rose pot in my house?".   Hari shot an idea.
"No, Ravi chettan would be having a count of pots", I did not buy in his idea.

Sadly, we decided to stop the match.
Because, we feared witnesses.  We feared blackmailing from any corner!

Before anybody came out of the house,  we re-arranged the flower pots back to their original positions, without wasting any time.

"Hari, tell me, what to do with this rose?"  I asked.
Hari did not have any answer, or he must have kept quiet  anticipating my rejections to his ideas.

Hari was thinking.
I was thinking.
We both were thinking like nobody's business.

"Got it!  Can you bring a cellotape?"  I asked Hari.

"Should be having one.  But, what are we going to do with it?"  Hari was keen to know my idea.

"Hari, I will let you know.  Please bring one, fast." I ordered out.

Hari jumped across the wall, went to his house. 
He returned through the same path,  by the same mode, with a cellotape in his hand.

Looked around.
Ensured nobody is around.

Like a surgery, with maximum care, we glued the rose on to the stem using the cellotape. 

"Amazing, Renju."  Hari appreciated my idea.

"Thanks.  Oh ! Thank God!.  Think we are safe.  From a far distance, it all look normal, isn't it?".  I sought for Hari's reassurance.

To make the whole "crime" error-free, we placed the "accident rose pot" to the farthest corner.

In Oracle language, we did a ROLLBACK.
In English language, we reversed all our "wrong doings".

The stumps were withdrawn from the pitch, leaving no clue of a cricket match ever took place.
The cricket bat was placed back under the bed.
The scoreboard was torn out and thrown to the dustbin, near the kitchen area.
No evidences were left to the public.

When things go wrong, things go completely wrong!!  Because, much to everyone's surprise, Ravi Chettan returned home within an hour.  I heard him saying that he waited at the Bus Station, but did not get a direct bus, due to Sunday. 

"We were lucky, isnt it?  Think of a situation, if he caught us red handed playing cricket, on a re-designed pitch?"   I thanked God.

I did not have the courage to face him.  So I hid myself in my room, pretending doing my homework.
Through the partly opened window of my room, I saw him scanning his "nursery".
I could not normalize my heart beats. 
Heart started to, literally, run out!

Till evening, I tried avoiding him. 
Evening, I saw him scanning the garden!

"Amma, who changed the flowers from here?" . He asked Amma on a loud tone, suspecting that she would have rearranged the pots.

I continued watching him through my window.

He was moving towards the accident rose pot.
It dawned on me that I would soon be caught.

He spent relatively more time watching the particular rose.  Because, the rose had lost its freshness and was hanging out.  It was clearly visible by then !

I saw him inspecting the particular rose and the pot from top to bottom.  He also looked at the sky, as he was suspecting some UNO or something as the culprit!
"Why is this rose like this?"  I heard him talking to himself.

"Renju..... Renju.... come here!",   Ravi Chettan called me, on a fiery tone.  Through my window, I found him near the "accident rose" with the cellotape ripped off the stem!

Jokes apart.

Rest was history. 
I remember, there was a "light & sound" show, immediately.

The flying rose created a big impact on the little Gavaskar and Kapil Dev.
What followed thereafter was a complete ban on cricket on the "home pitch".
There was also a blanket ban on Hari's jumping the walls to my house and vice versa.

The ban was meant indefinite at the beginning.
Eventually, it got diluted.

After a month or two, Ravi Chettan returned to Gulf, post vacation.

Before leaving, he lovingly advised me about nursing flowers and narrated his story of how he wasted his time playing cricket and reaching nowhere in his life through cricket. 

On his advice, I became the custodian of his roses. 
No roses flew thereafter, at least for some more time.
At least,  till the commencement of summer vacation, from when we resumed our cricket matches, but with utmost care.


Today
By mid of 80s, Ravi Chettan returned from Gulf  for good and is now settled in Trivandrum.  He is still fond of flowers and plants, like before.   He designed a house himself,  allocated more than enough space for his beautiful garden. 

I visited him early this month. 
He owns an impressive garden.
Different plants, flowers, trees!

But, there is no space left for a cricket pitch!
Hence, no more flying roses !

Wish you all a very Happy New Year!
Renjith P Sarada
(C) 2009-2012 Renjith P Sarada.  All rights reserved.

012. A Christmas gift!

Back in Bahrain

December 20, 2009

Acknowledgement

Thank you, one and all, for the anxious response regarding the fate of Grewal after sending a memo to Madras Office!   I personally thank Sudhy, Susan, Vidya Vinod, Remitha, Divya & Shalini for their sense of belonging to my previous blogpost - "Grewal's memo". 

The CLIMAX, on demand - Grewal had no other option left, but to continuously pray for a favourable climax to his memo which was mistakenly sent out.  Like Divya commented, Grewal had become so dear to all of us, except Bakshi when this "mishap" took place!  We all were keeping our fingers crossed to see the plight of the memo and Grewal.   The Almighty played his timely  role to expedite the climax.  Fortunately, something more concerning  happened within the company and the entire focus was shifted away from Grewal, saving him entirely.  Eventually,  Grewal became very cautious in his work ; Bakshi was sacked for his (unethical) deeds and Grewal regained his "Finance Manager" position thereafter!  

Back, after vacation!

We got back from Trivandrum (my hometown) yesterday afternoon, after a short vacation.

For work, I have been off my parents, siblings, home and hometown for the last 17 years!  On an average, I must have visited them thrice every year and hence they must have seen me off either  at the Railway Station or at the Airport  nearly 60 times.  Whatever said and done, how big or strong you are, no matter what, even today, that is one of the weak moments, I fail to withstand.  The thoughts of them, their love, their affection, their warm kisses, their care, their anxiety, the memories of the good time we spent with them etc. make me homesick and sad  for a week, to say the least.  On the other hand, these good memories and their blessings rejuvenate me and force me to work harder and faster and aim to achieve the goal set in.

Perhaps, due to the above reason, my blogpost got delayed by a day !

On our family visit to Uncle Thomas' house this vacation,  against my anticipation, there was an absolute silence when I tried to open the heavy, iron gate.   For safety measures, we waited for a few more minutes before intending my next action!

Why we waited?    From my experience, Snoopy, their pet, (a Pomeranian) makes an initial round of screening,  inspection and a 'security check' before letting any visitor in to Uncle Thomas' house.  To my knowledge, she had not harmed any one, but obviously created a sense of fear, thereby curtailing intrusion,  for sure.   We waited at the gate to give a fair time for Snoopy to appear, do her routine and pass us in.

Snoopy did not come!

A few seconds later, Uncle Thomas came out to receive us.  I wanted to ask him about Snoopy as my greeting conversation, but I later decided to refrain.  Because, pets (especially loyal and loving Pomeranian dogs)  are always a weak point for their guardians, or masters.  Snoopy had been with Uncle Thomas for many many years,  and  I did not want to initiate the topic, if something bad had happened to Snoopy.

