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.

A Table Full of Dishes ; Sanu Ki?

 Ubiquitous Affliction

“Sanu ki,” a usage in Punjabi, is both a phrase and an idiom. “Sanu” translates to “us” and “ki” means “what.” Together, it merely means “to us, what” or in other words “why bother?” Simply put it means “I don't care.” That is where it stops being a phrase. Depending upon the context, “sanu ki?” assumes many a meaning. Commencing from being a plain expression indicating disassociation, it can mean anything like irrelevance, irreverence, scorn, and at times the sublime state of acceptance of the inevitable. One needs to spend time with people who speak Punjabi to capture the essence of the “sanu ki” served. It can mean anything depending on how, when, and where it has been said and to whom it has been delivered.  The difference in tone can change the associated meaning. The versatility of this phrase or idiom is what caught my attention.

In Malayalam, my mother tongue, there are different versions of ‘sanu ki?” Starting from “namukku enthiru de? to “nammaku entho venam?” words, tones, etc continue to change as we travel up north, from the southern tip of Kerala.  I am sure there would be something equivalent in all languages and different versions, within the same language, depending on the local dialect. Irrespective of the language, or its local dialect they all essentially mean the same, “sanu ki?”

Harmless as it may sound, it can pack a deadly punch when it becomes an attitude. Some, having got away with it for some time, become “cordycyeped[i]” by this attitude. Irrespective of the size of the organisation or its field of operations, if even one member of the team becomes infected, then it is likely to spread to other members sooner than later, spelling disaster for the organisation.

Disaster Everyone Shut Their Eyes To

Established in 1985, Enron became a multi-billion-dollar behemoth. Everybody was sure about its future, or everybody thought so till it declared bankruptcy. The company was packed with talents. They were masters of the ruthless pursuit of profits. There was nothing stopping them anywhere and in whatever they attempted to do. Yet, Enron fell and when it fell, it fell like a pack of cards because something that talents could not prevent pulled it down from the inside.

Postmortem dissection revealed that a few at the top had lied deliberately and some around them colluded while the many other equally talented kept quiet about it. They all individually were afflicted with “sanu ki.” More than the greed of a powerful few at the top, the fall was ensured by the silence of many who could stop it but chose to abdicate. It is said that it is not the violence of the few that kills a society but the silence of the many. 

Cost of Collusion

Most of us find it difficult to speak up even when we know that the path or the decision being taken by the organisation, we are part of, is wrong. We could be worried that by speaking up we could be seen as anti-establishment, end up damaging hierarchical relationships, and spoil our chances within the organisation. Under such circumstances “sanu ki” is the path most of us normally choose. “Sanu ki” killed Enron. Dissection of organisational failures across the world would reveal that “sannu ki” was the ailment that finally killed all of them. If we look around, we can see many people within our families, organisations, and societies remorselessly abdicating their responsibility, to tell the truth. If we muster the courage to look within, we can see many instances where we too have abdicated. We can go to any extent to be seen to be nice without realising that if “sanu ki” can decimate organisations and societies it can destroy us too. The sad part of it, we actively collude with others either for favour or out of fear.

It is easy to compliment someone successful. It is easier to ignore a flaw and let it pass by when it does not impact us adversely. There are many who even at the cost of discomfort keep quiet when they see things go wrong. Most of us desist from giving the correct picture or feedback to those whom we know for fear of offending or spoiling the existing relationships. Anyone who musters the courage and gives suggestions that are contrary to what we believe in is considered offensive and even inimical. Most of us avoid such people.

On the receiving side when things have gone irredeemably beyond, the very same people who chose to be nice through silence would be the first ones to come forward with an “I told you so,” or an “I knew it.” We are conditioned to be nice to the extent of allowing our near and dear ones to fail. Luckily for this world, not everybody believes in sannu ki. Some do bite the bullet.

Bite The Bullet

Recently, on my social media page, I posted a picture of a few dishes laid out on a dining table. Many of my friends liked it and some even posted comments.

