Orphan

As the breeze roared up a storm of dust across the front-yard, Amir was lost in thought. That the dandelions in the yard danced mirthfully in the wind didn’t matter to him. That other kids in the street were busy beating up a street dog did not bother him. Amir was lost in deep, arresting thought.

He was wondering about beginnings. The start of everything. His own beginning. When was he born? Where was it? All alone since he could remember, fending for himself peddling peanuts with spices, Amir knew not how he started out in this world. He knew not whose breasts blessed him with the nectar of life. He knew not whose fingers he grabbed hard taking his first steps. He had never known the warmth of a mother’s bosom or the hug of a proud father. A child of the gutter, he grew up his own way.

“Ammi”, screamed one of the street kids, in anguish, as the agitated canine took a bite at him. A surge of emotion ran through Amir’s spine. Whom would he scream for when besieged with pain or panic?

Rain...

She tred carelessly through the woods. Plucking leaves of random trees and slowly tearing them into little pieces as she walked along.

Maria loved to think while on her walks - of someone. The one person with whom she was Maria in all her glory. Real. Pure.

She loved reminiscing the times when they walked through the woods, matching steps. Plucking leaves together, tearing them and throwing the pieces at each other – giggling. And they loved the rain. Hands clasped, bodies united, and souls one – the rain bonded them. But he left unannounced one Monday morn.

As she remembered him, rain droplets graced her tender face. The thoughts grew intense. For once, Maria wished there was no rain.

-Fuehrer

Infidelity...

As the 11 am sunrays beamed onto my face, my eyelids quivered. Three days in a row, I was going to miss office.
Damn! My head hurt. The hangover was bad.
I could faintly recognise the hotel room I had checked in a week back. I couldn’t stay with Neha in that house – not after she romanced my boss.
I packed and barged out in search of something.
Escapism. Yes. That is what I wanted so badly.
Three nights. Three call girls, respectively. Three bottles of Absolut. Neat.
I turned an escapist.
Infidelity? I couldn’t care less.
Did sleeping with three different women make me an infidel thrice over?
Is Neha any less infidel? Negative.


-Fuehrer

Mist...

For battles won and lost

And orphaned sons of pawns that beat the dust.

For putting to rest the life of a spouse

Who cheated in shadows – for love or lust.

For marooned parents who aged alone

While unworthy kids spent on Gucci and cologne.

Blame it on Mist.

The Mist of retribution, of ignorance.

Of greed. Of Power. The lack of it.

The Mist that clouds reason, vision.

Blurrs rationale. Kills judgement.

The Mist – that comes with being a human.

A mortal with counted breaths and countless desires.

-Fuehrer

Wings...

Picking his nose, he sat munching on cereals while flipping through the latest Archie’s. His to-do list still had computer games, soccer and hours of endless chatting with strangers on the net.

Sunny was a genius - at least which is what his IQ tests showed. He could crack Grade 9 calculus problems before blinking his eyes twice and his memory was capable of storing all the world’s capital cities in alphabetical order.

Alas, Sunny was a “perennial underachiever”. He seldom made an effort to tap into his potential. Comics, games and internet took front-seat, while his intelligence rusted.

What use is a bud if it hesitates to bloom? What use are wings, if you choose not to fly?


-Fuehrer

" The Ramaswamys' " - a short story

There was the usual early Tuesday morning buzz at the Ramaswamy residence.

Savitha Ramasway, the lady of the household, had woken up first, collected the newspaper from the lawn and was preparing tea. She then woke up her darling daughter, Nidhi. Once Nidhi settled down to finish some leftover homework, Savitha woke up her husband of 13 years, Eeshwar.

As they finished discussing household issues over a cup of tea, Nidhi was all set to take a bath. It was time for Savitha to put her magic hands to work and prepare something delicious to fill up her daughter’s lunch-box. Eeshwar retired to the bedroom to glance over some office documents. He had an important presentation today – potentially one that could earn him a hard-earned promotion.

Eeshwar had always been the typical “good” person that the world of today so glaringly lacks. The most hard-working man at his workplace, he was all for perseverance and dedication to work. But he was not what you could call “street smart”. Every time he was outwitted by some colleague who was simply better at buttering the boss. Finally there was a change of leadership at the office and so Eeshwar wanted to make an early impression with his presentation today. A promotion would finally bring in the perks to help his family move up the “middleclass” ladder.

Savitha was the ideal wife. Always the first to wake up, she orchestrated the household work to such a degree of excellence that never once was the Ramaswamy residence a mess. She had served her in-laws well till both of Eeshwar’s parents passed away silently a week apart from each other. Now she had completely dedicated herself to aiding Nidhi do her best in studies and making sure her family works in the most efficient manner possible.

Nidhi was the last piece that perfectly completed the Ramaswamy jigsaw puzzle. A topper at school, she was the ideal child at home too. Never once to raise her voice demanding toys, she would be happy with the Cadbury Chocolate her dad lovingly bought her every Sunday.

This Tuesday morning held a special meaning to the Ramaswamys.

Nidhi had received her Half-Yearly results the day before in school. As always she had made a clean sweep in the “Highest Marks in Class” column of her report card. This had earned her a million kisses from her mom the other day but she couldn’t show her marks to Eeshwar since he only came back from work when Nidhi had fallen asleep. So before going for her bath she rushed to her dad and happily handed him her report card. A million more hugs and kisses from her dad made her feel at the top of the world. Eeshwar quickly offered to buy a gift of her choice. Nidhi lost no time in demanding a pencil-box with the Superman sticker on it – a possession only the elite few boasted of in her class. Plus to make her demand appear more like a need, she added that her present pencil-box had broken from the sides. Eeshwar was more than happy to oblige and promised to get her one on his way back from work.

