I am reminded of this incident that happened a few months back. I and some friends were travelling on the city bus. We were glad that it finally arrived after making us wait for what seemed like hours. We all got in just to find that the last seats were all empty and were welcoming us for a comfortable ride.The whole seat was at our convinience, but the only problem was a wooden box placed abrubptly in the walkway restricting our access. Somehow we managed to get through and the bus trip continued.
The wooden box seemed like a tiny cupboard with colorful doors and decoration completed with pieces of colored glass and some mirrors. It could easily pass for an antique from some remote part of the world. It belonged to an old man who sat on the neighboring seat keeping a watchful eye on his luggage. His lady sat just ahead of him. From the looks, it seemed they they barely had the money for the bus fare.The wooden box could have been their only fortune.
As the bus moved on, stopping at regular intervals to add a dozen other city commuters to the existing lot, the place was soon growing insufficient to accomodate all the passengers. Amidst the crowd, people would kick and push the wooden box, make some space for themselves and curse the owner of the box.The old man heard the curses but held onto the box, lest it dragged a bit too far. The old lady was also growing restless about their luggage and would turn back every often to make sure the box was still there.
I was watching this with due patience and curiosity. The particuar restlessness on their faces caught my attention. In the entire episode,amidst the crowd and the chaos, the only thing they were concerned of was the box. Which seemed to me like a useless peice of crap not worthy of keeping around. And that is when this question struck me : "What is Priceless?". The object of no worth to anyone on the bus, was the most valuable to this old couple.
I couldnt help wondering, each one of us possesses something which he or she regards as priceless. Regardless its real worth in terms of money, few things are your prized possesions than anything else in the world.These things have their own value and are worth different to different people.If you have something priceless that makes you look more worried than the look on that old couples face, then hold on to it before it gets lost in some crowd where people have never understood and will never understand the real worth of your possesion. In this bus journey called life, hold on to your wooden box, should it be ruthlessly kicked away by unwary people around you, or dragged away out of sight so that you forget about it one day.
Insanely guarding your priceless things, would be the most sane thing to do. Wouldn't it?
Nov 3, 2006
Nov 1, 2006
Reporting live from Mumbai...
They say 'The pen is mightier than the sword', and Varsha was so intoxicated by the might of the written words, she decided, at a tender age, that she would be a journalist. And soon the teenager was immersed in fantasies of being the best reporter in the country, be the first one to bring a breaking news to the country, bring to notice of the general public certain flaws and subsequent fallacies of the system or maybe even expose some corrupt political figure.
The goal was set and she was ready to do all that took to become a reporter. Graduating in contemporary literature and armed with a degree in journalism, Varsha found herself amidst the chaos of Mumbai. The city which never sleeps was beckoning her for an illustrative career. With always something happening round the corner, the city promised her a good job with some top news channel. Though there was a plethora of news channels already, each insisting that they were the truth-centric people bringing to surface in-depth analysis of daily news, Varsha was glad she was being interviewed by the best in business
Finally she had her first taste of success, when she landed a job with MDTV. The first thing she did was call up her mother back home to tell that she had made it. Her mother knew that sky was the limit for this girl who probably was aware of only half her potential. Wishing Varsha all the best, her mother felt a sense of achievement already. And though Varsha was just at the beginning of her career, seeing her go through all the pains and efforts to reach to this point was fulfilling enough for her mother.
Wiping tiny beads of sweat off her forehead, she eased herself as she faced the camera for the first time, and announce to the world Varsha has arrived and will soon conquer the news world. Yes she wanted to be the reporter chasing stories on the field, but one step at a time was what was needed. Reading news that day was the humble beginning as she donned her new avatar.
News media is no easy place to be in, and our girl wasn’t going to be a meek submissive reporter who couldn’t get news of any substance. Gradually rising through the ranks and bringing better stories to the desk each time, Varsha soon was closer to realizing her dreams. Through the course she might have interviewed several famous people, some eminent businessmen, and few politicians who tried to be as diplomatic as possible and occasional celebrities. "Occasional' since Varsha was not the "Page 3" type, she believed in getting down to the truth of the story rather than the surreal dazzling glitterati of the high society.
