A GUIDE TO SUCCESSFUL SURVIVAL :THE “CHAIWALA'S ” MARKETING TECHNIQUE

“Chaaaye ….Chaaaye ….Garam Chaaaye”, the loud and peculiarly coarse call, of a vendor trying to sell tea, woke me up from my deep slumber. I was surprised, that he could get himself heard beyond the toughened double window glasses and a closed compartment of the Rajdhani. Annoyed at being woken up, at an unearthly hour, I got out of my berth and went out onto the platform. It was then, that I realised, he was selling tea to passengers in the train, docked at the next platform.

Ever noticed the Chaiwala’s call?  

Ever thought why, irrespective of the place or region, they all seem to sell tea in the same tone and tune? Kashmir to Kanyakumari, wherever there is a railway platform, tea is sold by vendors with the same call “Chaaaye ….Chaaaye ….Garam Chaaaye”.

Pondered why?

Well, it may turn out to be a study in human physiology, psychology as well as, “Survival and Sustenance business mantra” all put together.

Can you imagine the effort, the tea vendor has to make, to be heard, if he has to sell tea in any other tune and tone? The human body adapts to the situation prompting the individual to adopt a new technique to help himself, in being heard loud and long, but expending the least amount of energy. If you’re not convinced try it out yourself. I have tried many times over and realised that the typical “Chaaaye ….Chaaaye” call is the best way out.

“Adaptation” and “adoption”, are essential ingredients of survival and is ingrained into the DNA of all living things, flora and fauna. Every species, to survive and sustain, has to first adapt itself to elements of the environment and then adopt means and methods to tide over challenges. The “combo”, slowly becomes imprinted in the genes and is passed on from generation to generation. Human beings are no exception.

“Adaptation – adoption” combo is also the mantra for success. A business entity, that adapts to the situation fastest and smartest, by adopting means and methods to overcome market challenges, with the least expense of resources, tend to maximise profit, beat the competition and stay ahead in the race. Those who can’t or won’t, wither away. Iconic brands like Black berry (Mobile Phones), Lambretta (Scooters) and Ambassador (Cars), don’t find the “life space” in the volumes, they once held sway over us.

I witnessed one such “adaptation and adoption”, initiative at the Bangalore airport. Since, I make it a point to arrive at the airport well in advance, to complete all formalities without hassles, I get sufficient time at the departure lounge. Coffee at the South Indian restaurant is an activity, I enjoy even if it involves a little bit of “wasting time”.

Though, there are a number of outlets at the departure lounge, I find this place normally fully subscribed. Despite the long queues and the impatience associated, the restaurant seems to be a favourite destination for many. Give it to the strategic placement of the facility or quality of food, the restaurant is always packed. If there “was” one issue that I held against the restaurant, it was the queueing time. It’s very annoying to be in a queue that makes incremental progress and then end-up having to balance food coffee and cabin baggage, then hawkish to look for a place to park oneself. Despite this torture, I always found myself willingly in the queue whenever I was at the Bangalore airport.

On one such harrowing occasion, having reached the billing counter after considerable time in queue, I asked the guy who seemed to be in charge, as to why the management is not doing something about the delay. I remember him telling me, that the inflow of customers is such, that whatever was being done, fell short. I felt, that the management is on the verge of succumbing to the weight of its own success. I casually suggested them to try “table service” rather than the current mode of “self-service”. From his body language, I could make out, that he gave me the scant regard, reserved for unsolicited advisers. I was not a paid consultant.

On the morning of 11^th December, after the mandatory security check-in procedures, as I walked in to the same restaurant, I was delighted to see a very small queue at the counter. I also noticed that all the tables were full and most tables had shiny steel number plates. Then, I saw a bearer carrying a plate shouting out a number and a client sitting at the table with a corresponding number, responding to the call. Simple, yet effective survival and sustenance techniques was on display at the restaurant. The management, had adopted a new method to tackle one of their biggest challenges. 

No, I did not go and tell them, look, I told you so!

The marketplace, like life, presents new challenges on a daily basis. It is for the leaders, to quickly find a way out and lead the team successfully out of the challenge. Adaptations and adoptions need not have to be spectacular or gigantic to make an impact. Timeliness, is of utmost importance. Keen eye and a highly developed sense of market survival are key to success. Even an unsolicited observation or advice if taken in the right perspective could also trigger trailblazing changes.

MAKING AND UNMAKING OF A BRAND

There is something very sinister about brand image. The permanency associated with brand image has just about vanished. Products, services and individuals associated with a brand image have to be consistent as well as persistent at labouring to improve brand value. Status quo spells disaster.

 Branding was initially associated with domesticated herd animals. In order to differentiate an animal owned by one individual from another, early humans initiated the custom of branding. The process, painful to the animal, mostly confined to establishing ownership, was a ritual undertaken with due deliberation. The prominent and permanent marking on the animal, said a lot about the brand owner and his clout in the society.