One message bucked the trend. "What do I make out of this Picture? What is it all about?" came the private message from my friend in Canada. What is so difficult in understanding a picture?" I thought. many had already seen, put their likes, and even commented. That was my instant response. I did not feel good at all. I tried to justify my act and refrained from giving any weight to his argument.

I had been blunt all my life. I had fallen foul with many for rightfully telling them what I thought was wrong with them or in what they did. Few well-wishers advised diplomacy. I tried but like all half-hearted attempts, it failed. I knew that many in the hierarchy avoided me because of my reputation. Interestingly, I was handpicked by two Director Generals only because of this reputation. I also rose in the hierarchy. I continued to be what I was. If I had chosen to be blunt then, I must give that right to others, now and always too.

After the initial discomfiture, I looked at the picture. He was correct.  Without context, the picture looked meaningless. If you want to understand how awful it was, just try switching on any Indian movie song sequence, preferably one that you have never seen before, switch off the audio, and try watching. I felt the same about the picture I shared without annotation. Most people who liked and commented on the picture must have given it their own context. Were they being kind or were they merely exercising their option of “sanu ki?” Either way, I was happy with all of them.

The Chinese Dinner My Daughter's
Mother-in-law so painstakingly
prepared for us 

On the other hand, here was a man who took time out very early in the morning, risking the friendly relationship we had forged over time, to tell me that I had fallen short. I knew it was straight from the heart and with the sole intent of correcting me regardless of what I felt. I immediately sent him a message of gratitude and made corrections to what I had done. I checked my previous posts. Most of them were without any reference to context, just like the movie song sequence that had no audio to accompany. They all had many likes and comments too. All my incomplete posts seem to have met with people who exercised their choice of  “sanu ki?” 

Today, people find it difficult to point out mistakes. Parents find it difficult to advise or correct even their own children for fear of repercussions. Imagine the damage we are inflicting on ourselves. We forget that “sanu ki” returns to bite.

Human Beings and Human Doings

Recently, a friend gave a talk about “human beings and human doings.” The content of the lecture is her intellectual property. The title set me thinking. I am convinced that it was ‘human doings’ that helped us evolve into human beings and it is in these very ‘doings’ that we, as a society or species, will either flourish or flounder. ‘Sanu ki’ goes against the grain of collective survival.

“To err is human,” didn't someone say? 

"To correct is even more human," I feel.

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[i] ‘Cordycyeped’ is a concept that I had discussed in my previous blog published on Jun 15, 2022. The link to it is given here.   

https://jacobshorizon.blogspot.com/2022/06/beware-you-could-be-cordyceped.html

You Too Can Prove Shakespeare Wrong

    

 

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The Evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones 

So let it be with Caesar.”

 

These lines came to me just out of the blue and with it, the name of Mr JS Iyer, one of my teachers. 

Act 3, Scene 2 of the Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar reverberates on stages the world over as the play itself or as part of elocution competitions in many schools and colleges. These lines did not mean anything to me beyond the next examination, those days. Strange, these lines had to come up while I was sitting in my study taking stock of life. I had just published my second book, "Dare Dream Different." With that, I checked off the 8^th of the 10 “things to do before I die,” a second time. I had drawn up that list in 1988. The paper on which the list was written could not stand its age and one day when I opened it to read, it just disintegrated. I know well the two I am still left to do.  

Thoughts have a strange way of making their presence felt. They come and go at their free will. I do not know why Antony’s speech came to the fore. It set me thinking. Is that the truth?  What about those who do good? Are they of relevance only till their graves? Are good deeds destined only for oblivion? 

Eulogies mean nothing to the dead. More of a social grace, it just adds to the frills of the spectacle called, funeral. Once the flow of eulogies from both eloquent and emotional speakers at the funeral ceases, the dead is nothing more than a memory.  Memories of people are fleeting but those of injuries, remain unobliterated. It always comes back with the same set of emotions. In an era where everybody is blaming someone dead long ago for the ills perceived today, Shakespeare, the visionary, was right. 

