WALKING THE TIGHT-ROPE (An Executive Life Style Article)

Executive Life/Style

EXECUTIVE WOMEN

Walking the tight-rope

(Published in Business India November 17-30, 1986)

With more and more women entering the work force, a gradual change has been affecting family life and the social structure of urban India. The emergence of women executives has added new dimensions to the study of stress. One of the most prominent aspects of their lives is a feeling of being torn asunder by responsibilities at home and commitments at work.

       Rekha Malhotra, 34, branch manager of a large bank, is tense and irritable these days. She has lost her appetite and suffers from nausea. Worse, she has to resort to sleeping pills to overcome her insomnia.

Married to a naval officer and mother of one daughter, Rekha has recently been entrusted with ‘manning’ a difficult branch. Haunted by a fear of failure, coping at home without her husband who has been transferred, Rekha is a bundle of nerves.

Like Rekha, Shahnaz Mishra, executive director of a manufacturing concern, finds her health affected by the dual demands of work and family responsibilities. An MBA from IIM, Ahmedabad, Shahnaz rose quickly in her organisation to hold the number two position at the age of 35. With two small children aged 6 and 3, Shahnaz’s life is like a whirlwind. Staying late in the office or entertaining foreign visitors in the evening keeps her away from children. The resultant guilt has led to attacks of acute stomachache and loss of weight.

Rekha and Shahnaz are among a growing number of executive women who have to cope with a modern disease that is tidily labelled ‘stress’, but whose elements comprise fatigue, marital discord and guilt.

With more and more women entering the work force, a gradual change has been affecting family life and the social structure of urban India. While women have been working in the clerical cadres for three decades now, their entry into the echelons of management is comparatively recent. Though the number of such women at senior and top levels of management is still insignificant, they do form a sizeable group at both junior and middle levels. Some of the factors responsible for the change are: better education, the need for two incomes caused by inflation, and the urge to find an identity outside the home. The more liberal social values have released women from strict confinement to the home. The transition from the uncomplicated, clear-cut and well-defined role of housewife to the dual task of managing the home and performing well at work is fraught with tension. A woman executive is not only exposed to all the strains and stresses that her male counterpart experiences; she is vulnerable to many more.

According to a study conducted in Britain, women in junior and middle management experience the highest overall occupational stress levels, followed by male supervisors, senior women managers, male junior managers, female supervisors and finally senior male managers, who report the lowest occupational stress.

Since the stress experienced by women executives not only affects them as individuals, but also affects the organisations where they work, employers are finding it important to study the causes.

A female executive who is married and has children usually reports the highest stress levels. Whether or not her conflict between her familial duties and her work affects her performance, it definitely affects her as a person.

A sense of guilt haunts most working mothers. Even if they have made arrangements for the routine care of their children, the question remains about how to spend more time with them when they are ill., or when they have examinations or holidays. The resultant conflict takes its toll, both physical and mental.

Compounding the stress of coping with work and home is the lack of regular and dependable help at home. Nowadays, domestic help is both unreliable and expensive, and the bonds of the joint family are loosening in urban areas.

Forced leave from work, occasioned by a state of sudden ‘’servantlessness,’’ may cause a great deal of stress in the executive woman who is acutely aware of her responsibilities in the organisation and is, therefore, torn apart between her domestic responsibilities and her organisational commitments, especially when both are high.

This is clear from the case of Indu Patnaik, an officer in a central government ministry. Married for about four years, Indu has a six-month-old baby who is usually looked after by a maid under the supervision of Indu’s mother-in-law. But now the maid has left, and Indu is having a difficult time helping with the household chores, waking up in the middle of the night to take care of the baby, and coping with her heavy job in the ministry.

Work from the office, spills over into her domestic life and the fatigue accumulated in the household carries over into the office. To top it all, her mother-in-law is going away for a long-awaited holiday. Despite the crisis, she is not putting off her holiday and Indu cannot bring herself to request it. Indu’s commitment to her work prevents her from applying for leave. Her husband is prepared to take leave but refuses to change baby’s nappies. “That’s a woman’s job,” he says. The constant conflicts between Indu’s functions inside and outside the house have led to chronic fatigue and depression.

Indu’s is not an isolated example. Many young women in their thirties – a crucial period both in terms of career advancement and raising families – are put through the wringer of building up their career while maintaining a stable family life.

The absence of a symbolic “wife” at home aggravates stress in the executive woman. Whereas her male counterpart often uses his wife as a buffer to absorb or at least reduce the level of stress generated in the work situation, the executive woman, alas, is unfortunate in this respect. However stressed she may be at her office, she has still to confront the domestic stresses of children and home. And while a male executive often misdirects his anger towards his wife and children and thus lets off steam, a woman executive can ill-afford to do so if she values peace of mind for herself and the family. The resulting bottling up of feelings invariably takes a heavy toll.

Apart from the balancing act between home and office that is unique to the female executive, there are other stresses arising from sex bias that male colleagues don’t have to contend with. Though like them, she spends eight to nine hours at the office, she often does not develop close relationships with the people around her. While male executives develop a camaraderie among themselves which they can rely upon in times of stress, the female colleague is excluded from this circle.