Years had passed and being on the field, covering stories had become her life. And the city did keep its promise, presenting ample opportunities for Varsha to dig out stories that others might miss and take them to the editor’s desk. But nothing could have possibly prepared her for what she would report that fateful evening. It wasn't just her, even Mumbai was not prepared!
The news came in soon after a series of powerful bombs had ripped apart the local trains of Mumbai, crippling the very backbone of the city. At the convenient time of six in the evening, the mayhem that soon followed was beyond the fathom of any reporter in recent times. As the MDTV crew rushed to the site for maximum coverage of the mishap, Varsha was composing herself to cover the story. With the preliminary reports at hand, the crew thought they knew what to expect when they would reach the site. They were wrong.
The scene that awaited their arrival was beyond their imagination. There was chaos everywhere. People had no idea what had happened except for a few who realized that gravity of the situation. It took some time for the disillusioned crowd to come to its senses and started helping those in need. Varsha went live amidst all the action, streaming footage of the unimaginable carnage the anti social elements had wreaked onto the spine of the city. TV screens across the country were soon live with images of local train compartments blown apart and human carcasses being taken away from the blast site. Mumbai had probably seen the worst of the terrorist attacks till date.
Gathering her bearings, Varsha started interviewing the witnesses and police official, trying the get an idea of how huge the blasts have been and its impact on the average Mumbaite. People everywhere had condemned this brutal act of violence demanding a nationwide search for those responsible for the carnage and restoring peace back in the city.
Two days went by, and there wasn’t a single news bulletin which brought any news of hope. Everywhere there were stories of people madly in search of their beloved who went from home that fateful day never to return again. All the mayhem around was too much for Varsha to handle. Daily stories of mourn, reports of people missing, many left behind after the sole earning member of the family was the victim of the blasts, was disheartening for everyone.
As Varsha prepared to retire to her sleep that night, she was wondering what would the next dawn bring. More stories of tragedy and despair or maybe some ray of hope with hints that people were healing from the deep wounds of terror and look ahead for a brand new day. Hope that everything will return to normalcy and keep the faith.
Though the people are still mortal, their spirit to live is immortal. Mumbai will soon recover from these bruises and defeat terrorist intentions by showing the world that despite feeling the brunt of such brutality the city will still go on. Maybe that’s the news headline Varsha would like to read to the country the next day. And salute the spirit of the city and its wonderful people.
Being a reporter was never an easy job. Varsha always thought she knew this but probably it was only now, that she was realizing it.
The goal was set and she was ready to do all that took to become a reporter. Graduating in contemporary literature and armed with a degree in journalism, Varsha found herself amidst the chaos of Mumbai. The city which never sleeps was beckoning her for an illustrative career. With always something happening round the corner, the city promised her a good job with some top news channel. Though there was a plethora of news channels already, each insisting that they were the truth-centric people bringing to surface in-depth analysis of daily news, Varsha was glad she was being interviewed by the best in business
Finally she had her first taste of success, when she landed a job with MDTV. The first thing she did was call up her mother back home to tell that she had made it. Her mother knew that sky was the limit for this girl who probably was aware of only half her potential. Wishing Varsha all the best, her mother felt a sense of achievement already. And though Varsha was just at the beginning of her career, seeing her go through all the pains and efforts to reach to this point was fulfilling enough for her mother.
Wiping tiny beads of sweat off her forehead, she eased herself as she faced the camera for the first time, and announce to the world Varsha has arrived and will soon conquer the news world. Yes she wanted to be the reporter chasing stories on the field, but one step at a time was what was needed. Reading news that day was the humble beginning as she donned her new avatar.
News media is no easy place to be in, and our girl wasn’t going to be a meek submissive reporter who couldn’t get news of any substance. Gradually rising through the ranks and bringing better stories to the desk each time, Varsha soon was closer to realizing her dreams. Through the course she might have interviewed several famous people, some eminent businessmen, and few politicians who tried to be as diplomatic as possible and occasional celebrities. "Occasional' since Varsha was not the "Page 3" type, she believed in getting down to the truth of the story rather than the surreal dazzling glitterati of the high society.
Years had passed and being on the field, covering stories had become her life. And the city did keep its promise, presenting ample opportunities for Varsha to dig out stories that others might miss and take them to the editor’s desk. But nothing could have possibly prepared her for what she would report that fateful evening. It wasn't just her, even Mumbai was not prepared!