 

I am happily retired. I had a very successful run in my career. I did not reach the topmost position but I was considered. I blame no one for it. My bucket list is all done barring my desire to play the keyboard and obtain a pilot license. I have second thoughts on both but I have not given up. My book just got its first overseas sale. I was as happy as I could ever be. “The Evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.”  Why did this occur to me now?  How was it linked to Mr JS Iyer? Mr. Iyer taught Mathematics and not English. Suddenly, things fell into place and I solved the puzzle.

 

I vividly recalled the incident. It happened in Feb1975.

 

I was in the hostel of a residential school. It was a weekend. My father had come to visit me. I was in the 10^th class and did not show any signs of doing well in life. I do not know why; I could never sit through the full duration of an examination. I left when I thought I had written enough to pass. I scored just the pass marks in all the subjects right from the fifth standard till the tenth. There was nothing great about it but it allowed me to continue in the elite school, receiving the scholarship and free education. The board examinations were just one year away. Just passing meant nothing. Worse, it would be a loss of face especially when my cousin had passed out from the same school with honours. My father was naturally very worried.

 

We were standing at the highest point in the school from where two roads radiated down. I was at the lowest in my life and the road ahead for me was nowhere in sight. I could clearly see the dormitories in the distance and the parade ground below. There was neither any clarity about what destiny had in store for me nor did I have anything worth parading. My father was disturbed. He was counselling me and I had shut myself in. It was then I saw Mr Iyer cycling up the gradient. Those days most teachers could only afford cycles. I am sure, he must have seen worry written large on my father's face and mine too. He stopped. 

 

“Good evening, sir,” I said, as he came close enough. It was customary for students to wish their teachers whenever they met a teacher. It also helped me break the barrage from my distraught after. “Good evening, Jacob Tharakan,” he replied. “How are you Mr. Tharakan?” he asked my father.  My father opened his bag of woes about me in front of Mr Iyer. “I am worried about him,” said my father. After the little conversation, Mr. Iyer told my father, “Don't worry Mr. Tharakan, I can assure you that one day your son will make you proud. He has a great future. Take my word for it.” Mr. Iyer then mounted his cycle and went his way.

 

“He can say all that. He was only trying to console me. I find it difficult to believe it,” my father said. I liked what he said. I also knew that Mr. Iyer was being kind. “Maybe one day I will do well,” I said to myself. Later that evening, after my father had left, sitting with my friend Jayakumar, in the corner of the farthest football court, discussing our future, I started believing in what Mr Iyer said. Our discussions about what we would be became more meaningful. It changed the way I looked at myself. Mr. Iyer helped me change the way I looked at myself. It changed my life. Jayakumar later became a banker and I joined the Army.

 

I became an Army officer in 1981. I did very well in all the Army Courses. I became a Brigadier in 2010. One evening, sitting with my wife and enjoying our tea, I felt like calling up Mr Iyer. I managed to get hold of Mr. Iyer's number and dialled. I knew my call would be a surprise.  He had retired long back and must have been quite old. I had never tried to contact him before that. I was not sure if he would recall my name. “Good evening, sir,” I said when he picked up the phone. “Good evening, wait,” he said. I could immediately make out that he was trying to jog his memory. “Jacob Tharakan, Ashoka House, My son, Suresh’s classmate,” he said. He even called out my roll number. It was my turn to be surprised. 

 

“Sir, you still remember me?” I asked. “How better can a retired teacher spend his sunset years?” he said. He asked me everything about what I had done all these years. “I am very happy you remember your teachers. I am grateful you called. It made my day,” he said. He was emotional and so was I. “Sir, how can I forget you? I can forget anybody or anything in this world but not you. You trusted me when even I had lost faith in myself. I know my call is many years overdue. I called to thank you for what you have done for me,” I said. I must have spoken to him once or twice after that.  

 

Corporal punishment was the norm those days.  Some teachers let their anger loose on hapless children. Nobody questioned them. I have received some myself. Mr Iyer never hit or admonished any child. I never saw him getting angry. He was a gentle soul. He was not at the center of any alumni activities and never got the attention or recognition he deserved; not that I know of. He was a Guru, who did his job and faded away. I retired on the 31^st of July 2017 as a two-star general. Mr. Iyer passed away on the 19^th of Jul 2019.