There are several reasons for this. One, she may find the male-dominated environment strange, even hostile. Two, even if she wants to participate, her colleagues may view her with wariness, mistrust, or uneasiness. If they have no prior experience of associating with female colleagues, they may not know how to react to her presence. They will hesitate to share office gossip or discuss confidential matters in her presence. Their diffidence creates a distance which generates additional stress in the woman executive who feels isolated despite her best efforts to win their confidence.

Sex-bias may block inter-personal relationships in other ways as well. In our society, a male child is usually brought up to feel superior to his female siblings. As a child he usually sees his father dominating the mother, sisters being treated differently from brothers, and later, wives being dependent on husbands, financially and emotionally. So, if he has a woman boss, he may adopt an attitude of defiance and distrust towards her.

For similar reasons, a male executive often finds it difficult either to encourage or reprimand a female junior. On the other hand, he prefers to grumble behind her back and attribute her faults to her femaleness. Thus, as she is not made aware of her shortcomings, she does not get the opportunity to grow and develop.

With peers too, it has often been observed that the female executive is accepted as long as she adopts a stance of dependence on male colleagues. But the moment she establishes her independence, she is perceived as a threat. Similarly, if a man is compared with another man, he can take the criticism but…..

Then again, a woman is rarely perceived as an individual. She is either seen as a mother, daughter, sister or wife. It is therefore difficult for men to interact with women who are not on the list of acceptable relationships but persons in their own right.

As a result of all these preconceptions and conditioning, women managers ger stereotyped by male colleagues, as a result of which a number of myths have gained currency:

·        Men are intellectually superior to women

·        Men are emotionally more stable than women

·  Men value achievement, promotion and meaningful work more than women

·        Success as a manager calls for masculine attributes

These stereotypes, which have been proved fallacious time and again by psychological research, often distort the performance evaluation of female employees. In one study, raters were asked to evaluate the quality of a professional paper, with half believing the author was a female. Those who thought the author was a female judged the paper poorer in its professional quality than those believing that the author was a male. In another study, raters attributed the god performance of a man in traditionally male tasks to intelligence while the success of a woman at the same task was attributed to luck. Though these myths have been proved wrong a number of times, men still believe in them and their perception of female colleagues’ performance is often coloured by them.

          Apart from the problems arising from myths and perceptions, there are more concrete difficulties. Sexual harassment is one m. Then again, women feel physically insecure problem when required to work late at the office or travel alone to remote places where there may be no facilities for women to stay. Dr Sunita Bhalla, who has been working in a government hospital for 20 years, feels that since she is afraid to work on night shifts, she invariably gets stuck with duties on Sundays and holidays. This means that she hardly ever gets to spend a holiday with her children and husband, himself a busy executive. Her pessimistic conclusion is that “a working woman’s life is hell….she gets the worst of both worlds.”

          But this need not be, if more organisations acknowledge and accommodate the realities of two-career families. It is high time they reviewed organisational processes concerning female employees; discrimination, if any, in promotions, training opportunities, awards and recognition; personnel policies regarding transfers and placement and so on. Training programme to help team-building among executives of both sexes may also go a long way in creating a healthier climate.

          Meanwhile, the woman executive may have to walk the tightrope as best as she can for some time to come. At home, she can invest in intelligently in domestic help or rope in others who may be willing to take on some of her responsibilities. At work, she will have to develop an effective style of functioning.

          All of this may help to make her a better manager, though not sadly, to reduce her stress. That will depend more upon greater understanding from male colleagues and the enlightened policies of progressive organisations

RANJANA BHARIJ

( Published in Business India November 17-30, 1986) 

पहली यात्रा (एक लघु कथा)

पहली यात्रा 

(रंजना भारिज)

ठका ठक ...ठक, ठका ठक ...ठक, ठका ठक ...ठक। रात के साढ़े बारह बजे थे। लखनऊ मेल तेज़ी से लखनऊ की ओर जा रही थी। डिब्बे के सभी यात्री सोये हुए थे पर मीनाक्षी की आँखों में नींद कहाँ? उसका दिमाग तो अतीत की पटरियों पर असीमित गति से दौड़ रहा था। लगता था जैसे वर्षों पुरानी बेड़ियों के बंधन आज अचानक टूट गए हों ।


पचास वर्षीया मीनाक्षी दिल्ली में भारत सरकार में  एक उच्च पद पर आसीन हैं। सैंकड़ो बार कभी सरकारी काम - काज के सिलसिले में तो कभी अपने निजी कार्यवश ट्रेन में सफ़र कर चुकी हैं। परन्तु आज की यात्रा  उन सभी यात्राओं से कितनी भिन्न थी।

 "चाय .. चाय ...चाय गरम" की आवाज़ सुनकर मीनाक्षी का ध्यान टूटा तो देखा ट्रेन बरेली स्टेशन पर खड़ी है। बरेली ? हाँ बरेली ही तो है। तीस साल पुराने बरेली और आज के बरेली स्टेशन में लेशमात्र भी फरक  नहीं आया था।  वही चाय-चाय की पुकार, वही लाल कमीज़ में भागते-दौड़ते  कुली और वही यात्रियों की भगदड़।

