Purpose of Life - Struggling to Define one?

Our daughters call up while travelling to work in the morning and on their journey home. It is a daily ritual. In the morning, I always ask, “Child, how is the day coming up?” In the evening, I ask, “How was the day?” Between the two questions and their answers, we quickly cover the essentials. My wife gets longer talk time with the girls. At times they call at the same time. Then, my wife and I either switch phones or use the conference facility. Technology has made staying connected easy. We catch up on each other’s day through our daily calls. Sometimes, the discussion can turn serious.

“Dad, is it because I was raised as an Army child or the nomadic imprint in my DNA, I feel restless staying in one place for long. I yearn to move places?” That kickstarted the day.

“Child, maybe both,” I replied. “Deep within us, there must be remnant imprints of early mankind’s nomadic DNA. Although Homo Sapiens emerged 300,000 years ago as nomads in Africa it has been just about 10,000 years since we gave up nomadism and opted for the sedentary way of life. I believe wheat and rice enslaved and tethered us to the fertile plains near the Great Rivers.” 

I gave her time to soak in what I was saying. I also wanted to collect and organise my thoughts. I was sure she had more questions lined up.

“I believe, it is the compelling presence of that nomadic trait in our DNA that keeps Tourism afloat. The same trait must be triggering us to move places for better avenues. Isn’t immigration an evolved form of nomadism?” she did not answer, but I knew she was listening. “You are an army child and grew up travelling, moving, and living in many places. Nomadism cannot be dormant in your case. It is okay to feel restless.” I gave her time to absorb what I had said and continued.

“Just like imbalance spurs continuity in a chemical equation, the uncertainty and restlessness we experience spur movement, growth, and progress. Consider your restlessness as an internal trigger. Keep adding knowledge, skill sets and competencies to expand the horizon that envelops you.” 

The silence at the other end now was louder than the sound of the autorickshaw she was travelling in and even the blaring horns of the vehicle passing by.  I knew something else was brewing. 

“Dad, what is the purpose of our lives? I just cannot figure out mine,” she said. “What was yours?” she asked. 

I laughed aloud and said, “Terrible ways genes get passed on.” I knew I could not laugh her question away. My mind was fast at work. I had to come up with an answer. Even as children they asked many questions, even uncomfortable ones. I took pains to answer them. There were times when I sat with them and went through the encyclopaedia. My own life held the answer to her latest question.

I had grappled with the same question at various stages in my life. Each time I had come up with different answers. As a youngster who was, not doing very well at school, I wanted to be an achiever someday. Achievers had good jobs, were financially independent, owned cars and were respected. I secured a good job early in life but the euphoria vanished soon. Circumstances can be compelling if not overwhelming. I had willingly shouldered a lot of responsibilities. Ironically, my life’s sole purpose was to fulfil those first and thereafter live a carefree life and die with a song on my lips. Driven by the desire to be relevant I made a decision that landed me in serious trouble. In the gravest situation, I found myself disowned. When I rescued myself and found the will to live on, I changed course, married a lovely girl and promptly forgot about the purpose of life.

A medical emergency forced me to see life differently. As a young husband and father of two girls, I wrote down ten things to do before I die.  Most of them were to ensure a safe future for my wife and children. Over the next few years, I achieved nine out of those ten. I gave up on the tenth one. As time flew, I crossed fifty and rose in the hierarchy to become a one-star general. I wanted to leave behind “footprints on the sands of time” and worked hard towards it. I was officially chosen as the mentor for the department and I was convinced I had a strong trail of footprints behind me. People called up to know my views on professional matters when I was in service. Many called seeking my intervention in their private matters and I could help. It continued for a while even after I retired. Soon, the numbers fell and then stopped altogether. Some good-hearted folks still call up on my birthday or anniversary. The footprints I thought I had left had been washed away. I do not grudge contemporary footprints over mine, for that should be the norm. With plenty of time to stare at my empty nest, one day I sat down to restate my life’s purpose. Past 65, what should be the purpose of my life?

An honest evaluation of the situation revealed that my wife could, live well without me, once she gets the hang of the mundane things I now claim I do. My children, well placed, need neither my advice nor support. I found myself saddled with a sense of purposelessness. It dawned on me that all through my life, I had only been setting goals, and proudly calling the long-term ones, my life’s purpose. They helped me chart a course moored to the value systems I had internalised. It also ensured I retracted when I strayed. Yet they were merely the desired destinations in time. They also gave my existence a sense of exclusivity. It mattered only to me. No one else saw and felt the halo around me. It took me 65 years to realise that, shorn of that self-ordained exclusivity, life’s purpose had no meaning. 

Has anyone ever heard of the mighty lion setting goals, or living to fulfill his life’s purpose? Has anyone ever heard the Redwood tree (Sequoia sempervirens) or the Douglas Fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) broadcasting, from the skies above, how much of their life’s purpose has been achieved? Imagine, left alone both the species easily live very long. There are known cases where some redwood trees reached the age of 2000 and some Douglas Firs lived more than 1000 years! 

We are just one of the billions of species on the earth. We have self-assigned a special place amongst other inhabitants and think we are at the top of the food chain. While that notion may provide a sense of superiority, we are hopelessly dependent on all the other species for survival. Pitted one-on-one against other species, we are utterly defenceless and fare badly in survival capabilities. Yes, our ability to fantasise, imagine, record them, and pursue our dreams to fulfilment sets us apart. Setting goals does help but evaluating one’s life on the number of goals achieved may turn detrimental to happiness. Focussed on destinations and committed to quantifying life’s journey we deprive ourselves of the beauty of the journey called life. We must set goals to pursue but not at the cost of living happily. 