Modern-day branding is an intricate and costly corporate activity. Initially products were branded, then services were included. We recognised them by the unique brand logos and catchy slogans. Celebrities were paid huge sums to be associated with the brand. Now, with celebrities selling anything and everything, celebrity association for qualities and attributes have somehow been relegated to the background or diluted. Celebrities have now become mere product promotion agents. While animal branding was permanent, branding of product and service is all about imaging. Like images, it could be real or virtual! The strength and longevity of a brand image, eventually will depended on how real the constituent elements are and how truly they meet the promises made. It doesn’t take much time for an established brand that soars the skies to plummet to fathomless depths. Creation of brand value is a long drawn, difficult and time-consuming process, whereas, the fall is easy and can be initiated by the product itself or by any one individual associated with the brand.

The trigger forthis article is my experience with a very famous and trusted brand in Kerala.

Different products ranging from stabilisers, geysers, solar water heaters and inverters are sold under the same brand name. A perfect name for its initial product,backed by excellent quality, the product enjoyed a niche associated with trust and solid performance. The firm grew and successfully diversified its operations. The ptomoter of the product is known and appreciated for his bold stand on various social issues. Sure enough, the entire range of products, though priced above competitors, being adequately backed by quality and associated with progressive outlook attained immense brand value. Satisfied with two stabilisers I purchased, and led by brand image, I became, what corporate gurus call “branded loyalist”. That was till now.

I purchased an inverter of this brand, from a showroom of a reputed retail chain. The showroom provided me with all possible help and choices. My first conversation with the service desk of the brand, while I was trying to install the inverter was a shocker and gave me an indication of the likely decay. When I asked for assistance to install the inverter, I was told that it was the responsibility of the client to hire an electrician to install it. the company had nothing to do with it. It is perfectly okay to be told so, but that doesn’t have to be conveyed in a rude and unprofessional manner. That was the starting point.

It took me two days to get an electrician. Three or four hours into operation, the inverter,started beeping very loudly. By then, the electrician who installed it, had also left. I tried to switch off the inverter, but it did not yield. I had to somehow silence the inverter. I immediately called the service desk for help.What shocked me, was the mere apathy and insensitivity of the service desk. All my efforts and explanation, failed to convince the service desk, of the urgency of sending somebody to immediately cut off the inverter from the mains. It took me four hours of self-help activities to save myself from the situation. Phone calls to the electrician, reference on the web and my persistence at finding an immediate remedy finally yielded result. I learned later that the service provider was located not very far away from me. They did not send a technician because it was a Saturday afternoon. the earliest they could send somebody was Monday.

The response I received that day, from the brand service desk has forced me to shun the brand for ever. I also learned how a brand value can be eroded by weakness in quality and how the fall can be accelerated by individuals associated with the brand.

Since the item was guaranteed and I knew one of the partners of the chain, the showroom sent me a replacement the very next day. Nice of the retail chain, for the next 48 working hours, someone kept taking feedback on the performance of the replacement piece.

Since I was a brand loyalist, I send an email to the company hoping that the issue would be localised and contained. The reply I received confirmed that the erosion had set in irrevocably. To an email with my name and address clearly written, the reply asked me to submit my complaint with my name and address in the specified format. It was clear to me, that those responsible had not read the mail. The promoter might or might not know of this degeneration. Either way, it is his folly.

There is sufficient material and expertise available to create a brand and successfully market it. However, sustaining the image is a different matter altogether.Brand image, is an amalgamation of the perception that exist in the minds of the customers. Celebrities could at best, lend their presence to a brand image through association. Brand value however, comes to stay, purely from first and second-hand experience. It is only through the fine print of customer experience that brand image can sustain its growth. Despite large amounts being pumped into advertising a brand, only real-life experience of customers can cement brand image. Good brand managers would take care to absorb all possible inputs about the performance of the brand, it be product or associated services.

One of the key issues missed out by brand managers, is the need to include the company’s staff in the process of creating and sustaining a brand image. Marketing and blitzkrieg in the glitzy world of advertisements may win few eyeballs and a few first-time trials. Continued use of the brand and developing loyalty amongst the customers can happen only through collective and participative efforts of all individuals associated with the brand. Consider the damage a salesman can inflict on a brand, despite the costliest advertisement campaign, when he at the point of sales tells the consumer that he can neither guarantee the performance nor the after sales service. The brand is just as good as the worst salesman. The entire budget spend on brand imaging is as good as flushed down the drain. This is what is happening to an once famous brand.

