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? 

Challenges, Adversity and Struggles - Elephants , Ants and Kunjel Mooppan

 Child Smoker 

The car was a beast from the outside but a cocoon from the inside. The unending leg space and silent air conditioning inside made it ideal for friends to travel and talk. The endless roads, devoid of traffic, encouraged the car to race with the winds. Whenever Jose, my friend, forgot to rein in the beast, Cini, his wife, lovingly reminded him of the brake pedal. Jose and I are childhood friends.  

“Do you know how we first met?” Jose asked my wife as we headed for Khor Fakkan from Al Dahaid. I tried hard to recollect but failed. “Something interesting about it?” she asked. Jose had already narrated many incidents of our childhood since we arrived in Sharjah two days ago. We had been laughing at ourselves and reconnecting. There were times when we laughed till our stomachs hurt.

“Like all houses in the locality, our houses were farmhouses and shared a common boundary, a high mud bund we call Kayyaala. It was one of the few kayyaalas in the locality without dispute. One day, I was sitting in my house and found smoke intermittently emanating from his side of the Kayyaala. Curious, I went to investigate. I found him sitting under a tree, smoking a cigarette. We must have been in our 7th or 8th grade. He had come home from the hostel for summer vacation. We have known each other ever since.  We became close during our college days. Search for a dignified livelihood took us on different roads away from each other. He joined the Military Academy after graduation to become an Army officer. We wrote letters to each other. Gradually, we got caught up in our own lives, and letter writing stopped. Whenever we happened to meet, we met as if we had never left each other's side,” Jose said.

Jose completed his Bachelor of Pharmacy course and opened a pharmacy in our area. He met Cini, a beautiful girl with bright eyes, and married her. Like many other Keralites, he landed in Sharjah, where he found a job in a pharmacy and Cini in a logistics company. Jose then moved into the shipping and logistics business. He worked hard for almost four decades and did well.   

What Next?

During their last trip to Kerala, Jose and Cini visited us and stayed overnight. The visit cemented the friendship between the two families. “Have you been to Dubai?” asked Jose. “No,” I replied.  “You land there and leave the rest to us. We have enough time,” Jose said.  “It will be nice to have you with us,” said Cini. We decided to fly to Sharjah. It was the third day of our visit, and Jose was driving us to Khor Fakkan. The four of us, with so much time together, bonded well. Like most couples inflicted with empty nest syndrome, our discussions somehow meandered into the question, “What next?” 

I am retired and spend time mostly reading and writing. I published my second book recently. I am also a director of a company. I am happy, gainfully occupied, and content with life. I come across many others who have settled down to retired life. Older or younger, many of them were in distress due to loneliness and lack of purpose. Uncertainty about ‘what next’ persistently tormented many of them. Contented, happy, and gainfully occupied, yet occasionally, the question, “What next?” gnaws me too. 

Jose is continuing with his business but plans to scale it down. Jose and Cini also grapple with the “what next” question. He has seen enough and surmounted adversities that can decimate lesser mortals. He is not one to be cowed down by challenges, but “What next” somehow cropped up in many of our discussions. Pensive silence inevitably followed. Jose invariably brought laughter back by saying, “Come what may, Kunjel Moopan[1] is happy.” 

Struggles 

In the highly connected contemporary world, social media is king and influencer. Many have found success and have become rich and famous through this platform. Some of them paint larger-than-life pictures of themselves. One easy way to do it is to share the real or make-believe struggles one overcame. Think about it. We all do it too.

Parents tell children, “We struggled a lot to reach here. How easy it is for you.” My parents told me of their “struggles.” I found most of them unbelievable. I told my children about my “struggles.” I am sure they would think I made it up. I can never bring myself to agree, however hard I may try, that my children had to struggle for anything. ‘Struggle’ is an element that can romanticise success, however small, and make it look spectacular. Struggle makes success an achievement. 

 

I vividly recall my grandmother's words; “aanekku thadi bharam; urumbinu ari bharam” a Malayalam phrase (ആനയ്ക്ക് തടി ഭാരം ഉറുമ്പിന് അരി ഭാരം). On the face of it, it meant “for the elephant, timber (log) a burden and for the ant a grain of rice (the burden).” Those content with its superficial meaning will miss the pearl within. The real meaning of this phrase was revealed to me when I grew up and started encountering challenges in life.