On our entry to the house, I noticed a beautifully decorated Christmas Tree at a corner of the hall room, marking the tradition associated with the celebration of Christmas.  In sync with the tradition, a star was placed on top of the Christmas Tree, representing the Star of Bethlehem.

Its Christmas time!

"Uncle, wish you a Merry Christmas, in advance",  I wished them to start the chain of our conversation.

"Merry Christmas to you too", Uncle Thomas reciprocated.

During our conversation, Uncle Thomas must have noticed my frantic search for the little friend, Snoopy.

"What are you searching for?" Uncle Thomas asked me.

"Uncle, no, nothing..... Snoopy used to be ..... ", with a little hestiation, I told the truth.

Uncle Thomas looked at me.  I deciphered many meanings from his look.

A 25-point Quick Autobiography of Snoopy

1. I am Snoopy, a medium-built, Pomeranian make.
2. I am born....err....in last millenium..... I mean, Y2K is younger to me.
3. I had a wonderful master, Uncle Thomas.   I had a loving and caring Aunty too.  They both looked after me, like a child.  Due to this reason, I wanted to address her as 'Mom', but I addressed her as 'Aunty'.
4. I was one of their priorities. 
5. No doubt, I was taken care of, pretty well.
6. One night, I overheard some discussions between my master and someone on the phone.  I could pick up only a few words, like US, Visa, Airticket, travel, Snoopy etc.
7. On hearing my name being mentioned, I became more alert and continued listening to the conversation on the following days.
8. Later, I could make out! My master and Aunty decided to visit his daughter in US.  And, I understood that they were discussing about their travel,  the other day.
9. I could not sleep that night.   I feared my loneliness. When will my master and Aunty return from US?  Who will look after me when they leave?  I became sad.  I was frightened.
10. Next day, to show my protest, I decided to starve.  My master and Aunty pampered me a lot.   I was determined not to have anything.  I was adamant.
11. My master, knowing me for years and years,  caressed me.  I saw droplets of tears from his eyes.  I was moved.  I withdrew my starving strike and decided to cooperate with him.
12. One night, I saw my master and Aunty packing my bags, along with theirs.  I was happy and thanked them for their decision to accompany me on their trip to US.
13. Unfortunately, my happiness did not last long.  Next day morning, my master and Aunty kissed me like never before.  They carried my baggage and we all got into a car, driving towards a place which I hadn't seen before. 
14. My master was very sad.  We got down at a place, new to me.
15. My master introduced me to another person.  They discussed about me, in general.  The person inspected me top-to-bottom; left-to-right.
16. My master and Aunty kissed me one more time and returned by the same car, leaving me at the new place.
17. I could not believe it!  I became an orphan, once again.  I was sad.
18. I hoped that my master would return any moment and take me back.  I waited, waited and waited. 
19. I was closely watching the main door of my new house.  Afternoon, evening, night, midnight.  My hopes begin to shatter.
20. It was a new day for me that followed.  A different place, different atmosphere, different noises and a different master.  
21. Thankfully, my new master was also equally good.  He too took care of me very well.  In a short time, though it was difficult, I got used to the new place.  My new master loved me well, gave me good food.  I started to forget the feel of an orphan. 
22. But, why did Uncle Thomas left me like this?  I searched for an answer.
23. I understood that they left me with this new master, for my safety only.  They wanted to ensure my happy life.   They did not want me to be alone in their house when they leave for US.  In a way,  they were right.  Thanks to them.  Uncle Thomas was never wrong.
24. After a few months, I learned from my new master about Uncle Thomas and Aunty's  return from US.   I was anxiously awaiting them to take me back.   My wait continued.
25. "Snoopy...Snoopy... come here.... have your food....."  my new master is calling me... Bye for now.

Her Master's Voice (HMV)

Uncle Thomas wiped his tears.  Pointing his fingers towards the Christmas Tree, he told me how Snoopy would have enjoyed playing under the Christmas Tree. 

"Then, why didn't you bring Snoopy back?"  I asked Uncle Thomas, out of my curiosity.

"We have some more trips planned and it would not be nice for Snoopy and for the masters, if we shuttle her up and down".  Uncle Thomas was also right.

Uncle Thomas continued - "We miss her a lot.  We wanted to go and see her, but did not have the strength to face her.  And, moreover, she is SOLD to another loving master, recently".

If Snoopy is sold out, then there is no way that she would come back.   I too felt sad. 

But, Uncle Thomas was also right in one way.  It is always better to have a caring master than to be left alone.   Because, in the present world, "own" parents are also being left in the lurch by their "own" children.

Owned or disowned?

Uncle Thomas became silent for a moment. 

Uncle Thomas and Aunty wish to have Snoopy back.  Don't they?

I hope.
I really hope.
I really hope that Snoopy would come back to them,  this Christmas.
She will be their Christmas gift.
She will make Uncle Thomas and Aunty happier once again.

Merry Christmas to Snoopy!
Merry Christmas to one and all!

Renjith P Sarada
© 2009-2012 (Renjith P Sarada) All Rights Reserved

011. Grewal's Memo!

On Vacation : Trivandrum, India

December 11, 2009

A big thanks!

My previous blog post (10th), "At His Lotus Feet" was also well taken by my own well wishers and readers.  Thank you for the wishes and comments.  That was about my Hero, Lord Krishna, my Lord.  For Lord Krishna devotees, 1008 is a divine number.  As a blessing or coincidence, the 1008th visitor to my blogsite came to read that particular blogpost on Lord Krishna and Guruvayoor.  I am blessed. 

THANK YOU, GOD.

Kindly continue your support and strengthen me.

A Delhi tale

A fifty-plus gentleman who turned half his age in appearance (thanks to available hair-dyes) entered my office.  Prima facie, he gave an impression of a Colonel or Brigadier, in civil attire.  Even then, his 'W' shaped moustache scared us.  From that standpoint, we became little children.

"This could be the new Accounts Manager joining us" - Venu made a guess.

"I also think so.  He is a veteran, for sure.  Look at the body language.  Look at his head - held high like an elephant!!!" - Hari, the office secretary, whispered - with his typical sarcastic tone.

"Venkatesh, is he going to be your new boss?" - I checked up with the Accountant, who gazed at the newcomer suspiciously.

Without looking at any of the curious faces, the "sceptical" gentleman entered the CEO's room without knocking.

"Whoever it is, he is going to get it.  How dare he barged into Goyal's room without any appointment, or at least a knock?" - Venkatesh commented. 

Hari, the secretary backed him.

Assuming that the new character on stage would be Venkatesh's boss and keeping in view of the standard boss-subordinate relationship, Venkatesh would have been much happy if the new gentleman was kicked out by Goyal,  for bad manners!!