Knowing that time is not on my side anymore, and with no pressure to prove anything to anyone including me, I try to make every moment full and happy. I have learned to be patient, and forgiving. Call it age-gifted wisdom, now I let things be and have trained myself to draw positives even from toxic people and situations. I have lived the last seven years without any purpose in life. Yet, I authored two books, wrote for newspapers, published many articles, trained corporate executives, spoke at events, and even became a director in a technology start-up. I love travelling. I deploy my savings and earnings to enjoy life. I stretch every minute and every penny to soak in the maximum. If I had to pen down my life's achievements, I could do it in one sentence. "My wife and I brought into this world, two children whom we groomed to be independent, capable, compassionate  and contributing members of the society." Everything else was incidental. I summed up my 65 years to her. 

“Dad, does that mean doing good, bad, and evil make no difference in life? If short-term gains define our happiness, what incentivises being good to others? Are we not back to the ways of the jungle?  What is life without a purpose?” 

She had been listening to every word I spoke. I wanted to ask her if something was wrong, but I desisted. She demanded an answer, and I had to give it, to the best of my abilities and without counterquestions.

“Child, we are getting mixed up between the means and the end. Imagine eating from a dirty plate with dirty hands when we have the option of eating with clean hands and from a clean plate. The choice rests with us.” 

We live with the mistaken notion that having travelled far from the jungle, we have become civilised. Animals kill for the right to eat and mate and nothing more than that. The hierarchy within a pride or herd revolves around these two elements. Animals also kill to foreclose competition. Humans kill for different reasons and with far-reaching consequences. Most pogroms across the globe started as someone’s life’s purpose. The ‘by any means’ school of thought justifies means with the ends. I hold a different belief system. My happiness and growth have not been at the cost of someone else’s right to life or opportunity. I feel I am more content than many of my competitors.

Success and failures are part of life. Whatever we may accumulate or achieve accompanies us for a short time. The euphoria of success wears out very fast. Even our name and fame do not last long. In the long run, we all are dead and forgotten for sure. Public memory is infamously short and easily manipulated. When regimes change, history gets rewritten, heroes are branded villains and villains get glorified as heroes. Nothing is static. Absolutely nothing should be taken for granted. We must be led by our moral compass and how that compass adapts to our immediate surroundings is a choice we must make. Happiness is something we must find within us. We do it by the choices we make and choices differentiate people. 

“Something to ponder over,” she said.

“Yes; something for all of us to ponder over,” I replied.

 

 

 

 

THE OTHER SIDE OF LOOKING THE OTHER WAY

 

Look the other way, is an idiom unlike any other. It does not catch much attention but easily hurts. Looking the other way allows immoral or illegal acts but its benign version, which could mean many more things like, avoid, ignore, desert, abandon, let down etc, could be immensely painful to those looked away from. The literal meaning of looking the other way is straightforward as the words suggest; looking in the opposite direction. Our roads play host to both literal and literary versions of it. 

Pedestrians across the world have the right of way. In many countries, pedestrians can cross the road, only at the zebra lines. If the light is not in their favour they wait or push the pedestrian button to allow them to cross. If pedestrians push the pedestrian button, they get the green to cross and the light goes red for motorists. People crossing like that wave at the motorists signalling gratitude.

Pedestrians at home are more empowered. They cross roads and motorways at will. They do not have to signal gratitude because they can remotely apply the brakes in our cars with their palms. Some jump over the railing erected to prevent random crossings. The more steel-willed and philanthropic ones go a few steps beyond. They alter or manipulate the railings or barriers to allow unhindered rights for everyone to cross. If you notice pedestrians crossing the roads here, you will find many crossing the road looking the other way. Having outsourced their safety to the goodness of the unknown motorists, they deliberately do not make eye contact. They just look the other way. Risks of tail bang notwithstanding, a few drivers screech to stop while most continue because they are skilled enough to evade the moving two-legged obstacle or too lazy to apply the brakes. The unmindful hero gets to live another day to look the other way because the drivers chose not to look the other way. 

Looking the other way is rarely that detached and removed. There is a painful side to it, especially if it happens in relationships. All of us would have experienced it sometime in life. Irrespective of the pain inflicted, the incident often leaves us baffled with the question, “How could he?” or “How could she?” One only needs to recall the incident to realise how it felt then. At times even time cannot lessen the trauma and its aftermath. There would be nobody in this world who would not have experienced this feeling. 

There is a flip side too. If you feel, you have been at the receiving end of this traumatic experience from someone else, there would be people around you who would have received similar treatment from you. It is so common and sometimes so subtle we may not even realise we have inflicted injuries worse than the worst we suffered.

There is good news. The damage in such cases is self-inflicted and therefore treatable. Cannot believe it? That is because you are not looking at the other side of their looking the other way.  Such experiences arise when people do not react or perform the way we expect them to. The more one expects, the higher the chance of shortfall and the more bitter our experience. This discussion of expectation and response is not related to setting work-related targets and their delivery but to human behaviour in social and interpersonal transactions.

It may do us good if we truthfully ponder over the latest heartbreak we experienced. In most cases, we likely assumed that the person would deliver what we expected, without telling the person what we expected. What about those instances when we tell people what we expect from them? We often expect without consideration of their competencies, compulsions, or circumstances. The converse is also equally true.   

We may be at a loss to explain why someone suddenly felt offended by us. Check!  We would not have known what they expected from us and in the absence of such knowledge, we might not have lived up to their expectations. In most cases, they would not have even demanded something from us but merely expected us to respond as they desired. The intensity of the let-down is immense when the relationship is intimate because we take it for granted the other person knows us well enough to rise and respond.

Sometimes, poor, inadequate and even adverse response is deliberate and malafide. Such numbers, unfortunately, are on the rise. One should be wise enough to differentiate between the intentional and the inadvertent. When people take our goodness in relationships for granted, we should sever and cut losses. A heartache for a short while is far better than feeling used and abused in toxic relationships. It may be kindness, to ask them for reasons. The heinous of the lot will deny even the existence of such an act. It is better to keep them at the farthest possible distance. Sometimes, we need to keep them around regardless of their response. After all, roses don't come without thorns.  