Decay and degeneration is inherent to existence. Brand image is no exception. Efforts must be focused to identify and prevent its occurrence. As with brand image,decay and degeneration is inherent to any organisation. Thus, progressive organisations must devise means and establish protocols to arrest organisational decay and degeneration. The organisation must spare no efforts to educate all those individuals coming in contact with customers on how to protect and promote the brand image and the brand value.

HOW CAN SOMEBODY BE BAD?

He’s a bad boy. He’s a bad student. These are statements that we heard as we grew up. Often used and heard in schools, these are statements that typecast an individual and templated stimuli and responses. At the workplace, it was “Oh, he doesn’t fit into the team” or “he is a bad worker”. Though profound in its content, intent and impact these are not sparingly used.

 

What makes a person say this? Why should a person be branded as bad? What leads to such a branding? Understanding the causes leading to the statement from both sides can unlock major issues in human resource management.

 

Does anyone really want to be bad? Nobody deliberately tries to become bad. Self-esteem and the need to be recognised and appreciated is inherent to human existence. Said, unsaid, each and every person wants to be the best in whatever situation he or she is in. It is a different fact that he or she may not make such a statement or indicate such an intent, but deep within every individual wants to excel and be recognised. Being bad is against the very grain of human existence. If somebody has become bad he or she has been driven to it or assigned that role.

 

A bad student, is likely to be the manifestation of a large number of contributing factors. It could be a combination of poor teaching, inability of understanding what is being taught, inability to put across or apply what has been understood. It could also be aided by physiological and psychological issues which may need to be addressed by experts. Branding the youngster bad would effectively close the doors of future on the person. A so-called bad worker is, most likely, the result of poor recruitment and selection process or a product of inefficient, ineffective and insensitive human resource management protocols of the organisation. For all we know, we may be having the right man at the wrong place. I’m sure the person branded bad at work, would qualify as the best father, as the best husband, the best friend and such many other bests. A “bad” at one place necessarily need not be “bad” at every place. Such an occurrence is extremely rare and if it happens that individual may require urgent expert care.

 

Having led teams of varying sizes in different locations on different tasks, over 36 years, I have never come across a single individual who was inherently a bad man, bad worker or a misfit by default. It cannot be a coincidence. One cannot stretch the run of luck for 36 years, over varying geographical locations, with people of from all backgrounds and regions. I’m not discounting the innumerable HR problems that I have faced. I have had issues, some of them very major, that required me to pull in all the resources at my disposal. But, these I realised were issues that stemmed from perception differences and interpersonal issues. Dealing with the situation “one on one” with that individual produced amazing results. We have together achieved what people said was impossible. At the end of my career spanning 36 years, I carry with me the satisfaction of having worked with people, each one a genius, giving the team more than his or her best. Commencing our relationships purely on a professional plane we ended up with strongly cemented interpersonal bonding.

 

Despite the hierarchical structure that exists amongst us I still continue to enjoy the warmth regards and respect of my teammates. Since I believed strongly that there is not a single individual intrinsically wanting to be bad, I never took inputs on personal qualities whenever I took charge of a team.  Given the requisite professional and technical wherewithal, I feel that interpersonal relations remain the bedrock on which a team will perform. It is possible for the leader to draw the best from his teammates provided he or she knows the fundamentals of drawing out the best.

 

It is human nature for an individual to be focused on four fundamental aspects. These are “Survival”, “Sustenance”, “Success” and “Sublimation”. Let us call it, the “4S”. These are in line with “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs”.

 

Survival is innate to any living being. Thus, it is natural for the individual to ensure his or her survival whatever be the costs. It will remain the closest and fiercely guarded short-term goal of every individual. There may be exceptions where individuals become unmindful of their survival. I have led men into life-threatening situations while clearing dangerous explosives. I have seen them walking into danger without a second thought. For the uninitiated, it is contrary to survival instincts. It is not so. The individuals involved in clearing explosives were putting their survival at risk for survival of a bigger lot. Everyone in the team understood and knew that individual survival was the output of collective inputs of expertise and commitment. Thus, every individual was assured of his survival due to the efforts of others. As one walked into danger, he was sure that others were worried as much about his survival as he is. Every member of the team subordinated, his or her survival instinct to the need for the team’s survival. In such a scenario, there is no bad team member. The reader must not feel, that every member in the team is equally motivated to begin with. Behavioural issues like jealousy, anger, anxiety, prejudices and so many such parameters do play their role. But these slowly giving way to more exciting and rewarding collective goals. The pace at which teaming is done depends on the leader.

 

Once survival has been assured, individual starts looking for sustenance. Sustenance manifests as accruals that assure him or her of growth within the organisation. The individual will naturally be aware of the differentials in capabilities and potentials amongst the team. Unprejudiced assessment of efforts and rewards considered just an unbiased do not create resentment. It is important to create an atmosphere where an individual is assured of his or her sustenance. There is no magic formula that can be applied to achieve it. The subordinate must feel and sense that he or she is not being discriminated against and someone else is receiving undue preferential treatment.