The news came in soon after a series of powerful bombs had ripped apart the local trains of Mumbai, crippling the very backbone of the city. At the convenient time of six in the evening, the mayhem that soon followed was beyond the fathom of any reporter in recent times. As the MDTV crew rushed to the site for maximum coverage of the mishap, Varsha was composing herself to cover the story. With the preliminary reports at hand, the crew thought they knew what to expect when they would reach the site. They were wrong.
The scene that awaited their arrival was beyond their imagination. There was chaos everywhere. People had no idea what had happened except for a few who realized that gravity of the situation. It took some time for the disillusioned crowd to come to its senses and started helping those in need. Varsha went live amidst all the action, streaming footage of the unimaginable carnage the anti social elements had wreaked onto the spine of the city. TV screens across the country were soon live with images of local train compartments blown apart and human carcasses being taken away from the blast site. Mumbai had probably seen the worst of the terrorist attacks till date.
Gathering her bearings, Varsha started interviewing the witnesses and police official, trying the get an idea of how huge the blasts have been and its impact on the average Mumbaite. People everywhere had condemned this brutal act of violence demanding a nationwide search for those responsible for the carnage and restoring peace back in the city.
Two days went by, and there wasn’t a single news bulletin which brought any news of hope. Everywhere there were stories of people madly in search of their beloved who went from home that fateful day never to return again. All the mayhem around was too much for Varsha to handle. Daily stories of mourn, reports of people missing, many left behind after the sole earning member of the family was the victim of the blasts, was disheartening for everyone.
As Varsha prepared to retire to her sleep that night, she was wondering what would the next dawn bring. More stories of tragedy and despair or maybe some ray of hope with hints that people were healing from the deep wounds of terror and look ahead for a brand new day. Hope that everything will return to normalcy and keep the faith.
Though the people are still mortal, their spirit to live is immortal. Mumbai will soon recover from these bruises and defeat terrorist intentions by showing the world that despite feeling the brunt of such brutality the city will still go on. Maybe that’s the news headline Varsha would like to read to the country the next day. And salute the spirit of the city and its wonderful people.
Being a reporter was never an easy job. Varsha always thought she knew this but probably it was only now, that she was realizing it.
When success is failure...
Sky was the limit for Aditya when he graduated his MBA and landed a lucrative job "reserved" for the cream of the management students. After a short vacation with his friends, he found himself driving on his way to his job. But he had taken his new wake of life quite gracefully. He had all the qualities of being a sucessful entrepreneur one day. He soon realized that he would rather command people and get productive work done than work for a monthly wage.
As determined, he left his job one day and ventured off to start his own consulting firm. Excellent academics and key experience proved instrumental in setting up his dream. Ruthlessly competitive by nature, Aditya saw to it that the growth of the firm got his utmost attention. Soon the efforts bore their fruit and his consultancy took off splendidly.
Amidst the shooting career, Aditya got married to his childhood friend Smita. It took him ten years to understand why Smita looked at him that way ever since they turned sixteen. Smita had always loved him and now Aditya knew who actually sent him those anonymous letters every valentine for the past few years. They soon were blessed with a baby boy. The couple were at the zenith of their happiness. And little Rahul was enjoying all the attention.
The personal life was beautiful beyond their phathom, but the graph of professional achievement was getting steeper as years went by and soon time came for Smita to understand the importance of Aditya's work. She did understand or so she said. Rahul was growing fast under the care of his mother and generous gifts by his father on his birthdays every year. Though Rahul was delighted, Smita knew that is was just another bribe for not being on time, forgetting the party at home which might be just a little more important than some five star dine to please a client.
As Aditya continued his crusade clenching every milestone he set ahead, he could not wait to get home that day. It was Rahul's tenth birthday. Aditya remembered that and also got a big gift for Rahul. After the guests had left, Aditya broke the news he had been dying to tell his family. He had grabbed the best deal of his life. Something that guarunteed to make his mark amongst the elite in the business. He was awarded the consulting contract after thoughtful consideration over twenty other potentials. Smita tried not to react, but Rahul made an innocent comment. "Whats the use dad? You will come home even more late and exhausted. I will never find time to see you."