The 4x2= 8 eyes were keenly placed on Goyal's closed door.  The eye-owners, viz., Venu, Hari, Venkatesh and myself converged to the common topic - "Who is this?"

Minutes after.

The creaking noise of  chairs from Goyal's room indirectly communicated that the discussion was over and both of them getting up to come towards the door.

The elastic eyes bounced back to the respective positions.  The eye-owners pretended to work, while keeping a portion of the sight fixed on the door.

Not to mention, all eight ears were already on Goyal's door!

Defeating our assumptions, like good old friends meeting up after many decades, Goyal and the newcomer came out of the room with smiles.

"Gentlemen...",  Goyal, with his proprietary style addressed the 10+ staff working on the floor.
Ten of us, including the silent-commercial-manager-Sharmaji,  hyperactive-Agarwal,  I-dont-care-Venkat, spoken-English-Tripathi and office peon Dinesh Kumar got alerted and converged in front of Goyal reminding me of visitors circling the tourist guide.

"This is Mr. Grewal, who will be our new Accounts Manager".   Goyal started introducing the newcomer, now owning a name!

Grewal looked around with pride.

Goyal continued, "He is one of the most experienced and efficient employees in our legendary Group.  Considering our request, the Management, though with little hesitation, relieved and transfered Grewal from the Corporate Office to this Office.  I am thankful to ....."

Grewal blushed on hearing this.  For me, it looked like Grewal asking everywhere - "Who, are you talking about me??"


Within days, Grewal established his domination.  Venkatesh was summoned by Grewal and forced the former to shuttle between his own seat and Grewal's with invoices, quotations, receipts, vouchers, statements and what not.

For Venkatesh, Grewal was a terror.
For Venu, Grewal was a person who knew his work and certified him  far better than other Accounts Managers.
For Hari, Grewal was a laughing stock, due to his appearance, perhaps.
For me, Grewal was some one to be observed, as we shared the cubicle, fortunately or unfortunately.

Months passed.
Goyal's face, once used to glow at Grewal's sight, started to gloom.

Goyal reportedly became a discussion topic in Group meetings. Goyal attended Group meetings like a student approaching his teacher without completing or doing his assignments or homework.

Because,
Grewal was not a performer, as per Goyal's standards.  If at all he performed, it was not accurate.
Due to this inaccuracy, Goyal always had to re-do Grewal's work !
Knowingly or unknowingly, for that matter, his Secretary, or our Secretary, or office Secretary Hari was taxed!

Eventually,

For Goyal, Grewal was not a correct choice!
Goyal amended the rules and Grewal's signatures were made just initials.
In other words, Grewal's final say on financial documents became penultimate!

Goyal "bought over" the final say.

"Look before you leap" - Goyal remembered the proverb. Due to the sudden amendment of policies, the work load for him doubled as he had to do the work of an invisible CFO as well.

Within a few days, a Finance Manager joined the Group, hierarchially above Grewal.

After brief closed door talks, Goyal came out of his room and introduced the new Finance Manager.
"Gentlemen....Bakshi.... experienced....Chartered Accountant.....Finance Manager".  Similar style of introduction resurfaced.


The same exercise repeated, same audience - but this time with 11+ staff on the floor, including Grewal.

Organization Structure changed.
The only highlight or change was Grewal's reporting to Bakshi and an additional reporting in dotted lines to Goyal.
Grewal was "fortunate enough" to have two bosses.

Venkatesh's shuttling job transferred to Grewal.
Venkatesh submitted the papers to Grewal who subsequently shuttled between his seat and Bakshi's.

Pretending to be the only Chartered Accountant in Delhi,  Bakshi acted too much. 
Grewal was emotionally tortured.

A matter of days.
Grewal  was "downtrodden".

"Grewal, please make a Statement in Excel and give it to me before lunch", Bakshi instructed.
"Bakshi Saheb, shall I do it by hand?", Grewal pleaded, partially disclosing his ignorance to computers.
"You do it by hand or leg, but I want an Excel report to be submitted to the Board", Bakshi established.

Gradually, we learned the trick.  "Board" was a word profusely used by Bakshi  to sprinkle fear among the staff and also to speed up work from his Finance Team - a pressure tactic.

Grewal wanted to learn computer.
Grewal wanted to learn computer, desperately.
Grewal wanted to learn computer, desperatly and very fast.
Grewal wanted to learn computer, desperately and very fast, to fight against the mock pressure.

Due to Bakshi's attitude, his popularity had a fall.
Due to Grewal's pathetic situation, we all wanted to help him and fight against the common enemy!

Being the Systems Administrator, I took the initiative to train Grewal about operating computers for his daily work.  It was a herculean task because Grewal knew zero in computers.   Trivially, he had only seen computers, not even touched one.

Turn by turn, Venu, Hari and myself started to educate Grewal.  Our objective was to make him a computer literate.  Venkatesh did not  join this campaign,  as he wanted to maintain a divine relationship with Grewal being his direct boss.

Slowly, though it was extremely difficult to the teachers and the student, Grewal learned how to boot up a PC and execute Windows (it was Windows 3.1 those days).

For me, the class teacher, Grewal was a good and obedient student.
For Venu, Grewal was good student of Microsoft Excel, but slow, due to the student's age and complexity of Excel for beginners, probably.
For Hari, Grewal  was a medium student of Microsoft Word.  Due to Hari's jovial approach with funny and self created office-related / staff-related examples, Grewal picked up Microsoft Word.

Soon after.

We could not recognize Grewal on a Monday morning.
Grewal in totally different look. 
Without a suit, without a neck tie, without his trade mark - the moustache!

Grewal, without moustache?
The entire office grinned.
Some, including me, guffawed.

Grewal transformed himself to an obedient student, by all means.

The unperturbed Bakshi, continued harassing Grewal.
To make Grewal efficient or rather to keep him busy, Bakshi assigned a daily task to Grewal, which was previously handled by Venkatesh.

"Grewal!"  Bakshi called him to his cabin, one evening.
Like a silent cat, Grewal went to Bakshi's cabin and received the new task.
"You will send the vouchers and expense statements to our Madras Office DAILY.  You ensure that they are sent by YOU without fail.  I need their office copies the next day, come what may"  Bakshi shouted.

(It was Madras that time, and not Chennai)

Grewal  as usual, nodded his head.

"Remember, no need to remind you, even then.... you must attach a Memo with each despatch, mentioning the summary of the items you are sending". Bakshi added.  Multi tasking, he took his bag and left the office.

As a passing comment, to show off his superiority in the presence of other staff, he said - "I dont want any excuses, Grewal!"

After confirming Bakshi's complete exit from the office, the vicinity and the entire region, Grewal bursted out with nasty bad words to vent out his anger and frustration.