 

I am not young anymore but I am surer about myself than ever before. I spend time telling stories to my grandchildren when they come to visit; just like my grandfather did when I visited him. This is one story I will tell them when I meet them next. The story of my teacher, Mr Iyer who proved Shakespeare was wrong.

 

Maybe with kindness and empathy, we too like Mr Iyer can prove Shakespeare wrong. Maybe our grandchildren can tell others how their grandparents proved Shakespeare wrong. Maybe, proving Shakespeare wrong can be the next item on our bucket list.

Two Telephone Calls The Redwood Trees and A Stamp Pad

 

The First Call

It was a call from a former colleague and friend. He was organising an event to get former army officers and their spouses together, on an informal platform. He and a coursemate of mine reached out to all the veteran officers. Their efforts bore fruits. Many officers confirmed their attendance. I presumed he called up to discuss something about the meeting. 

“Sir, I want you to give a talk on ‘group dynamics’ at the meeting, he requested. I could not decline. Each attendee had a distinguished career behind him. Most of them had commanded and led troops in operations. They were masters at keeping teams together and eliciting performance from them in the most trying circumstances. Their spouses had seen it all from very close quarters. Talking to them about team dynamics, I knew, was like showing a candle to the sun. 

I scoured the web for research papers on the subject. All the articles, I laid my hands on, were clinical in their approach. Those in the realm of behavioural sciences took the psychology and psychiatry routes. Papers dealing with management used medical, clinical, and industrial inputs to explain the why of everything. They prescribed how to increase organisational harmony, growth, and productivity. I wanted my talk to be something other than academic because I was to address men and women who risked their own lives for the safety, honour, and welfare of the country and the men they lead. I wanted my talk to connect with their hearts.

When urgency dictates responses, people normally choose easy fixes. I loathe it because such solutions invariably become residual problems that persist. I just dig deeper, strive harder, and normally succeed in coming up with solutions that don't become problems later. I have been lucky. My mind was hard at work. I had not yet come up with any interesting connection. 

The Second Call 

It was quarter past eight in the evening and bedtime was fast approaching. My mobile buzzed. The message was from one of my cousins. "Will you be at home on the 28th of September?" it said. "As of now; Yes," I responded. "Can I call," he asked. "Certainly," I replied. 

He was older than me and was more of an acquaintance than a cousin. Our childhood interactions were brief. We were next-door neighbours and also members of the same local club. Members of the club were a band of youngsters, all in the same age group, looking for adventure and fun. He came to the club only to play badminton and steadfastly stayed away from mischief we worked up. He was studious, focused, hardworking, detached, reserved, and determined to carve a niche for himself. I was part of all the mischief that we, friends, planned and executed unless they decided to pull one on me. 

After graduation, he pursued studies in engineering and secured a career with a prestigious company. When I graduated, I joined the Military Academy and became an army officer. We drifted apart and raised our own families. We met just twice or three times in the last 40 years. Social media opened up avenues to catch up with people and we found a place on each other's contact list but never contacted each other. His message, therefore was a surprise. 

My mobile rang. “It has been many years. I want to meet you, sit down, talk with you, and hug you. We all are running against time. I want to spend some time with you before it is late,” he said. I could sense the sincerity in his words. We agreed to meet on the 30th of September. My mind was still hard at work when I retired to bed. “Why did he call me up?” 

That night I had a strange dream. I saw a forest full of giant Redwood trees. The name ‘redwood tree’ lingered on. I got up from the bed and drank water. Redwood trees? The dream was about things alien to me. I went back to sleep. I dreamt of the Redwood trees again. 

The Redwood Trees

Normally, I find it difficult to recall dreams once I wake up. This dream refused to fade away. I had never been to any Redwood forests. Then, out of the blue, I recalled having read something about the redwood trees of California while I searched the net for places to visit in the USA. I searched again.