The other special thing about this Tuesday was that it was the 13^th anniversary of Eeshwar and Savitha. Although essentially lower middle class, this couple did celebrate the day – with little gifts and a nice homemade meal if not with diamonds and lavish cocktails in seven-star hotels. Once Nidhi hugged them good bye and boarded her school bus, Savitha and Eeshwar lost no time in their own little romantic play. Eeshwar asked her what she wanted as gift for their anniversary and she teased him about getting her a palace built – the usual mindless stuff couples talk to pep things up and appear cute to each other. At the end of it all, he agreed to get her a saree of his choice. She promised to cook for him his favourite Biryani and Carrot Halwa as a return gift. The deal was done. They hugged and within seconds reminisced all key moments of their 13 years of marriage.

Eeshwar was already getting late. In fact he was way behind schedule. After a quick bath and an even quicker meal, he kick started his Bajaj Chetak. His trusted companion of 11 years now, lately this vehicle had started giving him all sorts of problems. The most fundamental being its inability to start at the first kick. After countless kicks and tilting it on one side, it would usually roar in its timeless elegance. But sadly, not today. With the presentation waiting, Eeshwar frantically gave it some more kicks. With God’s grace, a few expletives and twenty minutes of torture, the Bajaj responded. Finally Eeshwar waived his beloved wife good-bye and made his way to his office.

“What a wonderful family I have”, he thought to himself as he sped through the town’s roads. He had the sweetest wife he could ever have asked for and a daughter who was definitely on her way towards a bright future. He quickly took a mental note of his daughter’s gift request just in case he forgets by the end of the day. Once he managed to secure a promotion soon he would also move up the pay scale and finally they could be a little more financially stable. Contentment and happiness written large on his face, he raised the accelerator to cover the last kilometer to his office in the fastest time possible. Probably nobody led a more satisfied life than him.

As adept as he was at navigating through the terrible condition of the roads, today he missed the open pothole at the last turning to his office. Given the lightning speed of his travel, the Bajaj Chetak immediately took to the air and Eeshwar was rudely thrown off. He had even forgotten his helmet in today’s hurry and excitement. As he descended onto land from the throw, his head went straight and hit the iron fence by the roadside. Blood oozed out in litres. Eeshwar Ramaswamy breathed his last even before the crowds had gathered.

Meanwhile, back in St.Joseph’s Convent School, Nidhi was already boasting of the new pencil box with the Superman sticker on it. She was just hoping her dad did not forget to get it that evening.

At the Ramaswamy residence, Savitha was already busy grating the carrots to make Halwa exactly how her husband loved it. She was just hoping Eeshwar did not pick a saree with a colour she hated. She had never been a huge fan of his selection in sarees anyway.

Fuehrer

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

Apologies by Leaders

"I am sorry for what I did. Can we make up now? "

You are forgiven. Both parties are back on good terms. Life goes on.

This scenario might seem a very common one and you hardly ever think twice before apologising for your mistakes. For that is obviously the way go.

But once you are put in a position of power, this simple apology becomes all the more difficult. You represent your organisation or team and every word you utter is going to be very decisive of how people judge you and your whole group. Refusal to own up for one's faults as a leader might portray a very stubborn nature but it might also show you as a person of strong character. On the other hand, readily apologising for eveyr fault might be seen as a sign of weakness. Sometimes a well-delivered apology can augur years of trust for your organisation and generate lots of goodwill. Again, on the other hand, if your apology comes across as carefully crafted ploy to earn sympathy then you and your organisation may fall flat, backside up.

Where do you strike a balance? How best to deliver a "good" apology? More importantly, when and when not to give one? These are crucial questions that could prove the difference between a good leader and a great one.

All of us remember the Lewinsky scandal that rocked the White House. After a lot of public outrage, Bill Clinton finally offered a public apology - a televised one. He heartfully pleaded for forgiveness from the American public as well as his own wife and daughter. This was the single most important part of the whole process of how Clinton was finally forgiven by most people. A very good example of how an apology should be offered.

On the other hand, Mr. Douglas Ivester, CEO of Coca Cola in the late 1990s, avoided the whole outrage in Europe against health problems caused by consumption of Coke. And finally when he did agree to look into the matter, he apologised profusely. He gave all kind of excuses for why the problems might be caused. He was all over in the news. To everyone's surprise, it was later discovered that Coke was in no way responsible for any of the heatlh problems caused in Europe. Ivester immediately resigned for having brought Coca Cola to disrepute.

As we can aplogies by leaders need to be well-timed, carefully worded and should be honest in their feel. Kellerman suggests that a good apology should constitute the following

1) acknowledging the mistake
2) accepting responsibility
3) expressing regret, and
4) promising that the mistake will not be repeated

When all these things are kept mind while offering an apology and when it is done at the appropriate time then the masses will be more than ready to accept and forgive the mistakes of the leader and his organisation.

A great concluding example would be James Burke of Johnson and Johnson's. In a similar case as Coca Cola, J&J's Tylenol capsules were accused of causing deaths, Burke immediately assumes responsibility and ordered people to return all capsules in return for coupons. Production and advertising was halted and all capsules in stores were recalled. He even came on television to say

“Don’t risk it. Take the voucher so that when this crisis is
over we can give you a product we both know is safe.”

Ultimately research showed no link between the deaths and Tylenol. Johnson and Johnson's had won the faith and love of the people. Apologies are always vital for setting things right, but the art lies in offering them at the RIGHT time and in the RIGHT manner.

Fuehrer

Reference - Works of Barbara Kellerman, John F Kennedy School of Government, Harvard