Initially, for a few days, Grewal sought the help of Hari, Venu and/or myself to type out the requisite Inter Office Memorandum to be sent to Madras office.  Hari, an expert in short hand and shortcuts, designed a short cut to type out the IOMs on a daily basis.  If I remember correctly, the only task that Grewal had to do was just typing the contents.  Hari's new "software", in Word automatically filled in the stereo typed headers, date, sender name, recipient name, subject etc. etc.

"Hari bheta, you are great."  Grewal appreciated.

Grewal typed the contents at a snail speed - approximately 10 words per minute.  As per the dictatorship of his boss,  Grewal had to stay back in office till very late in the evening to send the Memo, with vouchers.

"Venkatesh, how were you managing to send these, before time?  I must have learned computers at my younger age!"  Grewalpatted Venkatesh's back and later started to blame his education, qualifications, his parents and for the computer technology for not showing up during his childhood.

Grewal's determination was something to be admired.

Like a suspicous class teacher, Bakshi verified the office copy of the Memo sent by Grewal, first thing the next working day.  Luckily, Bakshi  was not aware of the shortcut "sponsored" by Hari and hence he thought that Grewal had improved his working pattern because of his strict instructions and directions.

Bakshi was happy, and Grewal too.

In a short time,


Venkatesh studied Grewal.
Venu observed Grewal.
Hari befriended Grewal.
Grewal became acceptable to all.

But, he committed not-so-serious blunders, at a rate directly proportional to the pressure from Bakshi.

It was fun to see him realizing the blunders and trying to undo them. Sometimes, it worked, mostly not.  I knew them clearly, as I shared the cubicle with him.  He never tried to hide it from me, because he knew me too.

For me, he was a cooler, when compared to my work pressure and tensions.
Gradually, Bakshi became lenient in his attitude towards Grewal.  He let go the "daily verification" as he got little confidence in Grewal.

Grewal became smart.
Grewal became oversmart, seldom.

"Hari bheta, I will try to write the memo myself.  It will be better than spending hours to type in computer, like chicks pecking up grains. Bakshi  Saheb is not so particular nowadays and there is no need to show him what I sends to Madras" 

Grewal was relieved, it was visible.
Obviously, Hari too.
Everybody concerned were also relieved, as Grewal got some breathing space, after a long time.

As a routine, or a way of his new life,  Grewal started to compile the vouchers every working day by 4 PM.
Sometimes he sorted them based on amounts, sometimes on priority, sometimes on personal basis.
Stapled them together.
Prepared the Inter Office Memorandum to be sent to Madras Office.
Attached the IOM with the vouchers, as a covering note.
Addressed them to Lakhotia,  the great-great General Manager located in Madras Office, who, with a magnifying glass scrutinises the vouchers and hit back with a red flag when expenses surpass.

One Wednesday,
Grewal received a bulk envelope from Madras Office.  Usually, the envelopes sent from Madras Office contained very few papers, a maximum of four or five sheets.

Panicked Grewal kept it under the table as he anticipated something nasty from Lakhotia for his blunders.   He did not want to discuss about this envelope in public. He waited for the other staff to clear off, in order to open the surprise packet!

At a convenient time, Grewal opened the envelope, obviously, with prayers.
Much against his expectations, there was no nasty note from Lakhotia or anybody superior from Madras Office.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

But, he was confused.  Because, there was a covering note written by hand, similar to his own handwriting.  Impatient Grewal checked the attachments.
They were the same vouchers sent by him, from Delhi Office.

"Why did Lakhotia send them back?"  Grewal asked to himself. "May be, there are some calculation errors?"

Grewal  picked out each and every voucher and added them twice, using calculator and then manually to ensure that the calculator was error free.

Rs. 8,432 in calculator.
Rs. 8,432 in manual calculation.
Rs. 8,432 in the covering note.

"Then, what is wrong with Lakhotia?   People should retire, after a certain age!!"  Grewal, the "young man" criticised.

"I will re-send these to Lakhotia tomorrow itself.",  Grewal left for home peacefully.

Next day morning, I saw Grewal writing something at an unusual speed.  His handwriting was very difficult to be read, even for him.  So there is no point thinking whether somebody would copy his ideas and letters!
From the corner of the printed stationery, I understood that he was writing a memo.

Waste bins filled in with draft copies of the memo.  One, two, three, four ....
On seeing this criminal waste of stationery, I intervened, or,  interfered.

"Grewal saheb, what is this? Are you writing any poems or novels or love letters?"  I interfered with a little touch of sarcasm copied from Hari.

"Arey, Renjith.  What to say, this Lakhotia is  useless" 

For his own safety, and to avoid controversy at a later stage, he rephrased the statement.
"Lakhotia is useless, sometimes... May be, he is also under pressure like us, isnt it?."

I did not get him properly.

"What happened Grewal saheb?  What did Lakhotia do?"  I sought clarification.

"He sent the vouchers back!  There are no mistakes in them.  Why did he send this back, wasting money in couriers?  Old age people should retire, if they start to be careless".  Grewal agitated.

For me,  old age, retirement and Grewal were next to synonyms.  But, I managed to keep quiet.

Grewal showed me the full bunch of papers returned from Madras Office.
I scanned through them.

I could not find anything wrong in the calculations or in any of the attachments.  I also joined Grewal's league in criticising Lakhotia and the old team sitting in Madras Office.

In a little while, Hari and Venu came to us, went through the documents informally, joined our league!
Venkatesh, a "quick finder of errors" did not join the "enquiry" or "league" due to protocol. Whatever said and done, Grewal was his boss, right?

Venu, Hari and myself approved Grewal's point of writing a note to Lakhotia. 
Grewal, may be,  at the sixth attempt, got himself convinced on letter he drafted.

Showed to us again- we vetted it and suggested to add some spicy statements.  Our intention was to exhibit Grewal's dedication to his job and to re-establish the fact that Delhi office or Grewal would never go wrong, from an Accounts perspective!

Grewal agreed.

The eighth draft version became the final one and Grewal took the initiative to send the same to Madras Office without any further delay.

Grewal boasted - "See, how we work!  Lakhotia saheb will be ashamed on reading my note.  What are these people thinking of themselves?  Are they thinking that we people are useless?"

To support Grewal and to enhance the boss-superior relationship, Venkatesh joined the conversation this time.  "Yes, Grewal saheb,  what you said is right.  You did the right thing.  But, you should have sent a copy to Bakshi  saheb also, to show him  that you are capable!"

Did Venkatesh intend a sarcasm on his last sentence?  We did not identify!

Grewal continued his boasting session - "Arey, Venkatesh, what did you think of me? I CCed the covering note which I wrote and the original memo to Bakshi saheb.  He will surely appreciate me for my verification skills!"

While he continued his session, Bakshi called him by name - "Grewal,  come here...."