Success is defined differently by each individual. It is very difficult for the organisation to make an individual feel that he or she is successful. However, the organisation can play a positive and proactive role in an individual’s assessment of his personal success. As soon as the individual feels that the organisation has a significant role in the success achieved so far, he or she would treat the organisation differently. Individual success may not be confined solely to his rise in hierarchy in the organisation. The organisation contributes in so many different ways to an individual’s well-being progress and success. The superior would have to find ways to subtly make an individual realise the positive contributions made by the organisation in the success achieved by the individual.

 

Who doesn’t want to be immortalised? In every human mind, there is a seed of sublimation. It is not without reason that HW Longfellow, in his poem, “Psalm of Life”, said, “we can make our lives sublime”. As soon as the sense of belonging to the cause or organisation overwhelms the individual beyond his personal needs he or she is ready to step into the sublime world. Foot-soldiers, front - line leaders, backstage planners, each and every one can sublime. It just needs the right environment, motivation and appropriate leadership.

 

 

The next time, we feel like calling somebody bad, hold your breath check back whether we have contributed to that individual being branded bad. Nobody in his or her right senses can be bad.

 

THE MIRAGE CALLED EQUALITY

Equality is a fallacy. Nothing was created equal. The concept of equality is propagated by those who have no idea of the efficiency equation. Neither God nor man has found means adequate enough to equalise input and output. Newton’s third law of motion notwithstanding, equality exists only in theory. HR practitioners who advocate treating the workforce with the yardstick of equality is involved in something that actually does not exist and pursuing something detrimental to the growth and health of the organisation.

Consider two individuals holding similar positions, with the same job description and responsibility in the same organisation. The organisation expects both the individuals to put in equal work, with the same expected level of dedication. Since equality of labour and compensation is an accepted norm, both the individuals have to be compensated equally for holding similar job titles or positions. Despite what each individual may contribute, both would end up being remunerated equally unless there is an effective system of performance linked compensation. This is one of the reason that governmental organisations are often infested with incompetent inefficient ineffective staff. Why should one person work and contribute more than the other, when there is no incentive to do so?

Absence of accountability is a common phenomenon in an organisation where equality job positions and remuneration is enforced. Despite differentials in input, if returns are equalised, there is no incentive for an individual to invest more than the other is his job. It goes against the basic tenant of ROI. Highly competitive fields like marketing where performance is monitored by numbers and compensated appropriately, one finds that individuals perform better.

It is difficult, if not impossible, for a person to treat two different individuals equally. How hard one may try, inter personnel relations, organisational dynamics and other unspoken elements dictate how one treats the other. The ability of the superior to handle a subordinate and extract the required quantum and quality of work output would also differ from person to person. Positional authority necessarily may not ensure equal extraction of output. The skill with which situations are handled, subordinates controlled, motivated and monitored will differ from person to person.

It is only when there is a sense of inequality can there be growth, competition and fulfilment. HR practitioners must create a robust system which ensures adequacy in compensation and objective accounting of the job quantum associated to each individual. Superiors must focus on creating a sense of inequality amongst competing individuals. While inequality introduced must create differentials between individuals that spot competition and growth, care must be taken that it does not degenerate into institutional discrimination against some. This is a fine art and cannot be mastered without practice. Superiors must provide subordinates with opportunities for growth and the wherewithal required. The dictum of treating subordinates equally is neither practical nor advisable and necessarily need not be pursued.

WHAT NEXT?

What next?

This is the question that I am confronted with, on a daily basis ever since I have received my retirement order. Each and every person I meet or who has known me for some time, comes up with this question as soon as they come to know that I am retiring.

In the beginning, my reply was always, that I haven’t decided. To the very close ones I replied that, I am working on it. When it all began, it was just a question, like any other. As time pass by, the frequency seems to increase and the sincerity with which it is asked is also evident. This matter has assumed serious proportions and needs to be addressed with all the seriousness it deserves. Once this question is posed, it is not uncommon for my well-wishers to offer their advice without waiting for my answer. I am often advised to search for new jobs that fit my status and standing, or those jobs which give me a high on my esteem front. They somehow feel that I must continue to work. I have been instructed to widen the avenues of my search, advertise my qualifications, re-write my credentials the way market understands it and even activate the right link to get the right job.

All the well-meaning advice come with a caution. I’m warned that sitting at home, doing nothing will kill me. They tell me of people, who were seemingly hale and hearty having decided to take it easy after retirement, died out of boredom. Though I try hard to hide my fears, there are times I do get scared. I assure my well-wishers was so worried about me that I have no plans to sit at home and wither away.

