Perfection

Perfection, they say, is a never-ending pursuit. People have spent a fortune on achieving it while others have been driven to insanity. But the irony is nobody has ever achieved it.

You always want the Ferrari you spotted at the traffic signal today or the Armani that your boss affords. Once there, you will want a Royce and want your suits tailored by the same man who does it for Prince Charles. If not costly materialistic things, you at least desire to have lesser workload, more time to sleep, to hang out with friends, a wife who doesn’t snore or simply a garden which grows more than orange marigolds. The list is endless.

But the question is are you ready for perfection? Can you face it when life no longer holds the charm of the unexpected and the odd faults? I will narrate to you a modified version of a story shown on the hit TV show “Twilight Zone” that will surely give a new perspective to the pursuit of perfection. For those who are already familiar with the episode, you can do well with a reminder!

Here it goes…

There was once a lady, call her Mrs. Hoffman, who was obsessed with perfection in the strictest terms of the word. A full-time housewife she would spend the whole day making the bed, putting things in the “perfect” order and redoing everything over and over again until things seemed “perfect”.

She simply hated her messy and lazy husband. He woke up late. Never once bothered to surprise her with bed-tea or a bouquet of her favourite tulips. Worked late hours and could never spend quality time with her. Always poured ink onto the new shirt she gifted him. In short, a mess.

Mrs. Hoffman’s son was a notch higher in terms of being messy. His room was a synonym for chaos. Homework assignments were never completed on time. The high school teachers had the most to complain about him at a PT meeting.

To top it all off, their dog, Danny, answered nature’s call almost anywhere in the house. Mrs. Hoffman had already had to change her favourite Persian carpet since it had been torn apart by Danny and pissed all over.

How she wished she had a better life – a perfect one. If only her family was the ideal one where everyone was at their best behaviour always. She used to sleep on this thought almost every night. But this particular night was different. She felt she had had enough. While falling asleep she especially begged the heavenly powers to change her life and to make everything perfect around her.

Early next morning she was woken up a man – the most handsome and courteous man she had ever seen, but a complete stranger.

She sat up in her bed all shocked and shouted, “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my bedroom at this time of the day?”

The man gently ran his hands through her hair and said, “Sweetie, it’s me, Jack, your hubby. What happened? You had a bad dream? Here, take this cup of tea. I specially made it before you could wake up.”

Mrs. Hoffman’s jaws dropped and she stared completely stupefied. It was her husband indeed since only she called him Jack; to the world he was Benjamin Hoffman. But what she could not believe was how her husband had changed physically as well as in manners to such a “perfect” man.

“Perfect”. The word started ringing in her ears. She had a sneaking and horrifying suspicion. Had her wish really come true?

She rushed to her son’s room. The room was almost Singaporesque in its cleanliness. But she stood flabbergasted when she found yet another stranger on her son’s bed. This boy could win the “Cutest Kid” award by miles in any competition in the world and there he was silently sleeping away. As she touched him, he sprang to life and hugged her tight. He then announced, “Good morning Mom. I love you.” Mrs. Hoffman could have fainted there and then.

As the boy made his way to the toilet, a strange dog came licking at her feet. Again it was the most gentle and clean and well mannered dog ever.

It was all not sinking in. Mrs. Hoffman rushed to the living room to just lie on the couch and get herself composed. As she sat next to the fire, she caught a glance of the family picture framed over the fireplace. To her utter disbelief, the picture now had, apart from her, her “new” husband, son and dog.

As the day progressed, she tried very hard to reconcile herself to this “perfect” family. Every time she saw either her hubby or her son, they flashed the best smile. She was supposed to be happy now that everything was perfect around her. But, strangely she wasn’t.

She was going mad.

Mrs. Hoffman decided to finally run away from all this and hope that when she returned things were back to normal. She opened the front door of her house and rushed out.

But alas, the door led her back into her house. Yes. She was trapped in her “perfect” world. She could not get out of it. All the doors led back to her house. Finally, she was going to live the “perfect life” forever – with her perfect husband, son and dog.

So…friends…think again. Are you ready for perfection? Or is the world more charming as it is?

Fuehrer

Ripples

Screaming peddlers; graying beggars

Tanned urchins flying their tricolored kites – blue, orange, pink.

The early morning market cried for takers

Only… I wasn’t interested.

I breezed past it all.

The berries selling - dozen for five rupees.

The blacksmith striking beneath the banyan trees.

And the mad old woman in a saree sans the fall.

To my beloved oval rock I headed

By the lake, removed from the town.

The thought of ever returning back I dreaded

As I made my tired heart comfortable.