Grewal, still, was not courageous enough to face Bakshi.  He went to him with increased heartbeats.  But, he wanted to initiate the discussion of his note sent to Lakhotia and get appreciation.

"Bakshi saheb, did you see my note to Lakhotia.  Always, even before your joining, the Madras Office never trusted our work.  I have been waiting for an opportunity...."

Bakshi, with a rude look stopped the conversation.

"Mr. Grewal, what are you thinking of yourself?   Do you realise what damage have you made?"

Grewal was shocked to feel the anticlimax!

Bakshi literally threw the memo copies - not at Grewal's  face, but somewhere below.

Grewal, for the umpteenth time looked at the memos.  He, again was clueless.

Bakshi exploited the opportunity in shouting at Grewal with vigour.

Grewal,  listening or not listening to Bakshi's lecture, stay put his eyes on the memo and covering note.

"Bakshi saheb, whats the problem in this note?"  With a borrowed courage, Grewal asked Bakshi.

Bakshi forcefully grabbed the papers from Grewal's hand and started explaining.

"One. This memo was returned from Madras - because you put 'From-Grewal  .... To-Grewal'.  The despatch boy there must have sent this to you back,  on seeing this addressed to yourself!"

Grewal did not know what to do.  To laugh or to cry?

Bakshi continued...
"Two.  This memo which you sent is addressed to Goyal , the CEO and not to any Lakhotia.  But, in salutation, you had wrote 'Dear Lakhotia'
 Three. You have sent this note to Madras Office.  So expect, another return envelope from Madras Office.  With your bloody carelessness, see how much expense did you incur to the Company. Are you an Accounts Manager or ......"

Rest of Bakshi's conversation was not recorded as Greal started to faint.

Vanishing was the best option open to Grewal to avoid any further depreciation (against his wishes for an appreciation).

Before a complete blackout or powercut, he thought- 

"If Lakhotia considers 'Dear Lakhotia' and read the nasty memo.... I would be killed.  Moreover, he would reply in a more dirty language and would copy the same to Bakshi and Goyal too"

Or,

"If the office boy sends the same back to Goyal on seeing the 'To' address..... then also, I would be finished."

What do you choose?
To be finished by Goyal  live in Delhi
Or, to be finished by Lakhotia through Bakshi and Goyal?

I prefer latter, because Grewal would get two more days of life, considering the time required for Lakhotia to draft the memo, vet it, sign it and despatch it.

Like a prisoner sentenced to death, Grewal waited for THE moment.

Considering his age and circumstances, what do you say?
Should Grewal get any response to the letter?
Or, should Lakhotia, Goyal and Bakshi  ignore this note and let Grewal live peacefully?

Please, you decide and let me know.
I will let you know what happened!

Thank you for your time.
Renjith P Sarada
© 2009-2012 (Renjith P Sarada) All Rights Reserved

010. At His Lotus Feet ...

Camp : Trivandrum, India

05 December 2009

Acknowledgement

Thanks to all my well wishers who read my previous post - "Whats in a name?".  It was encouraging and engaging to note that many had similar experiences too. 

Apologies for the delay in publishing this post.  I slipped my schedule by one day!

Because,

Myself, on a "VACATION". 

I should rephrase the same to "OCCUPATION",  as I have been fully occupied ever since I landed in Trivandrum. 

Driving, driving, driving.
Driving me crazy.

Thats life!
A part of life - wholly owned by a Non Resident Indian!


At the Lotus Feet ...

Some belief. Some believe. Some trust.

I believe. I trust. I have faith.

I have complete faith.

I have enormous faith.

This is not about a religion.  Instead, about something being religiously followed.

I am back from Guruvayoor Temple, the holy shrine and/or just the thought of the sanctum sanctorum have been boosting my morale, tremendously, for many many years.   There are plethora of personal experiences and testimonials to establish this fact, for sure!

For those who are unaware of Guruvayoor Temple or the diety, a little introduction :

Guruvayoor, is the abode of Lord Sree Guruvayoorappan (a form of Lord Krishna).  According to the legends, the idol worshipped here is more than 5000 years old (but, there are no historical records to establish it). The presiding deity in the Garbhagraha (central shrine) is Lord Mahavishnu. The people at large, however, invoke the Lord as UNNIKRISHNA or BALAKRISHNA.

If my memory serves me right, my first (known) visit to Guruvayoor Temple was sometime around 1979.   My Valliachan (aka Achan - kindly visit my blog post No. 002 where I had introduced him) used to take me to Guruvayoor on his birthdays in October.  At that age of mine, I am sure, I was not into any scale of devotion or Bhakti, but my focus was on shopping -  from the numerous little shops around the Temple, that sell rings, chains, bracelets, chain lockets, photo stickers, prayer books, flutes, cassettes, pictures etc. etc.

Even today, shopping in Guruvayoor is one of my nostalgic and weak areas.  Honestly, the only shopping, which I do or wish to do, without any hesitation - with a happy and enthusiastic mindset!!! 

During my last week's visit,  I saw the "child me" in my son, Govind who spent time in these pavement shops, selecting the best and suitable bracelet and a finger ring for him.  Yes, I was also like this, those days. 

Thanks to the shopkeeper who permitted me to take the picture of Lord Krishnas on sale, in his shop!

I have been associating with many scholars and divine personalities who reside in Guruvayoor. From various testimonials cited, many have experienced the presence of Lord around there, among themselves, and in all  those who are strong devotees of Lord Guruvayoorappan.

A few years ago.

Festive season in Guruvayoor.  Heavily crowded with devotees from many parts of India. No hotels were available, even for an hour's stay. 

Without knowing this, a young lady hailing from Andhra Pradesh landed in Guruvayoor (for the first time) with her small child.  She knew nobody in Guruvayoor, other than the Lord. 

A strong devotee she was !  She managed to reach Guruvayoor, travelling all the way from Andhra Pradesh, changing trains and buses,  with lots of pain and struggle.  Moreover, the language was also a problem for her as she knew only Telugu and little of English.

On reaching the East Nada (East Gate), she was utterly shocked to see the long serpentine queue of devotees awaiting entry to the Temple (for Darshan).

She got confused - whether to stand in the queue for hours, have a Darshan of the Lord and return OR to go back immediately without having a Darshan.  

She determined to pay a visit to the Lord and stand beside His Lotus Feet.  Because, it was a long cherished dream come true for her.

Whatever said and done, her courage started to fade away when time passed by.

"Hey Bhagwan (Lord), why are you making me struggle like this?  Did I do anything wrong by coming all the way from my home to see you?  You very well know that I do not have any friends or relatives or anybody to help me in this place.  I know YOU and only YOU!!   If you keep me waiting like this, I may not be able to reach your sanctum sanctorum before it gets dark.."

May be, in a few minutes.