My wife, hearing all those scary stories of how people disintegrated after retirement, is worried for me. She tells me, that the active the person that I am, I will not be able to tolerate the inactivity associated with retired life. She warns me of the boredom that sets in after some time and how it can kill. She’s truly worried. She has been with me in my life’s journey or the last 30 years. She has been with me in my good times and bad times. I appreciate her concern but still want to pursue what my heart tells me. My wife and our friends ask me, what next?

This question, has a sense of uncertainty inherent to it and to some extent unsettles me. Spending some time at home, reading and writing or just being lazy, is not inactivity. I’m sure this cannot be the way that I will wither away. Having worked for more than 36 years. I feel I have earned a well-deserved rest and a peaceful walk to the sunset pursuing those hobbies which I always wanted to. I want to spend some time finally for myself.

Is it the first time that I’m faced with this question? No. Right from the day of my birth “what next?“ has been a constant companion in my life. There were times when I had no answers, there were times when the answers, I chose were wrong and few instances the choices were right.

What next? This would have been the question my grandma asked herself seeing a seven-month-old premature baby, delivered at home with no access to modern medicine. My very survival was in question. I had no control of what was happening with me. My childhood was filled with stories of how hard, grandma prayed and how she never gave up on me. I’ve come to believe that I survived on my grandma’s prayers and the liquid diet that her frail old little finger could manage to push inside my little mouth. I survived.  It would be more truthful to say she managed to make me survive. “What next?” might have been a question that troubled her. To me it didn’t matter, at least as of now.

Many years later, as an adolescent, having failed my father in achieving the grades that he wanted me to, my own sense of esteem having bitten dust, with my life seemingly going nowhere I asked myself “what next?”.

]With no sign of hope in the near horizon, I came to the conclusion that life is not worth living. The question that troubled me was “what next?”. That is when I toyed with the idea of putting an end to my life. The walk to the railroad, the purposeless walk between the tracks and the final wait at the track for the train still remains the most excruciating pain I ever suffered. I sat and cried aware of the life that I wasted, going through each of my dreams that had not been fulfilled and the gruesome fate that was just moments away. This seemed to be the final answer to the un-ending question “what next?“ . The train was unduly late that day and I could not sit there for eternity. I had to walk off. 

Another failure? I asked myself “what next?”.

That is the day I took control of my life. No I tried to take control of my life.

The next few years I experimented with my body and soul. There were times when I was confronted with my worthlessness. The path I often took led me nowhere. I was confronted with failure after failure after failure. At the end of it I asked again, what next?

Events, people and surroundings always have a say on the outcome of what one does. The extent to which external forces can control one’s life depends upon how much control one gives to others. Unwittingly, unknowingly one does give control of one’s life to others. The choice of handling others’ lives in our hands do not come with much responsibility. It’s up to us to decide how well or how shoddy we can handle somebody else’s lives. It doesn’t matter actually. But the person who has entrusted his or her life into our hands desires that we handle it with utmost care. Often entrusting our lives to somebody ends in disaster. Living up to others dreams and their aspirations to actually divest one from one’s own life and the beauty associated with it. Driven by the norms of the society parents end up robbing childhood of children. If one is sensitive even adolescence is wasted living somebody’s dreams. Having secured selection in a number of competitive examinations I found myself choosing what I had not thought of. The choice was mine but reasons were not from the heart.

It’s been years now. I refuse to let anybody else control my life. I am still learning to preserve my personal space. The years that have passed by have gifted me with unparalleled happiness, though there were challenges aplenty. The most beautiful lady on earth became my wife. The two most beautiful girls in this world are my daughters. The two most handsome men in this world are my sons-in-law, the most adorable children on the earth are my grandchildren. I have nothing more to ask for. I have got everything that I’ve dreamt of, got more than what I deserved and more than what I bargained for. The last 30 years have been the most beautiful years of the life. Yet, there were times when I sat down and asked “what next?”

Looking back, the questions that I asked each significant turning point of my life seems irrelevant and meaningless. My experience of the last 57 years, makes me believe that each time I asked this question, it was irrelevant and stemmed from my insecurity. Now I know that my job is to celebrate each day of my life. I consider each tribulation as a lesson and step towards triumph. I also learned that the day I took control of my life I started living. I have no regrets whatsoever for what I have done and for that matter even for those that I have not done.

Tomorrow doesn’t worry me. I propose to live my life each day with the hope of finding something amusing each day, spreading happiness each moment, to hug someone who needs it, to reach out to somebody’s outstretched hand and maybe teach someone to answer the question that plagued me all through my life, “what next?”

What’s next? Live life.

