We all got to decide whether we want to be Disneyland workers or Nuclear plant workers. In every sphere of life. Heres what it means...
Disneyland...
... has the "Disney Happy Face" work culture. Come what may, employees are supposed to wear happy faces. Doesn't matter if you have a tragedy at home or work, doesn't matter if you had a flat tire on your way to work, doesn't matter if your boss refused a raise...wear a happy face to work. If you don't...you are fired.
So Disneyland means, no matter how things are...wear a happy face.
Nuclear plant...
...has a "Whistle Blower" culture. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, when you see something wrong, big or small, blow the whistle. Because if you don't, and so does no one else, things can blow up real bad.
So Nuclear plant means, no matter how small a thing it is...blow the whistle.
...so now...either be a disneyland and let things go out of control, or blow the whistle early on and fix it when you can.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
we all love living in the past...its the only luxury we can afford...the present is too bitter...the future too uncertain...
Friday, March 17, 2006
The Savera Regulars
I am a Savera regular. Savera is such a central part of my regular existence that I cannot imagine life without it. Sitting here by This roadside resto, over a single cup of coffee, mulling over life, watching the Fergusson kids, the buzz of ever busy F.C. road, hours at a stretch. It’s strange, if not idiosyncratic, but it’s something that I find extremely fulfilling. Its one part of my life that has some amount of permanence. And amongst the maddening transience and fleeting lifestyle that we live in, I find that permanence priceless.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
Changing Colors
It’s that time of the year again when the UoP is changing from dark green to light yellow, to dull brown. Summers are coming to Pune again – each time a degree hotter, each time a month earlier.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
Monday, March 13, 2006
life is a tragedy
Nothing profound in that. Just wanted to make it a formal statement. Like earth is 3 parts water, 1 part land. Life is 3 parts sadness and 1 part melodrama.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Mobile observations
Its jst a coincidence that ths post too is about mobile phones. But the similarity of ths post and the one below it ends just at the subject - as u wl see.
Cell phones have been around us now for rufly close to a decade. Bt while there usage has multiplied exponentially, as a nation we collectively lack mobile etiquette and good sense.
The list of mobile offenses is pretty long for a device this small - there r public offenses such as loud, obnoxious ring tones, taking calls in theatres, clicking pictures without permission, etc. Then there are private offenses like breaking off into frantic smsing in the middle of a conversation, talking away to glory while at a dinner date (or no date)
But theres one offense that crowns them all - and that is taking calls while driving.
I see ppl doing ths all the time. At signals, heavy traffic, changing lanes. Most people dont even bother to stop driving, others stop in the middle of the road.
What baffles me the most is why people find it so difficult to avoid the call and return it later. What cud be possibly more important to risk lives?
As is the case with all other appendages of mordern living, Indians use cell phones without giving a two penny to its usage etiquette. Its like how we have the most jazzy cars but no clue of traffic manners.