An employee of the Guruvayoor Devaswom, a Security Guard,  came towards the queue, identified this lady and told -

"Why are you still standing here?  My manager asked me to accompany you to the Temple straight away"

The lady got little frightened.  As she was sure that there  was nobody in Guruvayoor knowing her personally or about her unplanned visit to the Temple. 

She replied - "Excuse me.  I think, you are mistaken.  I do not know anybody in this region, other than the Lord, my Bhagwan"

The Security Guard was not convinced.

He told - "I do not know anything about this.  I am asked by my Manager who spotted you with this child and instructed me to take you directly to the Entry point.  If you do not obey me, it would be difficult for me, as I would be questioned for not obeying my manager.  Hence, please come with me"

With hesitation and little fear, the lady and the child accompanied the Security Guard.

All eyes (of those standing in the queue) fell on them.

At the Entry point, the Manager greeted the lady - "Madam, I was told by my superior to receive you properly and guide you to the Temple.  Sorry, if we came to see you late."

The lady was perplexed. 

In chaste Telugu and little Malayalam, she replied - "Sir, you may be looking for somebody else.  I may not be the exact person whom you are searching  for.  I have nobody knowing me here, in Guruvayoor"

"Madam, my superior is never wrong.  If you believe me, I must say that he is very sharp in his memory.  He remembers,  perhaps each and every devotee who visits this Temple.  Well, before it gets late, please come with me to the Sanctum Sanctorum"

The lady, quietly accompanied the Manager.

Without having any inch of problem or discomfort, she was escorted to the Divine Sanctum Sanctorum.  As per her dream and wish, the next moment, she was at the Lotus Feet. 

She had a very good Darshan, and that too, with a VIP Treatment !!

She could not believe her eyes.  Was it her dream?

After the prayers, she came out of the temple.  She looked out for the Manager and the Security Guard.  But, there was someone else at the Manager's chair.

The Manager would have finished his duty by now - she assumed.

She could not find the Security Guard also,  who identified her first. 

She wanted to thank both the Security Guard and the Manager for helping her having a dream-come-true Darshan of the Lord.

It was getting dark.   She rushed to the Bus Station  to catch the next available bus for onward journey to reach her home.

A couple of months later.

Guruvayoor Devaswom received a parcel addressed to the "The Manager" from Andhra Pradesh.  No names were mentioned on the envelope as the sender did not know the name of the Manager.

Two silk dhothis, sent by the lady.

Through someone, she had narrated her experience in the letter in English.  Therein, she requested Guruvayoor Devaswom to hand over these silk dhotis to the Manager and Security Guard as a token of her gratitude and appreciation.  Some identifications of these two gentlemen were also mentioned in the letter, as the lady did not know the names.

As per Guruvayoor Devaswom records, there are no employees matching the identifications specified by the lady.  Secondly, none of the Managers or the Security Guards on roll recollect helping a lady who came with a child on that particular festive day.

Then, who was this Security Guard who identified this lady and the child?

Who was the Manager who instructed the Security Guard to bring the lady?

Who was the Superior of the Manager who spotted this lady and asked him to accompany him to the Sanctum Sanctorum?

Who provided this lady a VIP treatment? 

The answer for all the above questions is one and simple!  Lord Guruvayoorappan came to the rescue of His devotee, who was completely dedicated and devoted.

The two silk dhothis are still stored in one of the lockers of Guruvayoor Devaswom !

The search for the Manager and the Security Guard is still going on.... and on ....

At His Lotus Feet, I surrender!

Renjith P Sarada

© 2009-2012 (Renjith P Sarada) All Rights Reserved

009. What's in a name?

Trivandrum

27-Nov-2009

FLASH NEWS ...

Reached Trivandrum, India (my hometown) today morning on a short vacation.  As always, the first obvious sight, on getting out of Trivandrum International Airport enroute my house is (the nostalgic) Shangumugham Beach.

Paused a minute to take this shot - fishermen on their way of life, early in the morning.

Motivated! Here it goes! 

Two of my senior family friends also reached Trivandrum (from Malaysia) within an hour after my flight touched down.  During our conversations today, the topic of Malaysia took me in particular, to my initial days in Kuala Lumpur.

(I do not think that I would be able to complete this blog post today itself because, the time is just crossing midnight and I somehow want to hit the bed at the soonest possible!  Am I tired?)

Let me have a try!

Acknowledgement - as always!

Once again, thank you very much for going through, and commenting on  my previous entry - "Marks - some remarkable markings in life!".   For the first time ever,  the response from the readers was marvellous.  To place on record - 8 comments within the first 8 hours. 

A big thanks to all those who visited my site, read and commented on. 

What's in a name? - A background information

I am reminded of a funny situation which I faced in the very first week in Maxis, Malaysia. circa October 2000! 

My first abroad tenure was something, that came out of the blue.   I was happily staying with my father, wife and kid in my hometown, enjoying my work in SunTec, a Telecom/Transactions Billing Systems company, located just 6 kms. from my home.


Through a Chennai based company, viz. Synergy Log-In Systems, I got an interview call from Maxis - a telecom giant in Malaysia. 

Got selected.
Go or no-go?

Tug of war between the homely comforts and career progression!

Thought, thought, and thought.

Thought, talked, and decided.

I pulled up my socks and packed my bags.

At a very short notice, I left my hometown.




As per the directives of Synergy Log-In, I reported at their Chennai office.  I have a sentimental attachment to Chennai, then, now and forever.   Because, while in SunTec, I was a part of the Chennai Telephones Billing System, a project I really enjoyed working in.

And, for that matter, I love Triplicane, Haddows Road, Nungampakkam,  KK Nagar, the chain of good vegetarian restaurants,  cinema halls around, the tender coconut vendor in front of KK Nagar Telephone Exchange etc.etc. and lot more.  I am thankful to Chennai, for giving me a feel of something, which I cannot explain !  

At this point, I would like to thank Col Anand Nair (who was the Vice President of Synergy Log-In) and  Sreepriya (who was the HR Executive), for making my visa/flight arrangments swift and comfortable!

My first flight - significantly remarkable! 

I strongly believe that no "first(s)" should ever be forgotten!


After my initial joining formalities in Maxis, Ngai Sooy Leang, my  Project Manager ushered me to my pre-defined (or destined) seat.  

 There were no familiar faces at all - I could see only Chinese/Malay/Indo-Chinese/Indo-Malay faces everywhere. 
The floor (please dont read this word on its original dictionary meaning) where I was going to work, resembled an ocean to me.  Around 100 rectangular workstations! 

I was 0.01, I mean to say, a mere,  one-upon-hundred.

I looked around.

At the new place, I literally felt out of place.

All of a sudden, I heard somebody calling me by a "Hello" from behind.

I turned back. 

Thank God, an Indian! 

"Hi, I am Rehman.  I am also in Sooy Leang's team.  You are also in the same team, right?"

With a heavy sigh of relief, I nodded positively.