Now that we know, there is another side to someone looking the other way, it could open new avenues to renewing our relationships. 

Let me add a caveat. Tread with caution!

 

Mortui Vivos Docent. - The Dead Teach the Living

 

We left our hotel in the morning and drove to the museum in Haroldswick. It was a long drive that included two ferry rides, one from Toft to Ulsta and one from Gutcher to Belmont to reach cold and windy Muness to see the remnants of a castle. There was hardly anyone around and when we came across someone, an occasional car, or a small group of cycling enthusiasts, we waved at each other earnestly. My wife and I were with Dr Abe and Dr Elizabeth vacationing in the Shetland Islands, an archipelago in Scotland, the northernmost region of the UK.

It was cold, windy, and wet. I love visiting museums and old buildings. Museums, for many, are like cemeteries, resting places for relics, reminders of tragedies and some made-up stories. Museums, to me, are roads to the past and windows to the future.  I call it, ‘Mortui Vivos Docent.’ or 'The dead teach the living', a phrase I picked up from a book I read recently. In Latin, ‘mortui’ means ‘dead,’ ‘vivo’ means alive, and ‘docent’ means ‘guide or teach.’ Pathologists of the yore thus justified cadaver dissection. When I leave a museum, at times after spending the whole day, I feel very enriched and connected.

Every piece in the museum is a cadaver of sorts. For those inclined to listen, each exhibit is an unsaid story. For those who can visualise, exhibits can become the means to a journey in time to the generations before us and witness their struggles, trials, and tribulations and their triumphs or failures. Each boat, fishing tool, and other items on display that day had an individual story to narrate. Collectively it was a moving story of grit, grime, sweat, blood, and triumph. I could visualise the noisy landings of the herring-laden boats, the splashing sounds of countless feminine hands and the unkind words of their masters. I could hear them haggling about their wages and smell their smoky cabins. I could see some beautiful eyes sparkling through weatherbeaten faces and sense romance even amid hardships. I was there experiencing the poverty and misery of a people and their undying hopes kept alive by indomitable will.  The sunset well after 10 at night helped us with a day far longer than I had ever seen. The next day we spent time in Lerwick museum. In the three days we stayed on the Island, I travelled back in time, two centuries. I was amazed at the way the museum had been curated. some of the places I visited were run mostly by volunteers. It was a treat to the eyes. I recalled my trips to museums back home and the difference in how we maintain and curate relics.

We set sails, out of Lerwick in the evening and berthed at Aberdeen as the day broke. The next day we pulled into the car park of an inn at Bradon Mill, Hexham, to commence our walk to The Hadrian Wall. Running over 73 miles, it was built on the lines of the Great Wall of China, on the orders of Emperor Hadrian way back in AD122, to demarcate and guard his borders. It was built during the ascend of the great Roman Empire, known for its strong legal and administrative systems. Over time the state acquired unquestioned authority over the people. Corruption became rampant. Unable to cope with it, people looked for alternative socio-political and religious systems, setting in motion the fall of the Roman Empire. One thing led to another and the great Empire bit the dust. The Hadrian Wall, the largest Roman archaeological feature in England, remains a testimony to the rise and fall of the Empire.

Standing next to the wall, or its remnants, I was transported 1900 years back to witness the mighty Emperor's perception of threat and how he planned to secure his kingdom. An audacious construction for those times, rudimentary and primitive for contemporary defence, the wall hit me hard with the realisation of the transient nature of our authority and how irrelevant our wealth of material possessions becomes with time. The memory of a powerful emperor, once the world under his feet, now rests on a lifeless piece of primitive stonework. The beauty of the area around me captivated me so much that I forgot about the wall, standing next to it. That much for the ancient authority!

On our climb down the hill, I realised that our assets or authority neither make us immortal nor guarantee eternity. Men of intellect like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle with hardly a material belonging, are revered far beyond all rulers of the past combined. This is one reason why despots attempt to manipulate history while they reign, little realising the futility of trying to make or alter history. 

“Memento mori, quare ne obliviscaris vivere,” a Latin phrase translated literally: “Remember you must die, therefore do not forget to live,”  is the lesson I learnt.

 

A Bridge to Nowhere

 

Colonel Kochu Koshy Panicker, my colleague in the army, hero of many an action, and rightfully a gallantry award winner, organised the day-long contributory cruise in the Ashtamudi Lake.  ‘KK’ is an excellent organiser. Once he takes on something, expect nothing less than the perfect. As his boss, I fearlessly delegated tasks to him and sat back without worries. I attribute my rise in ranks to teammates like him.  KK is special. He smiles even when under severe work pressure. Dr Santy, his wife, an academic, is his strength. With them around, possibilities are endless.  

On the 4th of May, I drove 95 KM one way from my home with my wife and two of my grandchildren and stayed the night with the Panickers. The next morning, my wife, grandchildren, and Dr Santy travelled with me another 21 KM to join the cruise, KK and his team had organised. KK had left early to tie up things. There are a lot of houseboats in Kumarakom, that offer similar daylong cruises. This cruise, I knew would be special. 

I wanted my grandchildren to see, feel and learn first-hand, the camaraderie and oneness amongst us, the veterans. KK, Colonel CRM Nair, Colonel Madhu, and Major Rajendran did a great job organising it. Some people who promised to be on the boat did not join. It put a bit of additional monetary pressure on those who landed up but nobody complained. The juniors enjoyed every bit of the day and have not stopped talking about it ever since. They learned to conduct themselves, offer a helping hand to the elders, and be good community members. I came back with more than a cruise. 