The water, shimmering blue, lay still

The usual westward wind non-existent.

The grass an inch taller than my previous sojourn.

The gloom within me still as poignant.

Failed ventures; mounting debts

Landlord shouting for endless rents.

Life seemed mortgaged.

And me toiling to make it my own…yet losing.

Saarika, tender and loving, turned hostile too

Turned down marriage for my troubles monetary.

Tons of love would suffice I thought

How foolish of me to equate my arms to her security.

Fear and obligations galore

Hollowing from within…I was like bamboo

Not bamboo…for while hollow within, it stays firm without.

Not me…I was the rusted hollow pipe from the loo…cracking.

As I threw away the umpteenth pebble into the lake

Life suddenly offered a meaning new.

There was a lesson it asked me to take,

For me to rescue life from obscurity.

As the pebble kisses the lake,

Ripples dance through, shattering its calmness.

Disturbance. Chaos. The water forced to move.

And yet the lake finally lets the pebble in…and returns to stillness.

Countless trials await us in life

We term them “troubles’ and shrug away.

Why not let them drive us to action, like ripples in a still lake?

For us to finally take them in as the lake does the pebbles? Only to return to calmness.

Fuehrer

When to Trust your Gut...

I am sure you will all agree that the world is changing at a very brisk pace and catching up with time has been a challenge lately. The scarcity of time in today's social setting is forcing people to make quick decisions. And this in turn leaves little time for logical analysis and thus, increasing number of decisions are being made on Gut Instinct rather than careful & broad analysis of opinions.

Many successful entrepreneurs will tell you that they went with their gut and that has been the key to their stupendous success. But always remember that for every 1 decision made on gut that turns out right, 9 don't.

To fully comprehend this, let me introduce this concept of "Gut Reaction vs Gut Decision". Gut Reaction is about quickly making a decision on instinct due to an overwhelmingly eye-catching point. Just like you pick a stock immediately after you hear someone at the coffee table talking of its good prospects. On the other hand, Gut Decision is made calmly after analysing the situation and drawing lessons from experience. So the latter definitely allows you to make a better decision.

Now the problem is that with business models changing every day, there is an increasing demand for quick decision-making and thorough logical analysis, more often than not, leads to an obsolete decision. The most I would say is that it is a myth. With a powerful think tank that is insightful and quick, you can combine fast analysis to support your instinct and come up with a good decision.

Sometimes it is also possible to get carried away by simply following guts. Sometimes you think too much. Sometimes you purposely go with your gut to recover losses, although what you are doing may be stupid. Sometimes you "Overfit Data" or in other words see patterns where none exist.

So let me list down FOUR GOLDEN RULES to enable you to make satisfactory decisions by following your Guts.

1) Always be sure if you are going with a Gut Reaction or a Gut Decision

2) Create Your own Comfort Zone so that you are comfortable taking decisions within your own set parameters of risk. This will allow you to go with your guts and not regret your decisions.

3) Ask yourself if you are being forced into following your Gut. Are colleagues forcing u into a quick decision? Is the boss after your life for an instant reply from you? It allows you to think straight and see for yourself if you should follow your gut or not.

4) After following your gut, be Confident. This allows you to be happy and not sob over your decision.

Hope my post allowed you to look at guts at a more fundamental and deeper level. Its impossible to escape gut, but how you make the most of it is in your hands.

References: Works of Alden Hayashi (Harvard Business Review) and New Zealand Management Journal

Fuehrer

"The Sunday" - a short story

I should be honest in admitting that the one thing I hate most is getting out of my bed.

Even more so when it is a Sunday; the one day when I get away from the misery of scanning through millions of financial statements and striking deals worth billions. I love the warmth that the coziness of my bed provides. I love the security it provides my mind from the hassles and dangers of life. I love this $15,000 bed of mine that the very work I despise helps me afford.

Today is a Sunday too. I wish I could just sleep through the day but there are errands to run through. I tell you its hard being a single in a mansion the size of two football fields.

The cruel world of finance made sure I stayed away from my parents. On trips, I stayed in Hyatts and Marriotts no doubt, but sans my mom and dad. Never found “the one” either. To be more precise, I never had the time to find one or was too busy to look for “the one” who might just have brushed past me in a shopping mall or might have been sitting across the table in a meeting.

So here I am – a thirty-something single with staggering wealth all set to get through a Sunday.

After much thought and after-thought, I finally decided to slip out of my paradise – my bed. Dragging myself to the bathroom felt like ages. When I did finally reach to brush my teeth, there was hardly any toothpaste left to spill out of the tube. Damn! Why must we brush our teeth everyday? Why can’t the body have it’s own cleaning mechanism? Alas, I have no answers and must do the mundane. Throwing the tube in the bin I ran through the closet to grab a new one and get done with the job.