    "एक कप चाय देना," जैसे स्वप्न में ही मीनाक्षी  ने कहा।
वही बेस्वाद कढ़ी हुई बासी चाय, वही कसैला सा स्वाद।हाँ, कुल्हड़ की जगह लिचपिचे से प्लास्टिक के गिलास ने ज़रूर ले ली थी।

    कहीं कुछ भी तो नहीं बदला था। पर इन पच्चीस वर्षों में मीनाक्षी में ज़रूर बहुत बदलाव आ गया था। माँ के डर से बालों में बहुत सारा तेल लगा कर एक चोटी बनाने वाली मीनाक्षी के बाल आज सिल्वी के सधे हाथों से कटे उसके कन्धों पर झूल रहे थे। पच्चीस वर्ष पहले की दबी सहमी इकहरे बदन की वह लड़की आज आत्म-विश्वास से भरपूर एक गौरवशाली महिला थी।  चाय का गिलास हाथ में पकड़े, दिमाग फिर अतीत की ओर चला पड़ा था।
     "मम्मी आज सुषमा का जन्म दिन है,उसने अपने घर बुलाया है। मैं जाऊं?"
      "सुषमा? कौन सुषमा?" माँ का रोबदार स्वर कानों में गूंजा तो मीनाक्षी सहम सी गयी थी।
      "मेरी क्लास में पढ़ती है, आज उसका जन्म दिन है," मुँह से अटक-अटक कर शब्द निकले थे।
      "कौन-कौन आ रहा है? माँ ने मैगजीन से सर उठाये बगैर ही पूछा था।
      "यह तो पता नहीं पर मम्मी मैं जल्दी ही आ जाऊँगी," आशा बंधती देख मीनाक्षी ने जल्दी-जल्दी कहा था।
      "उसके घर में और कौन कौन हैं?"
      "उसकी मम्मी और भाई। पापा तो ट्रान्सफर होकर इलाहाबाद चले गए हैं। ये लोग भी अगले शनिवार को जा रहे हैं।"
      "भाई बड़ा है या छोटा?"
      "भाई उससे दो साल बड़ा है।"
      "तुम नहीं जाओगी किसी सुषमा-वुशमा के यहाँ," माँ के स्वर में दृढ़ता थी।
      "पर क्यों मम्मी ? वो लोग अब इलाहाबाद चले जायेंगे। मैं उससे अब कभी मिल भी नहीं पाऊँगी," मीनाक्षी ने साहस जुटा कर कहा था।
     "बेकार बहस मत करो। जाकर पढाई करो।"
     "पर मम्मी, सुषमा मेरा इंतज़ार कर रही होगी।"
     "कह दिया ना एक बार ....बड़ों का कहना मानना भी सीखो कभी।"
     माँ ने पत्रिका से सर उठा कर जब उसे घूर कर देखा तो वो कितना सहम गयी थी। चुप-चाप अपने कमरे में अर्थशास्त्र की किताब खोल कर बैठ गयी थी। खुली किताब पर कितनी ही देर तक टप -टप आंसू गिरते रहे थे।

"मेम साब, चाय के पैसे दे दो। ट्रेन चलने वाली है," चाय वाले की आवाज़ सुन कर मीनाक्षी फिर वर्तमान में लौट आयी थी। इटली से लाये हुए विशुद्ध चमड़े के बैग से  पांच रुपये का सिक्का निकाल कर उसने चाय वाले को  दिया तो उसका ध्यान लाल नेल पौलिश से रंगे अपने नाखूनों पर चला गया। माँ का वह कठोर अनुशासन क्या उसे ऐसे गाढ़े रंग की नेल पौलिश लगाने की अनुमति देता? उस कठोर अनुशासन के माहौल में पुस्तकों की दुनिया से बाहर निकलने की मीनाक्षी  की कभी हिम्मत ही नहीं हुई थी।  मार्शल, रॉबिन्स और कीन्स की अर्थशास्त्र की परिभाषाओं के बाहर भी एक दुनिया है, उसका पता उसे तब चला जब उसका चयन इंडियन इकॉनोमिक सर्विस में हो गया। तब से आज तक, उसने मुड़ कर पीछे नहीं देखा था। माँ का पांच साल पहले निधन हो गया था।

     इतने सालों के बाद सुषमा भी जब उसे कुछ  दिन पहले फेसबुक पर मिल गयी तो उसकी ख़ुशी का ठिकाना न रहा।  कितनी देर तक दोनों ने फ़ोन पर बातें की थी। सुषमा की शादी हो गयी थी, दो बेटियाँ भी थी। मीनाक्षी ने तो न शादी की थी न ही करने का इरादा था। वो तो अपने काम की दुनिया में ही शायद खुश थी।

     कल सुबह जब सुषमा का फ़ोन आया तो मीनाक्षी को ख्याल आया कि उसकी बेटी की शादी का कार्ड भी तो आया था जो मेज़ की दराज में डाल कर वह भूल गयी थी।
     "क्या? तू अभी तक दिल्ली में ही बैठी है? आज  शाम को लेडीज़ संगीत है, कल शादी है।  कब पहुँच रही है?"
     "नहीं सुषमा। मैं नहीं आ पाऊँगी। दफ्तर में ज़रूरी मीटिंग है।"
     "मीटिंग गई भाड़ में। मेरे घर में पहली शादी है और तू नहीं आयेगी?"
सुषमा ने क्रोध दिखाया तो मीनाक्षी ने उसे टालने को कह दिया, "अच्छा, देखती हूँ।"
     "देखना-वेखना कुछ नहीं। बस पहुँच जा," कह कर सुषमा ने फ़ोन काट दिया।