“Look at that bridge,” someone called out aloud. There was a bridge, jutting out a long way from the land into the water but it had no signs of landing anywhere. “Must be under construction,” I said. “No,” someone replied. “It is the “bridge to nowhere.” Some of my fellow veterans, chipped in. Most of them settled in and around knew better. “A bridge that led nobody nowhere,” I thought. I took a close look and even clicked some photographs. “Appacha[1], why doesn't that bridge go anywhere?” asked my grandson. I told him that there must have been some constraints. 

I was curious to find out. I scoured the web for other brave engineers and authorities who made similar bridges to nowhere. I came across an Arch Bridge built in 1936. It spans the East Fork of the Gabriel River and was meant to be part of the road connecting the San Gabriel Valley with Wrightwood, California. The project was abandoned due to a flood.  Trekkers enjoy using the bridge even now. There was also the mention of an old Bridge in Kentucky. When the bridge was made, it connected two pieces of land and people used it. It is now in disuse.  There was yet another Bridge. It was proposed to connect the town of Ketchikan in Alaska with Gravina Island which had an International Airport and housed 50 residents. The proposal was also called the ‘bridge to nowhere. Initially expected to cost the exchequer $398 million, it was finally cancelled in 2015 on allegations of ‘pork barrelling[2]. Not even one brick was laid for this bridge. I also came across a movie with the same name. The 1986 New Zealand horror thriller is about a group of teenagers who fight for survival after encountering a mysterious hermit.  

The ‘Bridge to Nowhere’, near Thevally, Kollam is class apart and without parallel. I am not competent to discuss how this engineering marvel came into existence, the political reasons behind its creation, and the allegations surrounding its existence. What saddens me to no end, is that despite my search, I could not come across any proposal to mitigate this problem or to bring it into use at least for tourism purposes. Three things are clear. Firstly, it is a colossal, thoughtless, and criminal waste of public money. Secondly, it showcases the impotence and inability of the public to hold their representatives to account. Thirdly, it shows the rot and deterioration that has infected contemporary society with the “Why should I? Let someone else do it” attitude[3].  Till they demolish it or find ways to use it, ‘The Thevally Bridge to Nowhere’ shall remain a monument to the unquestioned lack of accountability authorities enjoy due to the public’s attitude to gross irresponsibility. 

It is just one of the very few visible ‘bridges to nowhere’, while we live amidst countless invisible bridges to nowhere. ‘Bridges to Nowhere’ amongst us? 

We would have come across people, who despite our best efforts and intentions neither connect nor reciprocate. Intentionally or unintentionally, even we might have refused to connect. Denial would be our first response. Just try and recall instances when someone waved at you or greeted you and you knowingly did not respond! You did not allow their bridge to land on your shores! It could have been driven by some compulsions or ego. That cannot be called afflictions. Such acts seldom go unrewarded. 

The afflicted are those who closet themselves and do not allow any bridge to reach them however hard others may try. Incidentally, it could be an early sign of depression. On the other hand, there are many bridging experts around us. They thrive on retractable bridges.  They put out a bridge when they need something from others or allow other bridges to land only when they see some use of the other bank in the near future. They are crafty, manipulative, selfish, and mean. They will somehow find ways to land their bridge whenever they want. We would be familiar with at least a few in our neighbourhood. 

Bridges connect two distant banks of a gap that otherwise would have remained separated and isolated. Multi-span bridges stand testimony to the difficulty and complexity of connecting distant banks; the further the banks, the more challenging the efforts. Even in life, it is the same; the more emotionally distant someone is, the more difficult to connect with them. One may need a few steps forward, to connect, the first few could elicit no response. 

The importance of the banks on both sides of the gap that will take the landings cannot be left unsaid. If the banks are not strong enough to take the landing, the entry and exit load, especially that of heavy vehicles, will soon render the bridge unusable. In life also, it is like that.  Individuals, the banks, need to be strong enough to take on the demands of the other end of interpersonal relationships. Expectations can ruin the bridge. Keeping account of give and take is akin to injecting toxins. Many a marriage flounder because the landings on either side are not strong enough to take the expectation loads. 

The day before I had an incidental discussion on the subject with a quick-witted former colleague of mine, now commanding a unit. “Sir, technically isn't, nowhere also somewhere?” she asked. It made me think. Yes. Nowhere is also somewhere. When ‘nowhere’ becomes the ‘somewhere to be’ for someone everywhere and always, that person might already be a recluse or one fast in the making. It is a deliberate choice of cutting oneself off from others. Do not mistake it for ‘personal space’. Yes, ‘nowhere’ can be a chosen destination for solitude. Most people mistake loneliness for solitude. When nowhere becomes the destination, people deliberately retract all the bridges and destroy the home-bank landing. On the other hand, there are people, who long for bridges to land on their shores but do not know how to initiate the works. Their hand wave may not look enthusiastic, their smile may be incomplete, or their body language may not be welcoming enough. It is there we must put our spans forward manifold and reach out. Who knows, there may be a gold mine, a heart of gold, waiting to be won. 

Modern means of communication have shrunk the world, into, what people call, a global village. But sadly, while geographical distances are being bridged either physically or remotely, more and more people are retracting their bridges and withdrawing deep into their own shores in the guise of finding personal spaces. Our efforts to span relational gaps can prevent bridgeable gaps from turning into chasms. 

Beyond the memories of chilled beer, good food and great company the “Thevally Bridge to Nowhere” gave me a few lessons for life.  I shall wave and smile as always but my eyes will be quicker to spot the bridge looking to land.

Even you can…

 

PS. 

1.       Over the last two days, I have been going to the local swimming pool with my grandchildren for their swimming classes. I know smiles are the first step to launching the bridge of friendship. I have already made  new friends. Among them, a doctor, an IT engineer and a business man, all there to teach their children swimming.