My first colleague or friend in Maxis.  This "first" is also not to be forgotten.  

(Eventually, we became good friends.  He introduced more about the work and other formalities, including many dos and donts.  We shared a similar wavelength, I felt.  Rehman, I mean, Mujeebur Rehman is currently working in an IT company in US.).

By the way, knowing Rehman, he made it a point to get out of his seat and relax himself whenever he got stuck in some codes while developing software applications.

Next day or so, while helping me settling in, Sooy Leang told (while pointing her fingers to a vacant seat adjacent to mine) - "Renjith, you would be reporting to Sara, who eventually reports to me.  You would be assisting Sara's portfolio - Reporting Applications and Finance related applications in our Billing System".

After a while, Rehman, whose desk was just behind mine, came to me and told  - "You would be in Sara's team, I guess"

I replied with an excitement - "Yes, thats what Sooy Leang told me just now."

I am not sure whether Rehman noticed the "new and improved: shining in my eyes?!

Yes, Rehman was not wrong, anyway.   I was a little excited to meet, see and work with Sara.  Especially, I am "directed" by Sooy Leang to work closely with Sara as an assistant. 

I asked Rehman - "is, Sara very strict or a friendly person?"

Rehman replied - "dont worry, Sara is a nice person to work with - a person who really understands our problems and cares the subordinates!"

That was, really a morale booster.  I desperately  needed one.

I told to myself - "I am going to like this place!  I am going to have an understanding and a caring boss. Great going!"

I started to fantasize - Sara's age, looks, talking pattern, behaviour, friendliness with me, closeness etc.  But my thoughts stopped, when I realized that Sara was going to be my boss.

But, off and on, Sara came to my thoughts and imagination.

Two days passed.  I was eagerly awaiting Sara to resume the duties and get myself introduced.

Without manifesting my excitement,  I approached Rehman and started the conversation with a query, related to some database tables.  After he replied, for which I must not have given much of my attention, I checked up the real query - "Do you know whether Sara would be coming today?"

Rehman replied - "I forgot to tell you. Sara extended the leave and would be joining only tomorrow, or most likely, a day after. Sara spoke to me a little while ago to discuss some urgent reports"

For sure, I was disappointed.

Why I was so eager to meet up with Sara?  Probably, because, I had been working with male superiors - some friendly and some rude.  I wanted to explore  the feasibility of this new equation, with a lady boss.

Sooy Leang interrupted my daydreaming session, by virtue of a Change Request Form (a document used in Software Development briefing the requirements).  She asked me to work on an urgent report and check up with Sara for further details, if required. She gave Sara's handphone number (Handphone is the word used in Malaysia for GSM/Cell/mobile phones)

Thanks!  I got an opportunity to speak to Sara!

I dialled out Sara's number - phone was switched off.  Disappointed.

With an added vigour and vitality, I worked on the assigned Change Request.  An opened-up gate to prove and establish my ability and stability!

I worked.
I worked hard.
I worked hard late hours.
I worked hard late hours and finished the report.

I got the Report and the program code verified  by Rehman.  His affirmative answer gave me more courage and confidence.

I somehow wanted to show this report  to Sara at the very soonest (for an appreciation).

Friday!  Sara was expected to join and resume the duties.  I kept tab of Sara's seat as it was adjacent to mine.  Many of Sara's subordinates (hierarchially, peers to me) used to access Sara's computer and other work related materials.  I appreciated Sara's openness to the subordinates. 

Because, I had worked with superiors, a majority of them managed their work with high confidentiality.  They feared their subordinates, categorizing them as potential threats or risk elements to their jobs!  They were misers when it came to knowledge sharing, I felt.

Due to the openness I mentioned, many developers used to access Sara's computer.  Some greeted me as a gesture, but many did not.

I continued scanning the whole floor for a "newer" face.  Failure.

After a short gap, a person came to access Sara's computer. 

So, what?

I noted him differently,  because, he was different from the others who used to access Sara's computer.  As a spy, I noticed him  accessing some personal folders in Sara's computer. 

I got alerted! 

I stamped him as "controversial".

I turned back to share my observation (or discovery) with Rehman, but he was not present at his desk.  He had gone out to vent out his pressure  and to gather back his stuck coding!

Withina few minutes, the "controversial" person got up and went to Sooy Leang's cabin. 

I watched, and watched.

Some discussions.

After a while, the "controversial" person returned to Sara's seat. 

This time, he smiled at me.

I reciprocated.

To open a conversation channel, or for a formality sake,  he stood up from the  chair and extended his arms for a "shake hand".

I shook hands with him.

As an introductory dialogue - "Hi, you are Renjit, is it?"

I was surprised. 

How could he know my name? - a person who came to Malaysia just 5 days back? Am I so well known ??  Bewildered thoughts in a fraction of a second!

"Hey...."

"Renjith, I am told about ypu by Sooy Leang just now!  You joined last Monday, isnt it?"

I had no clue. 


??????


"I was on emergency leave.  I am SARA.....   SARAVANAN ANNAMALAI"

I fell off the chair!


Renjith Sarada
NOTE : I made it!  Time is 2.44 (Indian Time) the next day after I started writing this blog post.  I am feeling sleepy due to my travel.  Hence, am not reading this before posting.

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© 2009-2012 (Renjith P Sarada) All Rights Reserved

008. Marks - some remarkable markings in life !

Kingdom of Bahrain

21 November 2009

BREAKING NEWS ... Happier today!
I am just back after a debut.
A debut on dubbing in Zayoon Artistic Productions, Kingdom of Bahrain.
Thanks to the Almighty and my good friends who are a part of the drama "Kuchela Vritham", to be staged in December 2009.


Personally, my debut is highly remarkable, because I was directed to offer my voice for the person who enacts the role of Lord Krishna, the super hero in Hindu mythology!


May I request you to share my happiness.  Some images of the recording!




Mr. Peethambaran, the writer-director fixed the dubbing artiste's head set for me, the very first time (20-Nov-2009)!

Acknowledgement - as always!

Once again, thank you very much for going through, and commenting on  my previous entry - "Make a call, book a dog!".  I acknowledge my sure-shot readers and new readers - they have not disappointed me.

A big thanks to all those who visited my site, read and commented on.

Good support  - with many thanks.

New initiative

A new initiative has been the commencement of online marketing,  by including  the logo (along with the one-click-link) of Etisalcom Bahrain,  the organization which motivates me every month end (by virtue of salary!).

To the storyboard!

This piece is churned out from a relatively old memory chip!   Let me muse happily on some of my childhood tantrums and  funny moments!

Walking back to the 80s, circa 1984.

- St. Joseph's High School, Trivandrum, India.

- 8th Standard.

- People all over, scared me by constantly advising the importance of 8th Standard in one's life.  

- The new gown of a "High School boy", fell on me like a burden, honestly.