That innocence said it all. Was the son so busy that he could not find time see his dad? Reality crashed upon Aditya when he realised the loss his account books never showed when making profit entries as years went by. He was stunned by the harsh reality, his success at profession had proved to be his failure when it came to family. And in moments to follow, he soon understood all that Smita wanted to say. He had failed her too. He was up all night, trying to sum up the aftermath. He gazed at the coffee mug with "Worlds greatest dad" painted on it, a dear gift from worlds greatest son, and wondered had he really lost the chance to be one.
The next day he was in bed longer than usual. Smita reminded him that didnt he have some work to do. "I am coming", said Aditya and picked up his phone to make some calls. Business as usual. He got down for breakfast where the trio slilently had their sandwich and juice, until Aditya broke the silence. "Hurry up you two. We are getting late." Smita was more than surprised,"Where else is anyone going except you!". "Well, not just me, we all are going ... on a month long vacation" Aditya cleared the suspense. "Hurray, I have the best dad in the world". Rahul was jumping with joy.
Just a few phone calls is what it took for Aditya to tell the client that he had decided to take a break for a while and the contract be given to the next bidder. Deep down somewhere Aditya felt, this must be the best deal he could have ever clenched. All he needed was to strike that perfect balance between work and family to stop his success from becoming the laying stone for his failure.
As determined, he left his job one day and ventured off to start his own consulting firm. Excellent academics and key experience proved instrumental in setting up his dream. Ruthlessly competitive by nature, Aditya saw to it that the growth of the firm got his utmost attention. Soon the efforts bore their fruit and his consultancy took off splendidly.
Amidst the shooting career, Aditya got married to his childhood friend Smita. It took him ten years to understand why Smita looked at him that way ever since they turned sixteen. Smita had always loved him and now Aditya knew who actually sent him those anonymous letters every valentine for the past few years. They soon were blessed with a baby boy. The couple were at the zenith of their happiness. And little Rahul was enjoying all the attention.
The personal life was beautiful beyond their phathom, but the graph of professional achievement was getting steeper as years went by and soon time came for Smita to understand the importance of Aditya's work. She did understand or so she said. Rahul was growing fast under the care of his mother and generous gifts by his father on his birthdays every year. Though Rahul was delighted, Smita knew that is was just another bribe for not being on time, forgetting the party at home which might be just a little more important than some five star dine to please a client.
As Aditya continued his crusade clenching every milestone he set ahead, he could not wait to get home that day. It was Rahul's tenth birthday. Aditya remembered that and also got a big gift for Rahul. After the guests had left, Aditya broke the news he had been dying to tell his family. He had grabbed the best deal of his life. Something that guarunteed to make his mark amongst the elite in the business. He was awarded the consulting contract after thoughtful consideration over twenty other potentials. Smita tried not to react, but Rahul made an innocent comment. "Whats the use dad? You will come home even more late and exhausted. I will never find time to see you."
That innocence said it all. Was the son so busy that he could not find time see his dad? Reality crashed upon Aditya when he realised the loss his account books never showed when making profit entries as years went by. He was stunned by the harsh reality, his success at profession had proved to be his failure when it came to family. And in moments to follow, he soon understood all that Smita wanted to say. He had failed her too. He was up all night, trying to sum up the aftermath. He gazed at the coffee mug with "Worlds greatest dad" painted on it, a dear gift from worlds greatest son, and wondered had he really lost the chance to be one.
The next day he was in bed longer than usual. Smita reminded him that didnt he have some work to do. "I am coming", said Aditya and picked up his phone to make some calls. Business as usual. He got down for breakfast where the trio slilently had their sandwich and juice, until Aditya broke the silence. "Hurry up you two. We are getting late." Smita was more than surprised,"Where else is anyone going except you!". "Well, not just me, we all are going ... on a month long vacation" Aditya cleared the suspense. "Hurray, I have the best dad in the world". Rahul was jumping with joy.
Just a few phone calls is what it took for Aditya to tell the client that he had decided to take a break for a while and the contract be given to the next bidder. Deep down somewhere Aditya felt, this must be the best deal he could have ever clenched. All he needed was to strike that perfect balance between work and family to stop his success from becoming the laying stone for his failure.
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