A MOVIE : DIARY

  It is often said that a movie is a reflection of the society. The narrative of a movie normally reflects the society’s beliefs, thoughts and practices. Thus the storyteller picks up something from the society and weaves it into a story, the limiting factors being the narrator’s skills and imagination. Each piece of the story, its characters and narrative along with all that is integral to it is picked up from the society. This helps every person at the movie hall, generally relate all characters to someone he or she knows. Those movies set in planes alien to the society were either science fiction movies or horror movies. But normally all movies told stories that were set in contemporary society and could easily be related to.

  

  Movies are great catalysts for change. Trivial or worthy, films played a major role in shaping the opinion of the society. There are films that espoused nationalism and patriotism. There were movies that espoused faith to overcome great challenges and there were films that espoused values and virtues. For the youth movies were trendsetters for fashion. For example, hairstyle of the hero, the styles of diction, the way actors dress up are just few things that youngsters copy from the movie. Movies also told the youth the manner in which a situation is reacted to and whether it is acceptable or not. That is why, there is a school of thought, that cautions storytellers on the method of telling the story. Exaggerating a piece of action, the way the hero reacts to a situation or the general manner in which morality and such other virtues are depicted in the movie often tend to guide or misguide youth. If the popular hero doesn’t mind taking law into his hands to achieve the goal, or the popular heroin doesn’t mind breaking social taboo, the youth generally accepts it as a message. The extend of violence that has come to roost in our society to a large measure can be attributed to the current jaunre of movies and the way stories are told in these. 

 I’m not one to say that they should be no violence in the movie, I’m not the one to say that there should be no breaking of taboos, but I certainly feel that the director has the moral responsibility to remain within the acceptable frames or boundaries rather than eulogising extreme violence or waywardness. As I came out from the movie hall today after seeing a movie, that from the beginning to the end was filled with mindless violence, I was left wondering what we’re up to and the manner in which society is accepting stories. What shocked me most was not the movie but the review about it in the print and electronic media.

  I went to the movie, because someone had told me that the movie was a highly rated one and that the entire cast consisted of newcomers. I was told that everything about the movie was new and path breaking. At the movie, I was left disheartened and shaken. I wanted to leave the movie hall much before half-time but was held back because even if i wanted i couldn't leave as I could not take my car out from the parking. The movie was about a few youngsters in their village in Kerala trying out their hand in doing everything wrong and showing no remorse in attempting violence at the first possible instance. This was not the Kerala I had grown up in, it was not the Kerala that I had dreamt of. 

 If this is the real Kerala now, then it cannot be called God’s on land. Mindless violence and detached silence that sanctions and accepts such fury  are initial signs of social decay. The picture gives a glimpse of what would happen to this beautiful state if things are not set right. The loud music accompanying the drunken brawls and shouts, the manner in which life is auctioned, a scheming lawyer and a supportive policeman who assist the plot to move ahead, send shivers down my spine. If the movie has to be believed, it’s all about eating drinking and killing all willingly and painlessly sanctioned by the society. Oh my God, what’s happened to God’s own land?

  I’m neither a racist nor against female liberation. I have nothing against a girl having a drink. I have nothing against girls having a good time, but the sight of the lead female actor snaking her way home after a party did pain me somehow. Please do not mistake me. I’m not in the business of moral policing.  I’m not one who is here to prescribe, how a man or woman must behave. I’m not here to set norms and guidelines. I just felt bad seeing a beautiful girl walking drunk. You can’t grudge me that.

  What scared me more was the response of the few youths who were in the movie hall. The comments they passed after the movie shocked me. “Adi Poli” in their words, in other words superb. If mindless violence, killing, drunken brawls and meaningless lives were superb, my God where are we headed to?

FRIENDS OF THE YORE

The phone rang as it does always. As always I picked up the mobile and mechanically accepted the call. As soon as I heard the name on the other side, everything changed. On the other side was my classmate from college telling me that they were planning a get together for the classmates. He wanted to know if I could make it convenient to attend. It took me no time to decide and I told him come what may, I shall attend the function dead or alive.

It was an occasion that I  looked forward to. I was eager to meet my old friends, catch up with lost times and re-experience those beautiful moments of my youth, I had spend at the college in Kollam.  I was eager to be back, where I actually belonged to. It was with a great sense of gratitude and happiness I confirmed my attendance at the function proposed to be organized by my classmates.

Glory to the Almighty, wherever He or She be, by whatever name He, She or It be called for any divine assistance rendered. My gratitude to those friends of mine here on earth, in flesh and blood who sweated and strived hard to make this occasion possible.

I was sure that they would be eager to listen to my exploits over the last thirty seven years as an Army Man. After all army stories are supposed to be full of action. I readied myself to share one or two real life instances. I am a logistics expert and have nothing spectacular to showcase. I haven't charged down with the light brigade, i haven't taken on any enemy single handedly and vanquished him. So, what I had in mind, was to narrate couple of near fatal incidents that I brought upon myself and how I was saved  through divine intervention. By the very nature of it, the narrative was not subliminal and would have stopped within a couple of minutes before the audience wriggled in their seats.