     मीनाक्षी फिर फाइलें देखने में लग गयी थी। उसे पता था कि शादी और मीटिंग में किसे प्राथमिकता देनी है। वर्षों के कठोर अनुशासन ने उसकी सोच को ऐसा ही बना दिया था। पर काम करने में दिल नहीं लगा तो चपरासी को हुक्म दिया, " ये सब फाइलें कार में रख दो। मैं घर जा रही हूँ।"

     पर पता नहीं क्यों, घर पहुँचते-पहुँचते जैसे दिल में एक कश्मकश सी शुरू हो गयी। क्या उसे लखनऊ जाना चाहिए? पर मीटिंग का क्या होगा?  क्या ज़िन्दगी सिर्फ दफ्तर की फाइलों और घर की चहारदीवारी में ही सीमित है? रिश्तों का इसमें  कोई स्थान नहीं है ?

    उसके मन में यह अंतर्द्वंद चल ही रहा था कि नीचे के फ्लैट से कुछ शोर सा सुनाई दिया।
    "तू कहीं नहीं जायेगी। मैंने कह दिया न," पड़ोसन मिसेज़ गुप्ता अपनी सोलह वर्षीया बेटी कनुप्रिया  से कह रही थी।
     "क्यों? क्यों न जाऊं? पूजा मेरा इंतज़ार कर रही होगी।"
     "मुझे ना पसंद है ये तेरी पूजा-वूजा।"
     "नहीं पसंद है तो मैं क्या करूँ? मैंने कब कहा कि आप उससे दोस्ती कर लीजिये," कनुप्रिया ने पलट कर जवाब दिया था।
     "उसका आज बर्थ डे है। मुझे तो वहाँ जाना ही है।" कनुप्रिया के जवाब में ढिठाई थी।

     मीनाक्षी के मन में एक खलबली सी मच गयी और चाहे अनचाहे वह कान लगा कर उनकी बातें सुनने लगी।
     "मुझे ना पसन्द आवे है ये तेरा सहेलीपन। वो छोरी ठीक ना है। तू उसके घर ना जावेगी,  बस मैंने कह दिया।"  मिसेज़ गुप्ता ने गुस्से में कहा।
     "क्यों? क्या खराबी है उसमे?" कनुप्रिया ने फिर सवाल दागा।
     " ऐ छोरी ज़बान लड़ावे है? कान खोल के सुन ले। जो छोरी मुझे पसन्द ना है, तू उससे दोस्ती ना रख सके है।"

     जैसे - जैसे कनुप्रिया और उसकी माँ की तकरार बढ़ रही थी, मीनाक्षी के दिल में घबराहट का एक तूफ़ान सा उठ रहा था। पचास वर्षीया प्रौढ़ा का दिल फिर सोलह वर्षीया किशोरी की तरह धड़कने लगा था। साथ ही लगा कि पड़ोसियों की घरेलू बातें सुनना अच्छी बात नहीं है। वह उठ कर खिड़की बन्द करने लगी तो कनुप्रिया की आवाज़ फिर कानों में पड़ी
     "लड़कों को तो छोड़ो, अब लड़कियों से दोस्ती करने के लिए भी माँ बाप से परमीशन लेनी पड़ेगी क्या? भैया को तो आप कुछ कहती नहीं हैं।"

     मीनाक्षी के दिल में धुक-धुक होने लगी। क्या कनुप्रिया अपनी सहेली के घर जायेगी या फिर वह भी अपने कमरे में जाकर अर्थशास्त्र की किताब के पन्नों को आंसुओं से भिगोएगी ?  कनुप्रिया को जाना ही चाहिये।   कनुप्रिया ज़रूर जायेगी, उसका बागी दिल कह रहा था। पर नहीं, बेचारी कनु माँ से बगावत कैसे करेगी? माँ नाराज़ हो गयी तो? पर माँ भी तो अत्याचार कर रही है। सोच-सोच कर मीनाक्षी  के दिमाग में हथौडे बजने लगे थे।

हीरो पुक के स्टार्ट होने की आवाज़ ने मीनाक्षी को जैसे सोते से जगा दिया। एक्सेलेरेटर की घूं ...घूं ...घूं .ऊँ ...ऊँ ...ऊँ ..... कनुप्रिया पूजा से मिलने चली गयी थी। आज की पीढ़ी कितनी भिन्न है, कितनी दबंग है। क्या मीनाक्षी कभी अपनी किसी सहेली के घर जा पायी थी? अर्थशास्त्र की पुस्तकों के बाद दफ्तर की फाइलें ही उसकी नियति बन गए थे। पेपर, नोट्स, नोटिंग्स, लक्ष्य , लक्ष्य और लक्ष्य, क्या इन सब के बाहर भी कोई दुनिया है? सोचते सोचते कब शाम हो गयी , पता ही नहीं चला। नीचे  कनुप्रिया वापस आ गयी थी। साथ में शायद पूजा भी थी।