2. If you like the article, do subscribe to it. It costs you nothing but means a lot to me. You could reciprocate my attempts to bridge with you through my written works. 

3. Consider expressing your views in the comments section. I assure you of a response. if you have personal queries please address it to my mailbox jacobtharakanchacko@gmail.com

---

[1] Appacha’ - That is how my grandchildren address me.

[2] ‘Pork barreling’. It refers to the act of a legislator taking away a lot of money to service just his constituency. It also denotes spending too much for too little in return.

[3] I will be flagging this to the local authorities and also asking people whom I know in the locality about my idea of finding alternative uses if it can’t proceed further.

The Regulation Holdall and a Lesson for Life

 

In the initial years of my army service, I travelled by train like all other army officers. When I travelled on duty, the regulation ‘holdall’ was my companion. It was a masterpiece of utility. It held my things together throughout the journey. It took on a small mattress, my military boots that could never find space elsewhere, and all the other unwieldy stuff required to be carried along. There was a way to pack it.

I first spread the mattress, put a blanket and two sheets folded to size, spread the mosquito net, flipped the covers over, and tied the laces through the three eyeholes provided. Unwieldy things were then shoved into the compartments at the two ends. The holdall was now ready for the makeover.  I rolled the holdall tight, into a cylindrical entity and tied it with the attached leather belt that went through a big leather handle. It was the strongest thing in leather I have ever seen other than the saddle. My orderly was a great help. Over time I learnt to reduce what I carried along and we became experts in compressing the holdall into a sleek cylindrical piece of luggage. It did not matter whether it was dragged, carried, or even dumped anywhere. Thieves did not want it because it was unwieldy to run away with and it was not worth being sold in a flea market.  It became my bed in railway waiting rooms and my sofa on the platform when I waited for the train that promised to arrive in ‘some time.’  Occasionally, I deposited my holdall in the railway cloakroom giving me time and freedom to explore places around the railway station.  Times have changed.  I retired from service. I do not know if the holdall is still a regulation supply item. I hardly see anyone with it.  

My holdall was neither classy nor good looking but it took on everything a bachelor possessed. Most modern suitcases would shudder to consider the stuff my holdall could accommodate. It handled the favourable and weathered the inclement equally well. It gathered a lot of scars but was still as useful as ever. It became more accommodative and flexible as it aged. Finally, it looked big or small depending on how well I rolled and bound it. The coolie, I hired at the station to carry my holdall, often complained that it weighed much more than it looked. Once I landed at a station at an unearthly hour and found no one to help me with my luggage.  I was not kind to my holdall, lifting, dropping, and dragging it.  I had a delicate suitcase to take care of. My holdall picked up a few tears but delivered my stuff safe and sound. My holdall carried a beautiful lesson. I recognise it only now. Wisdom comes with age! The wise say, “Better late than never.”  

The first bag I owned was an airbag. It carried my stuff, mostly snacks from home to the school hostel. The snacks did not last more than a day amidst growing boys. The bag found space in the dormitory cloakroom. It came out again only when I went home on vacation. I lugged a few textbooks that I did not read anyway. I wanted to show my father I was serious with my studies, though my report card said otherwise. Years later I became the proud owner of a classy wheeled moulded suitcase, the one I bought from the Army canteen with my first pay. I have vivid memories of both these pieces.  

They were both beautiful to look at but had limitations to what they could take in and carry. One day the zip of the airbag gave way. Those days we could repair bags. After repair, it looked good enough. Soon both the zip and the handle gave up. I think it gave up because it could not bear to carry meaningless loads anymore. I do not remember what happened to it.

The suitcase was a bit different. The wheels of my proud possession could not take the rough of the railway platform and gave up one day. It limped through the journey back to the unit. There I knocked the wheels off and continued to use it for a few more journeys. I could always find a Coolie at the station. Sleeker and better-looking suitcases were already in the market. One day the hinges gave way when I tried to push in things I thought, the suitcase could hold. I put it away in the attic of my quarters for some time. I do not recall where it vanished. 

Life is like that. We can choose to be a holdall, an airbag, or a suitcase! Our looks, connections, wealth, and social mobility do not matter. Some good-looking, stylish people you see around may not be as happy as they seem.  Many of those laughing in public necessarily may not be happy. They may be putting on that face, out of compulsions while breaking up within. Looks can be deceptive. They may be like bags with broken zippers or missing handles, or suitcases with broken wheels or cracking hinges or locks. We may not know. 

Life is a journey that throws up the unexpected and at the most inappropriate time the unwanted. It will always be so. What matters is our ability to take in what life gives, organise it and pack those such that we are not held back in our journey.  The trick lies in separating the ones that we need, the ones that we are forced to carry, and the ones we can discard. When held within limits, time heals even the most terrible things. What we cannot discard has to find compartments so that they do not divest us of the freedom of movement.  The job becomes far easier if we can detach ourselves from what we do not want and discard those at the first instance. Often it is not as easy as it sounds.   

Some memories, especially of losses, heartbreaks, unmatched expectations, unkept promises, and treachery are so hard to forget, that we compulsively carry them even though the stench of the putrefied experience is unbearable. We forget that the putrid attracts maggots. It consumes us from within. Redemption lies in finding the strength to throw out garbage. In many cases, the requirement may be just a stitch or two. At times, it may be difficult to detach and discard on one's own. We can always find someone who can give a patient ear and suggest ways without being judgemental. Together, we can spread our holdall, and prepare for the journey ahead.  

Yes. The scars could be deep, but it is still better than being consumed by one’s sorrows.  

This article was spurred by a friend's response to my reel titled “Creating Memories.”  This is my answer.

My gratitude to one of my brothers in arms who posted this photo on the social media group.