Stories of, grit and pain, of fear, anguish and anxiety, of success and victory, of the victor and vanquished, when narrated by the protagonist, suffer from emotional over indulgence. Such stories when told by a soldier often sound incredibly impossible. It's often dubbed as figments of imagination by those uninitiated into the Army way of life. Unfortunately both, the narrator and the audience, prisoners of individual perception, suffer from lack of understanding, one from indulgence and the other from ignorance or indifference.

This however does not prevent an army man from embarking on narrating few such stories which he is compelled to, much like the ancient mariner, at the first possible opportunity. The audience, small or big, driven by curiosity so integral to us humans, do prompt army men to start talking, which they often readily oblige. The problem, however, in most cases is how to stop him from the narration.

More than my personal stories, I wanted to use the opportunity to tell my classmates, how I felt about them. I wanted them to know how relevant they were to my very existence and of the role they played, unknown to them, individually and collectively in making me what I am. They would have known very little of it, for what I was to speak, was from deep within my heart, my emotions and my perspective of our interpersonal relationship. I had not shared it with anyone, ever before.

College was starkly different from my school. As I joined college, I was just about graduating from ignorance inherent to childhood to uncomfortable uncertainty of adolescence. That was also, I think, just about the time when society stopped attributing wind pollination as a cause of child birth. Boys and girls could talk to each other, maintaining respectable distances between them without the fear of pregnancy. Since the guardians of morality were not yet born we could speak without keeping a watch over our shoulders.

I was schooled in an all boys residential school. The, very few, girls, who studied in the school were daughters of our teachers. They, condemned with the company of such an overwhelming majority of boys and in the overbearing presence of their parents in campus, were out right unreachable.

The only colour I knew of, other than VIBGYOR, was khaki and white. Though the day started with "white on white" for the compulsory physical training and ended with "white on white" pajamas and kurta, Khaki was the primary dress code. Khakis took up most of the daylight hours with about an hour or little more in blue and white. Umbrellas were a rarity there and heads, even the few sane feminine ones, were sans flowers.

My seven year life at the school was governed by bells. The response to each bell depending on the time of the day was different. Much like Pavlov's dog, we knew the early morning bell was for bed tea. There was one for breakfast and like that, the whole day and activities within it, was controlled by the annoying sound of bells. The common smell at school was that of sweat with personal stamps written all over. The mess had another distinctive odour. Smell of unwashed socks drew immediate sneer and was suitably taken care of. Perfumes, despite few having access to it at home, had not made its presence felt in the campus. We were generally clean and were compelled to maintain high standards of personal and collective hygiene. The school campus had a large area to explore.  But over the seven years, each inch of it knew me and offered me no place to hide. My failures and success was always visible and I had no place to withdraw to other than myself. I could do nothing about it. I grew up lonely in a constant crowd and internalized the art of survival.

I had fared  pretty badly and my father's worst  nightmare had just come true. I had missed first division in my School final exams. He like many fathers, always wanted me to top. I "bottomed" always. He had beautiful dreams for me that I was incompetent to accomplish, however hard I tried.  I wanted to be a teacher, a priest, a poet, a writer, a pilot, a missionary and even a political administrator. But I didn't know, which, how and why. His dreams required sustained hard work but I spend my days day dreaming. I read everything else but my textbooks. That was not sufficient to get me an acceptable grade. Given my state of commitment and preparedness, even passing the exams was a miracle.


The quality of teaching and grooming was so good at school that even daydreamer like me ended up with a high second division. But, for my family, it was a first of sorts. My  cousins, whom my father was comparing me with, had all secured minimum first divisions. I, having been schooled in the best along with the best had let him down. The events that followed at home, after my results were declared, dictated my arrival amongst some of the most beautiful people that I have known.

Much against my desire to pursue a Bachelors Degree in English literature, I was forced to take admission for a Degree in chemistry in the local college. Thus, in the summer of 1976, I found myself in Fatima Mata National College. The college was a sea of umbrellas and flowery hairs tied up in ways that I had never seen before. The place smelled differently. It smelled of flowers and perfumes. Though unfamiliar, it offered me a sense of security, inherent to anonymity. It was a world that offered me a beautiful space where I could be on my own. The best thing about the place was that no one was in control of anyone. There were bells, but it was not compelling. There was a sense of freedom that everyone enjoyed, as a matter of right.

The beauty of our class was that it was surprisingly full of good people, studious yet fun loving, naughty yet serious when it came to affairs of studies, helpful yet disengaged, individualistic yet grouped. It was a class of boys and girls that could have been brought together only by divine intent. Whether everyone was sure of their future or least bothered about it, I can't say, there was a confident calm that everyone exuded. Though I put on a facade of confidence, I was  consistently consumed by the fear of failure that lurked within.