Redwood trees are amongst the tallest, biggest, and oldest trees in the world. Some trees are said to have a girth with a diameter of more than 20 feet. It withstands rot, fire, and pests. What is visible to the naked eye is not its actual strength but the manifestation of the real power that lies hidden beneath the surface. Storms and floods cannot fell a Redwood tree. They hold each other. I decided to make the secret of the Redwood trees the ‘connection’ between me and the audience. 

 

The Secret

All trees send roots down; the taller the tree, the deeper the roots. Redwood trees are the tallest but adopt a different strategy. The taller the tree, the farther its roots travel. Like other trees, it does send its roots deep down but unlike other trees, it also sends its roots away in search of other Redwood roots. When the roots of different Redwood trees meet, they embrace each other and eventually merge. It is believed that each redwood tree is connected, at its roots, to all the other redwood trees in the forest. Imagine the strength of each tree held firm by a forest full of roots. No storm or flood can harm a Redwood tree. Storms and floods are inevitable.

Storms 

Individually, each one of us might be super achievers. We might tower over everybody else around us with our achievements. Our wealth and health may seem unassailable. We may even feel undefeatable. Unfortunately, aging is inevitable and afflicts all of us, however mighty we may be. It is also an uneasy process. It brings along storms every day; to each man his own. 

“Empty nest” is a common challenge. We plan the future of our children and strive hard to raise them to succeed in life. When our children grow up, they leave the nest in pursuit of careers of their choice and also raise their own families. Initially, we take great pride and satisfaction in saying that our children have gone far but as age catches up one realises that the nest is empty. It is a situation that we all strive to bring upon ourselves and therefore an irony that we have to come to terms with. Emptiness is the first storm to hit an empty nest.

The storm gains fury as we age. Physical ailments, lack of sleep, and loss of purpose accentuate emptiness. Days become shorter, nights become longer and the horizon looks a bit closer than before. The clock sounds louder at night signaling the presence of emptiness in our nests. The inability of our children to meet our demands on their time, proximity, and care starts hurting us and even negates the pride we once carried about their achievements. The more we demand the less we feel we get irrespective of whatever and how much soever they do. Emptiness is the most dangerous form of cancer. It rots one from within.

Loss of spouse and friends, inevitable in our journey in time, worsens emptiness and makes the storm unbearable. Those amongst us who toiled all our lives only for ourselves, like trees sending their roots down without connecting with the world around, can find emptiness unbearable and storms hard to survive. Those unwilling to mend ways have nothing but bitter emptiness for company, as they age. Their escape comes through Dementia, Alzheimer's, and eventual death. Luckily, it is never too late to start extending our hands of friendship and cooperation to the people around us. There is just one impediment, the baggage we carry.

Baggage

The only impediment to sending our roots out in search of other Redwood trees is our ego. We think no end to ourselves because of the success we attribute to ourselves. We might have been anybody when we were at the zenith of our profession. The place we considered our thrones, the very symbol of our achievements and success, has to be handed over to someone younger even if we don't like it. There will be people more capable than us even if we don't accept it. It is better, we understand that positions and authority are transient and we have travelled beyond them. It is the same with our failures. Success and failures are comparative and perceptional. Pivoting happiness on success and failure is the ultimate cruelty to oneself. This realisation can make it easy for us to let go of the baggage of success or failure that weigh us down as we age. Unwanted cargo only helps a ship drown faster in a storm.

The Stamp Pad

 

Finally, the day I was to address the veterans dawned. I opened the closet to choose the shirt I was to wear. The first thing that caught my eye was the stamp pad. 

It happened a year back, I had called the Soldier welfare officer, requesting an appointment with her. My wife and I were required to affix our thumb impressions on a document in her presence and get that document attested by her. The fine lady had a busy schedule that day. She could not give us an appointment on that day during office hours. She, however, visited us on her way back home. She even carried the stamp pad for the thumb impression. She left the stamp pad back with us. Her act was one of absolute benevolence. I have kept it as a memento. Every time I see the stamp pad, I am reminded of, not just the immense kindness she showed but all that I received all my life. It also reminds me to be grateful for anything I receive. 