 

MAYDAY, MAYDAY - ENTITLEMENT AND OBLIGATION

“Workers of the world Unite! You have nothing to lose, but your chains!” The call remains the most reverberating takeaway from the communist manifesto of 1848. It inspired and continues to inspire millions across the world, in far more different ways than it was first intended to. “May Day” presents the best opportunity to evaluate where the slogan has taken us.  

I grew up hearing the musical version of the slogan, penned by the famous poet and lyricist Vaylar Rama Varma for the Malayalam hit film, Thulabharam. “Nashta peduvan vilangukal, kittanullathu puthiyoru lokam” (Nothing but the chains to lose, and to gain, a new world). The song played a significant role in irrevocably changing Kerala's socio-economic and political landscape. Almost all political meetings and processions, especially the left-leaning ones, played this song. There was a sense of romanticism attached to the movement. Many educated and influential people adopted communism and it took deep roots in Kerala. Overnight, tenants became owners without having moved even a little finger and many a landowner found their assets seized by the government and given to those who tilled the land till the day before. Social reengineering was quick at work! Those at the bottom rungs of the socio-economic ladder assumed a sense of entitlement. Anybody with land and property became the class enemy. It seemed they all had become rich at the cost of the poor. The society suddenly appeared to turn benign and undo wrongs committed over centuries. It benefitted many and for those who lost, nobody cared.  

My cousins and I grew up in a well-off household. Empathising with the underdog was romantic. Naive, insensitive, and ignorant of the significant loss of land suffered by the family, we walked around the house playing “jatha” (procession) holding banana leaves in place of flags, shouting slogans and singing Vaylar’s song. Looking back, I admire the generosity and tolerance of those who let us be, despite their painful losses.  

Things soon started to change. Collective bargaining, a tool that ensured just wages and prevented exploitation became a potent weapon for reverse coercion and exploitation. Employers found themselves at the mercy of employees. Employees organised themselves into trade unions and sought entitlements, often unbelievably impractical and sure to kill the establishment. Trade unions vied with each other to milk the last possible penny from the ‘class’ enemy. Investors and employers were no match to the might of the collective with mindless demands. Cashew and coir once the biggest employment avenues of the state withered. Industrial production dwindled. Fields that once reverberated with folk songs fell silent. Agriculture became unprofitable and unsustainable. It just withered. My father sold all his paddy fields and coconut farms. He continued cultivating tapioca but that too, he stopped because he got fed up with suffering losses. I grew up and happened to read George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” once again. This time I had a different understanding of the book and my society.  

Soon, jobs dwindled, domestic opportunities dried up and people started migrating for work. Luck favoured Keralites. Successive governments had focussed on education. Keralites had become literate. Nowadays, literacy is not even distantly related to rationality or education. When job opportunities were drying up at home, the Gulf boomed. It was a trickle in the beginning, then it became a torrent. The educated, the semi-educated, the literate and illiterate, skilled and unskilled, alike found jobs in the Gulf. People migrated for work in thousands. Remittance initially in drops, soon became a torrent.  

The lack of job opportunities did not initially worry people. There was money to make in the Gulf. Any job there was acceptable. Although remunerations started depleting people did not mind it because when it reached home, money multiplied as the rupee depreciated. The landscape soon changed. Construction boomed, and consumerism driven by inflows flourished.  The state now depends heavily on the neighbouring states for food and the East and Nort-East for labour. Unions still have their ways of making a killing. Gawking fees remain the norm despite denials. Kerala is now a confirmed consumer society. 

Now, jobs are hard to come by and youngsters are leaving the state for good. Every junction in the state has huge advertisements by various agencies promising different ways to get out of the state and country for good. Most of them, take loans mortgaging the only property to get out hoping to strike it rich. Many with good jobs and steady incomes also leave the country. Most end up at the bottom of society in an unfamiliar destination, all by choice. Sadly, ego does not allow them to return. Even if they want to, there is nothing worthwhile to return. 

In evolved societies, the public at large is aware of individual entitlements. It helps them demand their dues from the government and service providers. The public holds legislators to account. Back home, free ration, unemployment wages, and free medical care have made laziness lucrative. Everyone is vying to get what they feel they are entitled to.

Obligation is the other side of entitlement. When the sense of entitlement is not accompanied by a matching sense of obligation, problems will creep up. It applies to organised societies, organisations big or small, families and even interpersonal relationships. Look around. We can find fault lines within organisations, families and relationships. 

Most organisational problems can be pinned to imbalances between entitlements and obligations. Some people are seen to enjoy entitlements without matching obligations while some are more obligated than entitled. Trade unions and vested interests find space to exploit the afflicted and the organisational hierarchy. It is the same in relationships. In the initial phase, the partner who feels less entitled and more obligated may overlook the disparity and even suffer silently for some time. In the long run, it is bound to create strains that can seriously and adversely affect the quality of the relationship. The silence of the afflicted party worsens the fault line and leads first to dysfunctional and eventually broken relations.

Entitlement-obligation imbalances, over time, become exploitative. Respect for established societal norms vanishes, first behind the curtains and then openly. Might, individual or collective, reigns. Law and order problems increase, and so do corruption and coercion. In interpersonal relations, unmatched entitlement -obligations lead to diminishing respect, slowly leading to emotional and physical abuse. When entitlement without obligation is the norm, society will experience anarchy, organisations will be short-lived and interpersonal relationships doomed. 

Mayday, Mayday! 

 

Venturi Effect- Profound Lessons from a Road Rogue

 

I was sitting at the back of the class and playing book cricket. Our Physics teacher was working hard on explaining the Venturi effect. “Remember! Energy is neither created nor lost. It gets converted from one state to the other,” he said. “No loss, no gain,” I found the concept interesting.  