Elephant or Ant - The Choice

Adversities are opportunities to employ our potential. Challenges test our ability to apply our potential. There can be no progress in life unless adversities challenge our potential. When challenges become existential issues that call for persistent efforts, they become struggles. Adversity, challenges, and struggles exist everywhere. It is we who decide to make a challenge turn into an adversity and then create a situation of struggle. If we learn to address challenges individually, we prevent them from turning into adversities. When we adequately and timely handle adversities we do not create struggles to contend with.

Adversities do still turn into situations of struggle. Situations that demand struggle also call for reassessment. Some of the questions that we must ask ourselves about such situations are given below: -

What is the ‘struggle’ all about?

Is it the result of not shedding “baggage’ that we were to jettison?

Is it an amalgamation of several problems that we did not handle appropriately?

Is it a result of ‘too little - too late’ or seeking ‘too much - too soon’ or that got us here?

Can we isolate the ‘struggle’ into individual problems and handle them? 

Do we have the required competencies and how can we deploy them?

What are the external forces and what are internal obstacles? Can we separate them?

Are we seeing ghosts where none exists?

Are we making a log out of a grain (mountain out of a mole)?

Honest dissection of the situation through a set of questions, like the ones tailor-made for individuals, above can help us redefine the situation, reimagine solutions, and maybe tackle them as individual problems rather than seeing them as one gigantic existential struggle. If we still feel that we are in the struggle zone, then it is time to call for external help. There is a sense of inadequacy and helplessness attached to struggles. There should be no hesitation to seek help like the ants. The essence lies in identifying when we need to be elephant-like or need to be ant-like.

Despite all that we may do, results may or may not be to our liking. It is in handling results, especially unpalatable and suboptimal ones, that we need to learn from Kunjel Mooppan.

Kunjel Mooppan

Kunjel was one of the farm labourers in our area. His old face revealed the rugged and weather-beaten life he led.  Whether the crop yielded well or failed, India won or lost in a match, it did not affect him. He had seen so much of life nothing could shake that man; Not even personal losses like the death of his wife and son.  It was not that he had no feelings or emotions. He cried when he lost his wife. He cried when he lost his children. There were times he went to sleep empty stomach. There is so much to learn from him about accepting the inevitable. When the crop was good, he advised the farm owner to save a little for the rainy day and when the crop failed, he said the next one would certainly be a bumper crop.  When the day was bad, he said tomorrow would be good. Many of us could underplay his zen-like existence by attributing it to the minimal access he had to creature comforts. He smiled because nothing affected him permanently. Nobody makes poverty a wilful choice. Zen-like approach is a difficult choice very few can make.

Transformation

Dunes gave way to townships, and townships gave way to dunes. Along the way, many manmade greens stood out from the natural dunes. We then stopped at Masafi for a cup of tea and found the green coolant dripping from the engine. Jose opened the bonnet took a quick look inside and asked the stall owner, a Malayalee, where he could find a mechanic. As we drove towards the mechanic, he noticed that the temperature gauge did not show a climb. The mechanic was of no help. “We push on,” declared Jose. We drove into the series of tunnels and then into the magnificent sights of all, The Khor Fakkan beach.

We walked around the beach and admired the beauty around us.  “Houston, we have a problem,” I said sitting in the vehicle as Jose started the car. “We are heading back to Sharjah. Coolant level ok. Temperature ok. Here we come,” said Jose and turned the car onto the highway. “Switch off the air conditioning,” I said in a bid to lessen the engine load. Once we crossed the mountain range and the tunnels, we switched on the air conditioning. It was a big relief. We kept a close watch on the engine temperature lest we irreparably spoil it. Four hours later we were home.

“Kunjel is happy,” said Jose.

PS: The next day we took the car to the mechanic. We had to change the coolant pump. It had broken!

 

 

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[1] The name changed to conceal the identity of the person concerned.

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.