    दोनों की खिलखिलाहट भरी हंसी सुन कर मीनाक्षी के दिल में एक टीस सी उठी।
कर्तव्य, काम और ड्यूटी के आगे भी एक दुनिया है जिसमे जीते जागते इंसान रहते हैं। अचानक यह एहसास बहुत तेज़ हो गया और फिर जैसे घने बादल छंट गये। उसका हाथ फोन की ओर बढ़ गया, "हेलो, सुपर ट्रेवल्स? एक टिकट लखनऊ का आज रात का , किसी भी क्लास में, फौरन भेज दीजिये। समय कम है, क्या आपका आदमी मुझे टिकट स्टेशन पर ही दे सकता है?"
और मीनाक्षी ने अपना अटैची पैक करनी शुरू कर दी।

    "हाँ, मेम साब। कुली चाहिए?" लखनऊ स्टेशन पर कुली  पूछ रहा था।
    आखिरकार, मीनाक्षी लखनऊ पहुँच गयी , दिल्ली से लखनऊ की यात्रा पूरी हुई या उसके जीवन की नयी यात्रा शुरु हुई? यह सोचते हुए वह आगे बढ़ गई.

(सरिता जनवरी -1 / 2014 में प्रकाशित)

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*****

A TRUE STORY OF REBIRTH (A Short Story)

A TRUE STORY OF REBIRTH

The seating pattern in the class was alphabetical. So she sat next to me in class V in Bulandshahr, UP, in the year 1958. I remember her even today as a very pretty girl, fair and petite with very attractive features but a strange kind of sadness always enveloped her. I don’t recall having ever seen her smiling. She was very quiet too. Even when spoken to, her replies were in monosyllables only. As a nine year old, I could care two hoots for a girl who was not interested in talking or playing with me; I had many more friends to keep me occupied.

In the school, we also had a system of midday meals when the entire class would sit in the same order and nice, hot healthy meals were served to us which we had to finish. If Miss Varma, the principal of the school, noticed any unfinished plate in her rounds, the student had to undergo rigorous punishment. This created tremendous pressure on all of us to finish the meal before we could run off to play for the remaining time during the lunch break.

One day, as I quickly finished the daliya (porridge) and was about to buzz off, she who used to sit next to me here also, pushed her untouched plate towards me and asked me, “Please, can you eat this too?”

I frowned, “Why? Why don’t you eat it? If Ma’am sees us, both will be punished.”

“No. I can’t eat,” she looked desperate.

“But why?  Why not?” I was getting impatient getting delayed for the playground.

And suddenly what she said froze me, “How can I eat anything when my children are hungry for two days?”

“Your children? Are you mad?” was my stunned response.

“Yes, my children. I have four of them. They live in Ayodhya,” she said with sadness welling up in her eyes.

“I used to live there near Saryu River where my husband used to row a boat for his livelihood. I died in child birth when my fourth child was born.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks now.

I noticed Miss Varma moving towards us from a distance and quickly exchanged my plate with hers.

“Ranjana, why are you so late in finishing your meals today?” admonished Miss Varma.

“Sorry Ma’am. I had gone to the toilet first,” I replied as I carried on eating.

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Later when I shared the incident with my mother, she confided in me that she knew about it. Bulandshahr being a small town my classmate’s  father being an eminent lawyer, my mother had heard about it but what she did not know was that she was my class-mate.  She said, “Actually her parents have already visited Ayodhya and checked up the whereabouts of that boatman. Yes, it is a true story and he has four children, the youngest son being about 10 years old.”  She continued while cautioning me, “It sometimes happens that some people do remember their previous births but they forget it in the course of time. Don’t tell her anything about this. After all, nothing can be done.”

And I wondered why her parents could not bring over her children to stay with her. Today I understand how difficult it must have been for them.

Next year, my father got transferred from Bulandshahr and I left the place never to meet this classmate of mine. But even today at times I wonder whether she still remembers her previous birth or time has erased her memories of past-life. Do re-births really take place? Are we all carrying some baggage of our previous lives with us? Why is it that I meet a person for the first time and feel as if I have known her for ages?  Or I meet a person for the first time and simply dislike him even without talking to him. What is it in him that puts me off? Do we have “old” connections with the “new”?

*****

(Published in WOMAN'S ERA June First2013)

FACE TO FACE WITH GOD (A Real Life Experience)

This incredible experience of my life  took place sometime in April 1970, but the memory of it is so deeply etched in my mind even today that I can recall it vividly although 43 years have since elapsed. 
                               

My Aunt and I had gone to Kedarnath Temple. When we reached the shrine, I told her, “Taiji, you go. I am not interested in going inside the temple”. As she frowned at the crazy idea, I quickly added, “I am enjoying the scenic beauty outside.”

The high mountains all around were reaching out to kiss the azure blue sky: their lush green beauty was mesmerising me. There was no crowd, no people anywhere and I stood alone in a corner outside the temple gate leaning on the small wall around the shrine, feasting my eyes, my mind, my entire being on the nature’s unparalleled beauty.