- From nowhere, neighbours and distant relatives became more curious on my education!

Immeasurable tension!

- The frequency of tuition classes were beefed up.

- My adventurous journey (to the tuition classes) started, approximately by 6.30 AM in the morning from Mathematics, to school, to Physics, Chemistry etc. etc. etc. 

- I really looked forward to a tuition for Drill/Physical Education!   But, could not!

That year, Hari, my neighbour-cum-childhood friend-cum-school mate joined me in the same Division  where I was.  Though we were in the same school, that was the first time he was joining my class.  


Hari, a relatively brilliant student,  progressively posed a tough competition to my studies and hence, the whole 8th Std, for me, was something similar to the race between the hare and the tortoise.  

- We went for tuitions together.

- We played cricket together.

- We went to school together.

- We sat on the same bench, almost together!

- But, our marks were not together!  

- There was always quite remarkable, or consistent difference in our marks, in almost all the subjects!  He was superior.

As expected, Hari fared well in the First Quarterly exams.  Having said that,  I cannot completely deny the fact that I did not do well, but of course, not as significant - thats a fact.

I was under tremendous pressure.  There were comparisons from all over - neighbours, relatives, parents, everybody contributed profusely!  


There were even analyses of the "quantum" of hours we played, we studied, we wasted time, we watched television, and what not!

Did I become a laughing stock?  Yes / No / Don't know.

- I decided.

- I decided to study hard for the Second Term Exam.

- I attended.

- I attended the next Term exam with a boosted confidence.

Hari too.

Please don't frown!  I was not into cheating, or copying for the exams!

Exams over!  We spent short vacation by playing cricket, cricket & more cricket!

End of Parole

After a 10-day fun-filled-happy period,  the parole was over and the school reopened for the Final Term.  

With much (unwanted) enthusiasm, the teachers used to finish their answer paper valuation during the vacation.

Whatever said and done,  I was more than happy to get back my answer sheets of Mathematics, English, and Hindi, but not others.  Because, I had been confident in those specific subjects!  I was eager to "announce" the marks I obtained for these subjects.   Especially, if my marks were superior to that of Hari's, though very rarely.

But,  the comparison of our marks became a routine matter and a terrific activity for me.   Obviously, my ego suffered a dent.

- I decided.

- I decided to indulge in some foul game to protect my ego.
- I finalized.
- I finalized to inflate the marks while reporting at home.
(After all who is going to remember the marks that I reported?)
- Idea, confirmed.


One by one, the teachers started distributing the answer sheets - boomerang, reminding me of the proverb, "what you sow is what you reap".


For Biology, I still remember, I got only 26 out of 50, while Hari got somewhere around 42-45. The difference in our marks were so remarkable that I could not avoid nasty comparison.


On the way back home (by walking) from school, I started to implement the new idea.  I started inflating my marks.  By the time I reached the next junction, I decided to report my Biology marks as 30 (the next round figure).  On analysis, I understood that there was still a big gap of 12+ marks.  By the time, I reached the Ganapathi temple, located at the midway between my house and the school, my Biology marks became 35.  Considering the comparison exercises followed by stringent "firing",  I reported my Biology mark to my Amma as 38.


A fraud of only 12 marks within 10 minutes!


Poor Amma, she was, believed it and told me not to worry !


I continued this exercise for other (bad) subjects, and as per my plan, Amma believed me.  I was happy that I could escape the humiliation of comparison and further scoldings!  As per the new marks reported, my total came to somewhere between 480 and 500 - aggregating 80% PLUS.


I was confident that Amma would never be remembering my marks even when I show her my Progress Card.

Award Ceremony

If you ask me to list down the most scariest days that I had experienced in my life, I would definitely point out the initial ten to fifteen working days in St. Joseph's High School, immediately after  Second Term exam vacation.

Why?

Because, the Progress Cards were distributed by Headmaster himself.   


To make matters "adverse", he would always be accompanied by a teacher (who was good in physical stamina) for the Award Ceremony.  Mostly, it was our beloved Scout Master, late Mr. J.R. Vincent.  (RIP, both these beloved teachers left us for ever in 1988 and 2009 respectively)

Award Ceremony?  Awarding of cane beatings (hereafter referred to as awards) !  The recipients were  all, those who did not show any improvement in their marks when compared to their corresponding marks for the First Term Exams!!

A strange ritual it was!

I pretended to be "sick" to take leave from school during this timeframe,  but in vain.  After all, my parents were my parents!  

Yes, I too got awards.  The quantity and quality of these awards varied according to the "de-improvement" in your marks.   It was painful, but was equally happy sometimes, as the awards were happily given to many top rankers as well (just because, they scored less when compared to the First Term Exam).

Thankfully, Hari too got awards, hence I was at peace.


Climax
I showed the Progress Card to my Amma, who would, normally, "through Proper Channel",  get the signatures from  Achan.  


One day, two days, three days past, neither Achan signed my Progress Card nor Amma spoke to me.
I became anxious.


I asked  -"Amma, I want to return the Progress Card latest by tomorrow".



She handed over the Progress Card to me, just like before, that is, without any signatures!


Amma stared at me, like never before.  I was perplexed, and had no clue.
I even asked to myself - "Why is she indifferent this time?"


Like in movies, she got off her chair and walked to the kitchen.


I followed her.


Much to my surprise, she opened her kitchen shelf.  From the midst the cereals and provisions, she took out her notebook,  the one she  used for noting the kitchen-related accounts.


She opened the notebook - the penultimate page, to be precise.


Positioning her reading glasses, she asked me - "How much did you score for Biology?"   


Looking at the Progress Card,  I told - "T w e n t y   S i x".


On hearing my response, Amma looked at her note book.  Must have commented something, I don't remember, exactly.  


She reconfirmed - "Not 38, isn't it?"


She repeated the same questions, for those hatred subjects of mine - Physics, Chemistry, History & Geography.  My face turned pale.


As per her records (that she noted my inflated marks in her kitchen notebook, without my knowledge), I got 80%.  


I shouldn't have underestimated her!!


Quite unexpectedly, she caught me red handed.  Because, in actuals, my aggregate was much much less!  Undoubtedly, a session of punishment, continued.


Perhaps, that was the  LAST TIME,  I lied to my Amma (especially in marks).  


I learnt through the hard way not to underestimate your parents, how old or educated or uneducated they are.


With this note, let me open a discussion on similar experiences from my valuable readers!


Today
Hari, after his Engineering graduation, is currently working in America.   After this shocking experience, I stopped telling lies to Amma  thereafter,  and tried my best to study hard.   With God's blessings and her care  & affection, I enjoy where I am, what I am, who I am.


From my heart, once again, "Amma, I AM SORRY" !


Renjith Sarada
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© 2009-2012 (Renjith P Sarada) All Rights Reserved