Book cricket was my fiefdom. I made rules and decided when to start and finish the match. “Time for a drink break,” I told the cricketers, closed the book pitch, and gave all my ears to the teacher. “So, when the water in a pipeline comes across a choke point, the pressure inside the tube at the choke increases, and the velocity decreases. The moment it comes out of the choke, the pressure falls dramatically, and the speed of the water increases correspondingly. People designing the layout of long-distance pipelines incorporate it to install inline flow meters. It also makes sure that pipelines do not get clogged,” he said. Intuition told me it would be a sure question in the examination. I studied the part well.  Sure enough, the question was there. I answered well and got good marks for my answer. It helped me pass the examination. That day, the essentials of the Venturi principle became sedimented somewhere deep within me. 

Experimenting with life is integral to adolescence. When I was growing up, smoking was considered macho. I picked up smoking early in life and became a heavy smoker. One day, I decided to cut down on my nicotine intake. A friend suggested I use a filter cum cigarette holder. I could fix my cigarette into the pen-like filter and smoke.  

I learned from the manual that it used the Venturi principle to extract nicotine from cigarette smoke before it reached my lungs. The cigarette certainly looked longer, but the filter stole the punch from the smoke.  I opened the filter in the evening to clean it. It was one of the most repulsive sights. A thick, dark, brown, sticky substance stared at me from the filter hold. It was nicotine that would have otherwise gone into my lungs. I did not like the sight.  In two days, I stopped smoking cigarettes using the filter. I threw the filter away. It took me another 30 years to throw cigarettes away for good. Somewhere in between, I also forgot about the venturi.   

Last Sunday, I saw the venturi principle in action once again.  

The six-lane road was for three vehicles abreast in each direction. The median ensured it. When commissioned, the flyover and road would have drained the flow either way very fast. Over the years, the density and volume of vehicular traffic increased manifold. Now, it remains packed beyond capacity almost throughout the day. That Sunday, I was on the side heading for the airport or beyond. All traffic leaving Bengaluru (Bangalore) had to take this route. The flyover was crowded, with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Traffic moved at snail's speed.  

The left side of the flyover had a channel with two tails. The channel split into two tails about 50 meters from the entrance. One was a lean-mean left hook that served as the exit. It was wide enough to take just one vehicle. I was heading for it. The straight tail rejoined the main lane at the end of the flyover. The straight part was the problem. People on the mainline used it as a shortcut to overcome the congestion and join the main line ahead. Slow traffic creates unruly drivers. The slower the traffic, the ruder those inclined became. Vehicles ahead of me had already choked the entrance to the funnel. I had no option but to queue up because I had to take the exit. 

According to the rules of fluid mechanics, flow at the outer bend is faster than the flow at the inner bend. This law applies even to vehicular traffic flow. I use the lessons I learned in science classes in my daily life. I kept my car to the outer side of the funnel within the lane, directly facing the entrance and behind the car ahead of mine. I was sure I would be the one to enter the funnel whenever that car moved.  

The banks of a river define its course, and the laws of physics govern its waters. That day, “might is right” was the operative law on the road. Indian roads can be elastic beyond imagination. It can expand in any direction. One needs only to insert a tyre or nose of a vehicle. A new line will automatically take shape. Lanes lose significance or relevance.  It is not rare to see two-wheelers on the pedestrian path or cars nonchalantly coming against the flow, throwing one-way rules to the wind. 

The car on my right tried to nudge me to the left and out of the entrance. Then, from nowhere, a car came from the left, honking loudly, and stopped at about 60 degrees to the entrance. He then let his car roll into the gap between my car and the car in front. I knew he had got the better of me. He looked at me like the victor and let his car roll ahead. I saw a vicious, wicked smile on his face as he looked at me with contempt. He crawled ahead, and I rolled behind. When we reached the exit, he gunned his car ahead.  The road was empty. 

 

I continued driving behind him at my pace. There was enough space for everybody on the road. I could see the traffic light in the distance. I pulled up at the traffic light because it had turned red. The man who burned his tyres to race ahead was there. I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. Then, two bikers snaked their way between our cars and parked right in front of his car. The light turned green. I could hear him honk loudly, even as I rolled ahead.  

Life is like that. There are many people around us taking shortcuts and gaining short-term advantages. They are in perpetual competition with everybody and for everything. They derive happiness in victories they notch up, even when insignificant.  It is how they find self-esteem and realisation. Life is nothing beyond a race from one traffic light to the next. It is beyond them to comprehend that life is a marathon.  When it is time for reckoning, they often find people they had left behind through unscrupulous means and manipulations standing ahead, relaxed, smiling, and happy.  

Reflecting on what happened, I recalled my teacher’s words. There is no loss of energy, just a change of form. How true, I thought. We waste a lot of energy daily on competitions that we create unwittingly. Maybe it is time to pause and look at the road we took so far. Did we edge someone out only to find them overtaking us at some traffic light ahead? 

Qualifications or “Callification,” Selection and Retention Criterion

 

Endless Efforts

 

“Callification?” Your efforts to find out what it means in the dictionary shall go in vain. I just made it up.  Patiently read through it; you will know what it means.   

The three submersible pumps working continuously and in tandem could not fill the colony’s overhead tank. The employees kept the pump running. One pump ran dry far too long and burned itself out. The open well also ran dry. They told no one. Why should they? They had nothing to lose. I noticed the unusual activity and enquired. This had been going on for a few days. It should not have. 

I did a quick calculation of the flow rates of the pumps, the capacity of the community tank, and the tanks over the individual houses. Considering the endless efforts of the pumps, all the overhead tanks should have been filled and overflowing. It did not happen. I concluded that there must be a leak somewhere in the pipeline. The large amount of water that leaked out must have gone under the foundation of somebody's house. People seemed to be oblivious to the potential losses and damage. 

Stimulus 

“Let us check the pipeline to identify and plug the leak,” I suggested. “You have no qualifications to decide what is wrong with the water distribution system,” came the only response in the group. I was not surprised. I did not expect anything different from that individual. Did the crass response stem from deep-rooted prejudice germinated in ignorance? 