My life in the college was different from others. I  found work and  operated a mill in the evenings and was financially independent. I earned and paid my own fees. I had savings of my own. It made me feel worthy of existence, though there were times I questioned it with utmost sincerity. There was also a time when I seriously thought of calling it quits. But quitters never won and I persisted. Before I fathomed what I gained, my three year life in the college was over. I was selected to join the Indian Military Academy at Dehradun for training and on completing it, was commissioned into the logistics stream as per my choice. Life ever since has been interestingly challenging and rewarding. As I travelled along, I picked up some tremendous friends both male and female young and old. But my friends from college remain special.

It is not often, that I recall my college days , but when I do, so many things flood my thoughts.

I had essayed the role of a semi nude madman in a drama, where I spoke nothing but kept rolling a rock because the director felt rolling the stone spoke more than words. I didn't understand much then but i rolled it anyway. Now I know that in real life, actions speak louder than words. I had to shave off my mustache, the only time I ever did that in my life, for the dance sequence we were presenting. It was fun then. Now i know, that it can be fun dancing on somebody's tune if you love that person. I recall that beautiful soft stylish kaftan a beautiful classmate gave me for the occasion. I didn't want to return it but did it anyway. I still can recall her radiant mischievous looks. Then there was this doe eyed one who walked sideward when she entered the class. In her queer yet vain attempt to hide her assets, she actually ensured that everyone looked at her.

I recall the well dressed, matinee idol like, chemistry teacher who impressed us with his teaching skills and managed to win the heart of the most beautiful girl in our college, our classmate. I also vividly remember my English teacher who taught us all about romanticism with a beautiful description of Cleopatra sailing up the Nile to receive Mark Antony. I learned from her the way, words can be used to convey emotions. The sight of my beautiful and kind physics teacher, with deep dimples that accompanied her smiles, has not faded yet.

The size and shapes of packed lunch,  ranging from the miniature tiffin that belonged to prettiest of all, to the huge ones that few of us laboured on. I can still recall the smell of coconut chutney and omelettes that we shared. I also can recall the readiness with which the angel shared her lunch of "one tomato and a bite more" packed in her miniature container with me. I think, I might have been the only one who had the privilege. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl I had met till then but was already in love with our teacher. The fun of those cigarettes, that few of us, smokers, shared sitting on the the terrace balcony of our class still remain unmatched. The mindless foolishness of throwing stones at each other, the two neighbouring colleges indulged in, for some silly reason or the other have never been matched ever after. The election that I fought and managed to secure just two votes, one certainly mine and another likely to have been cast by my friend, has not left any bad taste whatsoever. The satisfaction of winning the departmental teaching competition has not been matched by any other success. The solace, I got when I saw my friend coming with her friend, both pursuing medicine, to spend time with my mother is nothing short of divine.

My daughters once asked me whether I had an affair in the college. I told them that college life is incomplete without one's own share of love story,  even if it is one sided! I too had one. Those sparkling eyes, cute dimples, the disarming smiles and above all, something about her,  I still can't fathom what it was,  felled me. I liked her. It must have been only an infatuation, because knowing me had I been in love, I would have gone to the end of the world dead or alive to make it happen. But stuck in the quicksands of my own making, I never mustered the courage to make that all important first move. So what could have been the love story of our times, remained hidden in my heart, one sided, unsaid and unwritten.

Destiny definitely had something different and better. The never say die, romantic in me found one woman to love for life.  The best girl in the world became mine, first as my wife, then as mother of my two children, then as the only one who shared all my burdens,  transformed into being my friend, then my best friend, a friend for all seasons, my lover and my soulmate. She then became my soul without whom I am hopelessly incomplete. If i have to thank anyone other than God, my dad and mom, it is only she. She is the cornerstone of my life.

Looking back, I realise I have received more than I have given. I have been blessed abundantly, much more than I desired or dreamt of. I have received unconditional love and affection from my friends.

Those old times just came in gushing like a torrent as soon as I kept the phone down. I made the necessary bookings and flew in to Kerala. Since that day each moment I spend with them, I have experienced bliss that I have never ever before. The unbridled outpouring of affection I received from my classmates, their spouses and children make me feel special and blessed. I wonder if I deserve this special care and adulation.

I have spoken in public many times. Some of them were very well received. But the way you treated me to the stage my friends, you left me speechless. I was shaking all over and had to literally hold myself from crying. The words from my teacher, the hugs from my friends, the readiness with which you embraced me, my dear friends makes me feel I have been touched by the divine.

My dear friends of the yore, you truly  fill my life ..
Thank you.
God bless you.