The maid had already prepared tea. It was time for some good time with my tea, the newspaper and the morning sun. As soon as I stepped out onto the roof-top garden, the rain-god now decided to play spoilsport with my plans. Little showers first and then heavy rain started making its presence felt.

While I was still cursing whoever it is who invented rain, I noticed the little kids living in slums around my house shouting and screaming with glee at the sight of rain. Peacefully playing board games, they lost no time in switching to cricket in the rainfall. I mean how stupid can they be. Rainfall is when you are supposed to rush for cover and wait for its end. Uneducated brats I suppose weren’t taught this stuff.

Anyway I guess there was nothing much I could have done so I decided to retreat back into the safety of the roof. The gardener would anyway delay his arrival given the sudden burst of rainfall. So I had time enough to catch up with playing a game or two on my Playstation. Playstation had been my trusted companion for a few years now and to be very true it has never failed to give me my much needed relaxation.

Time flew by. The rain had stopped and I had meanwhile dozed off on the couch. The voice of my maid disturbed the silence. It was already past noon and being a Sunday she was as anxious as ever to return back to her family. Sunday was the only day her husband, a construction worker, was home so she would wrap up everthing by noon and head back home.

I was all alone by myself for the rest of the day. I quickly grabbed a bite and turned my attention to some official papers. The heavy rain had provided the ideal excuse for the gardener to skip work so I could easily postpone overseeing his work for another week. The sun was out again but I was in no mood to bask in it.

The children down the street had returned back to their board games. Weird as it may seem, probably their choice of games changed to suit the weather or may be it was just stupidity. Either way they seemed to make the most of any kind of weather or time of the day.

Finally the day drew to a close. The sky turned orange and the sun was all set to go down on another Sunday. Birds chirped on their way back to the nests. Street lamps were soon to shine in full glory.

Kids meanwhile had been forced into a bath by their mothers and were out in the open in fresh clothes making paper airplanes. One by one they displayed their creative abilities and pointed their airplanes towards the orange sun, blew as much air into the tails and hurled them towards the sun. It is amazing how when we are kids we try reaching for the moon and the sun and yet we never can. These kids tirelessly tried to get their airplanes to reach the evening sun. Finally as darkness prevailed, their mothers were out again driving them into the little slum huts.

But the sunset could only mean one thing to me – the end of one of my rare holidays. The feeling is one of total gloom. I retired to my living room. The maid had already prepared dinner and left it in the refrigerator. I was too gloomy to bother heating it and decided to give dinner a skip.

I tuned into my favourite radio station playing soft rock and made myself comfortable in my arm chair. Within seconds millions of thoughts flooded my mind. There was something special about this Sunday I thought. I had an overwhelming feeling of finally giving some thought to my life and how it is to be lived. A fat bank balance definitely wasn’t buying me the wealth of life. So what was I missing?

How come the rain held two contrasting meanings for me and the slum children? Why were they so happy befriending the rain while I loathed the sight of it? Why did I miss the rainbow?

For a second my attention shifted to the Natasha Beningfield chart-topper playing on the radio –

Feel the rain on your skin,

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in…

May be I found the answer. May be it was all about me making an effort to enjoy the beauty of the rain. May be it was just about perspective.

Why was I so alone in this gigantic house? Why was I just a few miles away from my parents and yet never saw them for years? Why did I never fall in love? Why didn’t I have anybody to go back home to while even my maid enjoyed marital bliss? Why was a Playstation my best companion?

May be I was addicted to the world that is so materialistic. May be I was too afraid to lose out on a deal or not make it to my next million dollars within the next year. May be fame and fortune promised me an ever elusive world of happiness that seemed so close yet so far.

Meanwhile Natasha was into her next verse –

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions.

Feel the rain…

How true, I sighed.

I am still only half way through my life, assuming to I do live the average number of years. But can I change now? Can I look at the world through separate lenses this time round? Can I suddenly pay attention to every woman who brushes past me? Can I let a deal or two go while I take time out to rest in my mother’s lap? Can I now run into a person who could be a better companion than a gaming device? Can I discard my old self just like I could do away with the old toothpaste tube and grab hold of a new? Or is my future already damned?

Not so surprisingly though, Natasha provided the answer with her chorus –

Staring at the blank page before you,

Open up the dirty window.

Let the sun illuminate the words

That you cannot find….

Today is when your book begins,

The rest is still unwritten !

- by Fuehrer