Ignorance? The individual had never bothered to ask me about my qualifications or experience. He could not have known about my academic or professional qualifications.  I did not have to revisit the lessons in fluid mechanics or applied engineering or fall back on my experiences in managing the civic amenities of one of the biggest cantonments to understand the elementary science problem. I also did not have to rack my brain to remember my lessons in missile technology. After all, determining why an overhead tank refuses to fill up is no rocket science.  

Prejudice? Prejudice is a platform internally constructed by an individual using preconceived notions about individuals, groups, or even things. The result of a “taught” or “thought” concept, it invariably becomes a subconscious driver. It influences, often negatively, everything an individual thinks, says, or does. We all carry prejudices of some sort and tend to use broad-brushed templates in our thoughts, and actions. Some amongst us make it obvious and take it to obnoxious levels. Prejudice is the result of our inability or unwillingness to reason out within ourselves. If we sit down and dispassionately analyse our conversations and the decisions we have taken over time, we should be able to spot the prejudices underpinning them. 

Many believe that the job of the Army is to only guard the country’s borders. They think that everybody in the army stands in rows along the borders preventing people from crossing over. Some feel the Army is all about marching and doing physical exercises in the morning to prepare themselves for a duel at the border and doing sentry duty. They ask, “What does the army do when there is no war?” They cannot fathom the extent to which officers of the Indian Army toil on various contemporary academic and professional subjects. Their mobility up the hierarchy ladder is largely linked to their performance in these tests. Unfortunately, such injurious ignorance is prevalent even amongst the “supposed to be” well-read.  

Response 

I was angry and instinctively wanted to respond in the same coin.  The wisdom that age, exposure, experiences, and knowledge bestowed on me forbade me from stooping down. I decided to deny traction to the foul mouth. His response, however, triggered a much deeper thought. I am, by nature, given to analyse the ‘why and how’ behind every ‘what’ I see or experience. Why did he say that? Nobody does anything once. There is always a pattern and they leave a trail. He did. 

Besides his prejudice, which I was aware of, there must be an underlying belief that prompted the response. In possession of a professional degree, he had given himself to the belief that formal qualifications define an individual’s competence and his place in society. It showed in his generally loud and contemptuous behaviour. Unfortunately, there are many like him, enslaved by similar beliefs. This misplaced belief has forced people to obtain fancy qualifications by whatever possible means. It is common knowledge that people adopt illegal means to secure academic degrees. Some go to the extent of even buying doctorate degrees. Esteem somehow seems tagged to the few letters that find a place after an individual’s name. Do formal qualifications denote competence?   

Understanding “Callification” 

The discussion does not in any manner advocate the thought that an educational degree is a waste of time. One needs to have the basic requisite educational qualification. Mere possession of the qualification, however, is no guarantee of the presence of expected skills or the aptitude to apply the acquired knowledge. If an educational degree defines comparable competence, two equally qualified professionals like chefs, doctors, economists, fashion designers, lawyers, or musicians, should all demonstrate comparable performance. This is not the case. 

Everyone gets the initial foothold into a profession using the few letters representing a mandated educational degree. It may also be the inescapable requisite for career progression. Degrees merely indicate that the person has cleared a qualifying examination, by whatever means. The marks obtained by the person do not in any manner indicate his proficiency. It merely shows how well he fared in recalling answers to the questions, which in turn was anyway a matter of probability. This gives the individual the required ‘qualification’ to secure entry to an organisation or a job. Once an entry has been obtained, they need to perform in the role assigned. In performance, the difference between grain and chaff lies in “callification.” Without callification, however, smart one may be, one cannot make lasting Impressions in the field one has chosen. 

“Callification,” is the calling from within. If a person has a calling from within to be in a profession, then the quality of the work, he or she gives the organisation and the impact the person makes easily stand out from the rest. They are normally so self-motivated that they only need to be told the end state, not the how. Team leaders can easily distinguish between those driven by qualification and fired by “callification.” 

Selection Criterion 

Recruitment is now mostly an outsourced activity. Recruiters and head hunters are guided by the selection criteria template provided by the client. They look only at the qualification and track record of the prospective resource because they have no means to determine the callification.  Team leaders at all levels would love to have those fired by “callification” because it makes achieving goals easy. Many “callified” people are considered mavericks and leaders unsure of themselves may be loath to have them around. 

One of the common responses I get to most of my articles is, “What is the remedy?” There is no panacea for HR problems. It must be tailored to suit each situation. I cannot help HR professionals or those involved in making policies on selection, career progression, attrition,
and retention, by prescribing any means to determine if someone has the “callification” that they are looking for. I certainly know of a CEO who goes to great lengths to look for it.  

The CEO 

The qualification required to get on to the organisational roll is just an engineering degree. The degree guarantees the prospective candidate only an opportunity to sit for an examination conducted by the firm.  The exam unlike entrance processes adopted by many other firms focuses mostly on the application of knowledge that the qualification was supposed to have provided the candidate with. It also evaluates the ingenuity and adaptability of the candidate. 

Once a candidate gets through the written gateway, he or she faces an interview. According to the CEO, they look for the “spark” in the candidate. Talking to the CEO, I understand that the candidate reveals the presence or absence of the “spark” they are looking for within the first five minutes of the interview. The candidates call it the “desire to do something special” and I now call it “callification.” The candidate’s lack of communication skills does not become a barrier in this determination process.  It is a vibe, a feel that the candidate sends across and one that can easily be picked up by the discerning. The firm attributes the almost 100% retention of the resources to that spark or callification. The firm has been growing, in size and business. 

With no malice to recruiting agencies and professional head hunters, third-party recruitment may always ensure qualified resources, not “callified” ones.  Organisations staffed by “callified” people can make even deserts bloom.