Suddenly, a tall well-built man with a long beard and moustaches appeared from nowhere: his hair was tied up in a knot on top of his head and he was wearing large rudraksha beads around his neck. A tiger skin was wrapped around his waist. He walked straight to me and put a tilak on my forehead with a little force and announced in a powerful voice, “Jab Bhagwan swayam aa kar ashirwad dete hain bachcha to sab manokamnayein poori ho jaati hain. (Child, When God himself comes and blesses a person, all his/her wishes are fulfilled.)”

Saying thus, He quickly disappeared with the same speed with which He had come.

I woke up with a sudden jerk, shocked, confused and dazed. The entire episode was so real, it shook me up. It took me a little time to realise that I was not at Kedar Nath temple. Instead, I was at my study table and had gone off to sleep with my head on the book while studying for my post-graduation examination. The feeling was so real, so life-like that I got goose pimples. Who was He? Where did He come from? Where did He go away? Who knows?

Not finding any answers, I tried to push the dream out of my mind, rubbed my eyes and started studying again. But today all of a sudden, perhaps after seeing the Kedarnath tragedy again and again on media, I recalled the entire dream once again after 43 years. Yes, the temple in the dream looked like this only. 

Incidentally, I have to date not visited Badri Nath-Kedar Nath Temples. I never perform any pooja or prayer or worship. I do not visit any temple for prayers. But I always feel that God is within me, wherever I go and in whatever I do. I do not have to seek Him outside; I only have to listen to my Inner Voice to be able to relate to Him. But I have not been able to resolve this mysterious dream till date.

(This is a real life experience)

*****

MAGNIFICENCE INCARNATE, MY FISH TAIL PALM: AN OBITUARY

It was more than two decades ago that I had bought a pair of Fish Tail Palms for placing in my Living Room, a job they did commendably well for a few months. But the winter came and the frailer one dried up for want of light. Concerned for the well-being of the surviving one, I carefully planted it on the ground. Perhaps being closer to mother earth, it received all the love and affection it needed and started growing like a teenager. Soon, it was strong enough to withstand the vagaries of nature bravely. The leaves became huge having a lovely hue of green and the diameter of its trunk kept expanding. Within no time, my precious Fish Tail Palm had become the pride of the place!

Although we were busy with our respective jobs, official duties, domestic chores and handling growing children, it was not easy to ignore the phenomenal growth of this beautiful tree. Each year, it used to develop a ring around it making it easy to count its age. And lo and behold, one day we noticed that there was a queer growth coming out of its trunk, which did not look like a normal leaf. We soon realised that our tree was flowering. Soon an inverted dome-like growth with thousands of dangling buds was in place. These green beads hanging so gracefully were actually its flower buds which bloomed in due course and then acquired a burnt red hue. Later, they turned into small fruits showering honeydew all around.

During the last twenty-five years, this beautiful palm stood in front of my house like a strong sentry overseeing our daily activities and keeping an eye on whatever happened under its shadow. It watched my sons growing up from young kids to tall young men, studying hard for their exams as well as holding bar-be-cue parties under its loving shadow. It saw my mother-in-law and father-in-law growing frail in the evening of their lives and finally leaving this world. It witnessed our tears when we had to put our dear pet Peter, a black Labrador, to sleep to save him from unbearable agony. It saw us growing from a youthful couple into mature stable people. It saw all the ups and downs of our lives and stood by us through thick and thin.

On one Diwali, I saw those beautiful decorative lights and brought home a long yellow one to  wrap around its trunk. It brightened up the place on festivals like Diwali, on birthdays, on weddings of our children or whenever my spirits were sagging.

During last few years, its beautiful leaves all dried up and it was reduced to a leafless 60 feet tall trunk but still looked majestic. Now it supported the money plant creeper that started growing on it and developed unusually large leaves streaked with white and yellow stripes. We saw kittens playing hide and seek around it when the colony cat brought her litter to my flat.

“Neighbour’s envy, owner’s pride”, I said repeating the Onida TV ad.  It had again become a beautiful landmark in our colony.  

But with its unmanageable height, my neighbours became apprehensive of its unpredicted fall one day and started suggesting that I should have it chopped lest it should fall and damage their property. Much against my wishes, I went to the Municipal Corporation of Delhi requesting them to trim it down. Was it some kind of euthanasia I was requesting? They said they are not empowered to do so as it was within the confines of my boundary wall and advised me to go to the Forest Deptt. Now what has Forest Deptt. got to do with it? It was not in any forest. But such are the Govt rules. I requested them too to chop it citing very valid reasons that its roots were eaten away by white ants and that it could fall off any day and was the danger to lives. Would they listen? Indemnity Bond, affidavits, additional plants, maintenance money for the plants etc is all that a remember now. I gave up and came back, but I was happy within. Neighbours kept warning against the potential risk but I pretended helplessness.

Recently, the trees in our colony were being pruned by the Forest Deptt. and the guys merrily pruned huge parts of the Neem tree in front of my house. It suddenly dawned on me that both the trees were planted almost at the same time, the Neem by my neighbour Geeta and the Palm by me. Both had grown to unprecedented heights and stood tall in their respective places. Seeing the Neem tree being pruned so ruthlessly made me sad. Looking at my Fish Tail Palm also made me sad as if time, for it to go, had come. Was it like an elder of the family who was sick and helpless?