A sense of gratitude is a great nutrient. It changes the way we look at life. We become aware of our interdependence as members of the community we live in. It helps initiate, maintain, and sustain fruitful relationships and contribute without expectations. It also works as one of the best antidotes to the ailments inflicted by ego. The older we get, the more reasons we can identify to be grateful. The more we age, the faster we must shed our egos. 

Sans egos and filled with gratitude it becomes easy to stretch our hands out for friendship. When many hands come together each one of us becomes tall like the Redwood trees in the forest, immune to storms and floods that we encounter in our daily lives.

American Chop Suey Syndrome

 "I am ready. Let us go," said my wife when I reached home from the office. It was a 'half day' in the office and I did not have to return to work. We had decided the previous day itself that we would be eating out that noon.

Tezpur in 1987 was not like what it is now. There were not many eating places to choose from. We reached Tezpur only a few months before and had not yet explored the place. I also had not received much PCK (Previous Course Knowledge) about the place. PCK, in the army, refers to the inputs including notes, old question-papers and other tips, normally a senior gives to the junior in the same regiment or unit, about a training course he or she had attended. Over the course of time PCK extended its reach and now covers almost everything that one passed on to a new arrival or junior in the regiment or unit. Obviously, not many in the unit had gone out to eat. There were reasons. Officers and their families mostly went out in the evenings after office hours and came back late after dinner. The law and order situation prevailing then was not considered safe enough for evening outings. Moreover, Tezpur was away from the unit. 

Mobile Phones and Google Maps were not even distant dreams those days. With absolutely no PCK in hand, the only other way to find a good restaurant was to actually try out each one physically. Driven by hunger and not one to upset my lady, I decided to explore. It was also my first trip out to the town. I had just my sense of direction and the will to persevere to help. I kicked my Royal Enfield bullet to life and set out with my wife and child. Tezpur town was a good half an hour's drive. We drove through the empty road, reached the town and looked around. We couldn't find any 'good looking' places to eat in. With hunger pangs taking over, I homed on to a small little place where a bright board hanging outside said in English, "Chinese food". 

I stopped my bike and asked the guy, sitting outside the rickety restaurant, if they served lunch. The guy was very friendly. He called us right inside and seated us. We were the only ones. We were very hungry. The fastest he could give was a plate of 'Hakka' noodles. We ordered a plate to quell our hunger. We love trying out new dishes. We asked him what he could make special for us. 

He suggested that we try American Chop suey. I had not heard of this dish before and the name sounded intriguing enough to be experimented with. It was ironic that the two sworn class enemies, capitalists and the communists, came together to make something edible.  Both of us had never tried it before. We placed the order for the first plate of American Chop Suey of our lives. It had soft noodles , topped with fried noodles and poured over it was a rich tomato sauce. over it rested an egg bulls eye, perfectly done. We both fell in love with the rich sweet, sour and filling concoction. That was in 1987. Ever since, whenever we go to a restaurant that serves Chinese fare, we order a plate of American Chop Suey. 

It has been 36 years! We have tried American Chop Suey at countless restaurants all over India. We tried it in Thailand, Singapore and Malaysia where I thought I could get authentic American Chop suey. We  ordered it even in America. But not one has ever measured up anywhere near the American Chop Suey*, we ate in that little wayside eating place that day. Our children have grown up. They now treat us to dinners. When they take us to restaurants where Chinese fare is served they invariably order American Chop Suey hoping that we will, one day, find something like our first plate of American Chop Suey. 

Yesterday, my wife and I were sitting and enjoying a bowl of Thukpa she had prepared. I brought up the topic of 'that plate'  of American Chop Suey. “That American Chop Suey is a huge lesson for life," I told her. She looked at me quizzingly. I reiterated, "Yes. There is a huge lesson for life in our search for the ‘that’ American Chop suey". In fact it is the ultimate tool to  understand problems in personal life and interpersonal relationships. I call it the American Chop Suey Syndrome**. Let me explain.