We were going to Mumbai last week when my husband said, “Don’t you think the palm is getting inclined a bit?”

“Yeah. But nothing can be done.”

Last week, we returned from Mumbai amidst torrential rains and it continued to rain cats and dogs the whole night. I woke up to a pleasant morning and went out to see the big green parrot which at times used to sit on top of the palm in the morning. There was none, but the palm stood tall and magnificent.

A couple of hours later when hubby came out, he was surprised to find it reclining gracefully on the Neem tree across the road. It had uprooted naturally and had fallen slowly on the shoulder of its friend, the Neem tree. It did not make any sound, it did not damage the boundary wall as was our apprehension and it did not fall on any neighbour’s house. It did not even block the road. The life of my Fish Tail Palm ended so quietly, I could not believe it.

I called a few people to help me out to take it to its logical conclusion. When they brought it down from the shoulders of its friend, the Neem tree and lay it on the ground, we realised that the angle, at which it had fallen, was the safest possible position.

It went away without causing any pain or discomfort to anyone. The helpers had to chop it into at least eight pieces to be able to lift it as it was extremely heavy. They have now stacked it in a corner of the colony for using it on the next Lohri or Holi where it will once again provide happiness to everyone. 

The huge money-plant creeper with massive leaves which was a sucker on it had to be taken off. I have got it planted in each and every park of the colony where they will continue to grow and remind all the residents how they once clung on to the Fish Tail Palm in my front yard.

Four days have passed, but my eyes have not got used to the vacuum where my Fish Tail Palm once stood for over 25 years. This place will one day be filled with other plants but the vacuum created by my Palm will perhaps never be filled.

*****

MAA TUJHE SALAAM! (A Tribute to My Mother)

MAA TUJHE SALAAM! 

(A Tribute to my Mother on her 12th Death Anniversary)

Maa, tujhe salaam...

Years ago, you told me that when you were in the family way in the year 1949, you prayed every morning that you be blessed with a baby girl. A few months later, I landed up in your lap and ever since, I have always been proud of being your daughter.  As I grew up, I learnt so many things from you that you have become an integral part of my being.

When I was only five years old, you asked me to go and watch whether the cook was doing his job properly. When I pointed out to him that a black bug had fallen in the daal, he dismissed me by saying that it is burnt dhania. I brought it to your notice and you appreciated my alertness profusely. You actually taught me supervision.

When I was six years old, they did not teach English in school in those backward places where we were posted but you yourself taught me English. You taught me never to be cowed down by  circumstances.

When I was only nine years old, you used to direct me to go around the huge bungalow to check whether the orderlies had properly secured all the doors. When I detected a few unbolted doors and brought it to your notice, you admired me no end. You actually taught me undertaking responsibility.

When I felt scared of going in the dark holding a lantern in my hand, you taught me Gayatri Mantra as a weapon against fear. You taught me to fight against baseless fears.

At the age of ten, when I was studying for my exams and you were confined to bed, you asked me to look after my baby brother also. When I protested, you explained to me how I could handle both by giving him some toys and by keeping an eye on him while reading my books. You taught me basics of multi-tasking.

When at the age of thirteen, I made my bed and folded the blanket or cover-sheet and it did not match corner to corner, you asked me to do it again and not do a shoddy job. You taught me the importance of being a perfectionist.

When I neglected my studies and ran short of your expectations, you told me, “If you study well, you will become something one day. Otherwise, you will keep rotting at home.” You inculcated in me ambition and a desire to excel.

When I avoided entering the kitchen, you told me in clear terms, “When you grow up, you will not have servants like we have now. If you want to enjoy good food, you must know how to cook it yourself.” You inculcated in me an interest in cooking and a need to be independent.

When I picked up the only apple in the fruit basket, you asked me to cut into multiple pieces and give one piece each to all those who were present in the house. You taught me the value of sharing.

When I divided any item for sharing, you directed that the one, who divides, should be the last one to pick up to ensure that one does not try to take a bigger pie. You taught me to be fair in deals.

When I complained about non-availability of all the expensive books as a reason for insufficient preparation for exams, you told me that knowledge comes from reading the books and not by possessing them and that, the library was the place where all the books were available. You taught me never to cite lame excuses.

When I wanted to send an orderly to buy a First Day Cover from the Post Office, you asked me to pedal my bike up to GPO and stand in the long queue to pick up the FDC to add to my collection. You taught me to move my own limbs in pursuit of my hobbies.

When I wanted to buy a suit, you told me to go to the market and pick it up myself. You only said, “It is summer time. So get cotton and a light colour. It should not be more than Rs 3 per meter.” I went from shop to shop until I found a soft pink cotton material with floral designs within a total cost of Rs. 10.” You taught me decision-making within laid down framework.

When I wanted to give that suit for stitching, you asked me to do it myself and helped me understand the basics of stitching. The profuse praise bestowed on my achievements encouraged me to be self-reliant.

When you asked me to see that all my four younger brothers finish their homework and do not fight with each other when you were away, you taught me team-management.

Although you left us twelve years ago on this day, I do not miss you as you still live in me and in my thoughts. Your values guide me in whatever I do. When in confusion, I always think of how you would have tackled this situation and I find the right path. If I start chronicling all that I imbibed from you, I will fail miserably. I can only say about you what poet Kabir wrote about God.

सात समंदर की मसि करौं लेखनि सब बनराइ।

धरती सब कागद करौं हरि गुण लिखा न जाइ॥

(If I make ink out of seven seas, pens out of all the wood in the jungle and convert the entire earth into paper, they will not be sufficient to write about your greatness.)

Thank you, Mom for always being my guiding star!

*****

LESSONS IN NON-VIOLENCE

Adyant, my Guru for unlearning violence

“Spiiiider,” screamed Adyant, my four-year-old grandson in fright. I dropped my book and rushed to the spot only to find a big spider near the backyard door. My spontaneous response was to kill it and I did so. 

As I went in to bring a tissue to clean up the mess, Adyant asked inquisitively, “What did you do, Dadi?”

“I killed it,” I said proudly, feeling great that I had eliminated the cause of fear for my darling grandson.
“You KILLED it? Why did you kill it, Dadi? That’s not a good thing to do,” saying this, he appeared quite miserable, feeling of internal pain showing on his young innocent face. 

Looking sideways to hide my embarrassment, I sounded defensive, “I killed it because it was scaring you, sweetheart?”
“You could have thrown it out,” was the alternative offered by him.
“Poor spider! Has it died?” he looked very sad and hurt.

Like a wise old grandma, I immediately resorted to diversionary tactics, “Come on! Come on! Forget it. I will show you the book that I have brought for you from India.” 

We both merrily romped up the stairs to reach my room where I pulled out one of the Amar Chitra Katha Cartoon books, which I had lovingly carried for him to acquaint him with Indian mythology. After all, he is an Indian origin child and should know about our mythological characters although he is staying in Canada, I had thought.

The book that I took out depicted Lord Krishna’s life and story. Adyant was so happy to see the book that he grabbed it from my hands and ran to his room with me trailing him. As he excitedly leafed through the pages, he saw Lord Krishna killing Shishupal with his chakra and Shishupal’s head flying off his torso with splashes of blood all around. Seeing this sketch, Adyant was again miserable. “Why has this man killed him? See Dadi, there is blood.” I wanted to explain all that ideology about the triumph of ‘Good’ over ‘Evil’, but Adyant would not listen, “Dadi, he must be a bad man, no? He has killed this person.” His eyes became narrow with disgust and face distorted.

I quietly took the Amar Chitra Katha from his hand and put it back in my suitcase. At night, I took all of them out and scanned each one from my newfound perspective about violence, blood and gore. I leafed through Dashrath Putra Rama, Pawan Putra Hanuman, Durga Mata and found violence on every single page. I cannot let my little grandson be exposed to this type of violence and quietly consigned them back to the suitcase. 

My dreams of educating him on Hindu mythology through these books were badly shattered. However, I got a new perspective on violence through the unbiased eyes of this innocent child. He taught me a real lesson in non-violence that day. Thank you Adyant for being my Guru!!!

*****

LIFE BEYOND SELF

In the evening of life

As the phone rang and the caller said, “Hello,” I instantly recognised his voice.

“Good morning, Sir,” was my respectful response. Yes, he was my boss some three decades ago. Exchange of pleasantries and he announced that he was visiting someone in my area and intended to visit me too during that trip.
“Wonderful! We have not met for ages. It’ll be great to catch up with each other,” I said.

He was there in the afternoon. For the two hours that he sat with us, he talked of nothing but how he had thrown his weight around in the organisation when he was working; how everyone was so afraid of him; and how even very senior officers had to bow to his personal whims and fancies all the time. And believe me, all this in the organisation from where he retired almost two decades ago. I lost count of how many times I suppressed my yawn!

His daughter, who had driven him down, kept smiling while looking indulgently at her father. I could not figure out whether she was happy to see her almost 80 years old father talking non-stop on meeting an old colleague or was she actually in awe of him. As they were leaving and he continued his self-proclaimed importance, I politely whispered to his daughter, “This is what we are left with in the end …memories of our almost 40 years of association with the organisation.” After they left, I could not get over the fact that in those two hours, not once did he talk about his ailing wife whom I also knew and who is bed-ridden at present. He never uttered a word about his children who have had their share of pains and pleasures in life. There was not a single mention of his grandchildren or his current state of health. He did not talk of any common colleagues that we had worked with except when they were part of his ego-trip. His total concentration was on himself and his so-called achievements that had no relevance for anyone then and are totally meaningless now in the evening of his life. 

Why do we love to live in a fool's paradise?

Is life about concentrating on self and thinking of I, me and myself only? What is the psyche that makes a person so much in love with himself that he does not even want to look outside? Family members usually do not pay any heed to the person’s ego trips of which he is so used to while working during his official life where others, particularly sub-ordinates are forced to listen to him and helplessly nod their heads in agreement with a genuine-looking plastic smile on their faces. The better the performance, higher is the reward by way of favours from the superiors. Do we tend to internalise that flattery and start believing that we are the best to that extent that we continue to live the rest of our life in that fool’s paradise? Who are we trying to befool? Is staying in that make-believe world easier than accepting the reality of “Here & Now”? 

Many questions and many answers but at the end of it all, I could only feel sorry for him.

*****