The American Chop Suey we ate in a roadside ramshackle restaurant in 1987 might or might not have been the ultimate.  It tasted great and we were hooked on, for life.  Why? There are physiological, psychological and emotional reasons

We were very hungry. In a place we were not familiar with and struggling to find a place worthy to eat, we found a place with something to eat. Our physiological needs were immediately and completely met. It also addressed our fears and state of uncertainty. Our psychological needs were addressed. The person was very friendly and helpful. He saw to it that he first gave something to eat and then took time to make that chop suey. Our emotional needs of being specially cared for were also met. It was the first time we tasted a chop suey, adding  novelty to the experience.  Solace from hunger, secure feeling in a  place where we were total strangers, a sense of being cared for and the novelty of the dish created a halo around ‘that plate  of American Chop Suey’ making that experience uniquely beautiful and unforgettably tasty. Even today, it remains our most beautiful dining experience. That, to us, also remains the benchmark for dining experience. 

Though we haven't found ‘that very same’ Chop Suey, we have enjoyed excellent Chinese fares including American Chop Suey at many places. Comparison is inevitable but we haven't allowed comparison to mess up our dining experiences. We have come to terms, but the search continues. Allowing that one unique experience, in the distant past to mess up with the present is the most potent prescription for disaster. This is what actually happens in our daily lives and in our interpersonal relationships.

We know a few people, each of them amazing in their own ways, but having chosen to live in shells of misery of their own making. They are in perpetual search of that ‘American Chop Suey’, sitting at the dining table called life and messing up the current dining experience called ‘present’ paving way for a terrible experience, called tomorrow. They have chosen to walk forward looking backwards. Fall is inevitable. 

Once we experience something  good or bad we cannot wish it away or forget it, however hard we try. It just remains there, sometimes in the conscious and mostly in our subconscious. Interestingly, the recordings of the subconscious mind predominantly influences our decision making, our ability to process  and experience the present and plan our future. 

Many love affairs that culminate in marriages are potentially vulnerable to American Chop suey Syndrome. The partners during the novelty phase of courtship subconsciously record unique experiences and establish benchmarks for the other. Everything done later is vetted against the Chop Suey benchmark. Unfortunately the reality of life is starkly different from fantasies of romance but comparisons do not cease to exist. The oft heard phrase, “he was not like that” or “she was not like that '' are classic symptoms of the person suffering from ‘American Chop Suey Syndrome’. Sadly, longer the courtship, more likely the syndrome and more severe the impact.  Many courtships that do not eventually end up in permanence might also have been afflicted by American Chop Suey Syndrome to start with. Novelty wears off first, followed by dilution in emotional support, deterioration of psychological congruence and lastly physiological necessities. This order of degradation actually allows people to linger on in misery of dysfunctional relations longer than they should be.

It is not only confined to love affairs, marital relations or interpersonal relationships. It wreaks silent devastation in intrapersonal affairs. Secretive, selfish, insecure, violent, perverted people and liars are likely to be severely afflicted with American Chop Suey Syndrome. Most of them are likely to have suffered some childhood trauma creating indelible imprints that become benchmarks against which the individual evaluates every conversation, activity or incident. Responses from that person are aimed at addressing the need. They make a shell of misery for themselves and spread misery for others too.

interestingly, all of us do suffer from varying levels of American Chop Suey Syndrome. It is natural and to some extent required too. Most of us will turn around and deny its presence.  Denials apart, it is for us to decide whether we should be  sitting at the table of life and lament the shortcomings of the fare called today against what we wanted or just enjoy what we have. 

I enjoy my today, the way it is. I am also in search of a better tomorrow. I am also in search of 'that' elusive plate of American Chop Suey.

*With all respects to all the chefs who prepare American chop suey all over the world, my article is

in no way an insinuation or insult  to your capabilities. It is a personal experience and a lesson that

I have drawn for myself and one that i constantly tell people whom i train or help with to deal with

problems in their life

**This is purely my observation. It has NO scientific study to back up. You may look around and

decide for yourself. I didn't find any reference to the “American Chop Suey Syndrome’ on the net.