Five things to know when marketing to an ALIEN Culture

When I first landed in Japan, I was stumped (and not too mildly amused) by the term "Alien registration". This greets the serpentine queue made up of people of different nationalities, races, gender, ages, creed and color (with the possible exception of Green, which the word Alien typically conjures up), at the immigration counters. And a good proportion of the people making up the queue are of Japanese origin.

As an expat/alien trying to market/communicate multiple propositions to a culture that is completely different to what I grew up with; that opened up a commonsensical line of thought.

Alien is not necessarily a group/tribe that is completely different from me. It could even be a sub-group of an otherwise similar group to which I belong. I am an Indian male and married, but an Indian senior citizen or a single mom in India is an alien culture to me. So to understand them and to communicate with them (or any other group that i don't belong to), is as good as dealing with an "Alien Culture".

Drawing parallels to my attempts at navigating the exciting culture and place that Japan is; these are the five things that i found handy as an everyday marketer to alien cultures:

Atlas: It becomes easier to get around a place, if you have an atlas (Tokyo Atlas is my constant companion) handy. In marketing/communication parley it can be any of the information sources - books, blogs, websites, newspaper articles, special interest magazines, researches, sociology studies, fiction, movies, music, etc. - created about or by or for the "alien cultures" you are trying to market. These pieces bring in the various coordinates that help you with the lay of the land. Just like the Atlas which helps you navigate from point A to point B; these information sources facilitate your journey of understanding from one point to another.

Language: ASK (Arigato, Sumimasen, Konnichiwa) and you shall get attention, is what I realized on the first day in my new homeland. Having access to a well laid atlas alone doesn't suffice. To connect well, you need to have an understanding of the language or "lingo" of the alien culture. Their terminology, catch-phrases, signs, icons - both verbal and non-verbal; give you a grip of the culture group's workings and help you understand them better.

Interpreter: An interpreter gives you a context to the goings on; and helps you with the sub-text and subtleties of the happenings and argot of the sub-group. They help you with the reason-whys and also nuggets and nuances that will otherwise take years of arduous exploration to uncover. Find one, they could be the equivalent of a friendly bartender, and your journey to unlocking the alien culture's hearts and minds is 2/3rds complete.

Experimentation: With all the above at your disposal, you may still not be able to break new-ground unless there is a streak of experimentation in you. One needs to go out and explore, than be confined to the desk or dwelling (of the mind variety). Go out. Do stuff. Never lose an opportunity to experience things that are specific to the alien culture. Watch a game of baseball, if your creaky and ageing bones won't allow you to swing a bat. Lose a few thousand yen in a Pachinko Slot. Feel what it makes them tick.

Nativity: Never lose the essence of who you are, in your eagerness to become one of "them". I can never be Japanese by wearing a samurai dress or an American by changing my accent. Give them a break and yourself some respectability. The very reason you are given an opportunity to work across borders (not necessarily geographic) is that you will bring perspective and understandings from your own background or culture group; that will prove synergistic.

First published in CampaignAsia on September 14th, in an abridged form

What is your favorite quote? And why?

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A seed of inspiration sown nearly 6 months ago, became a fully blossomed talking tree; with over 3200+ inspirational quotes contributed by diverse individuals from across the globe. It has been my earnest endeavor for nearly 2 months to pick nearly 500 contributions, both quotes and perspectives, to bring to you this bouquet of which I take immense pleasure and pride. The reason for it, in my point of view, is not difficult to seek.

When faced with difficult questions or challenging situations in life like “Where to go?”, “What to do”? “Which path to take?”, “Whether to end it all?” and such; I must admit that I did not have the desired success in silent reflections. I always paused to introspect, yes, but ultimately took recourse to a wise-saying, a quote or an anecdote to pick-me up and help me stay on course.

The questions eventually begin to fade and the path one chooses and the journey one embarks upon takes over and becomes life.

There is a tremendous sense of relief and a surge of elation that an appropriate quote brought to one’s mental state while facing despair or doom, which cannot be expressed in words; no amount of gratitude will pay back in kind, expect heading resolutely in the direction, the wise men who gave those quotes have pointed out.

I strongly believe, this compilation is going to impact lives positively across the globe, as they did when they touched our lives. I sincerely urge, each and every one of you, who have had the opportunity to go through this, to pass it on to your family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances. There can be no better gift that we can bestow on them than that brings in a smile, instills confidence, gives impetus to their efforts or helps them turn a new leaf for better.

For each and every contribution in your hand is nothing short of an elixir. And no road-map works better.

Download the free E-book from Scribd - Preferred

If you are not able to download the same, due to firewall or any such technical issues; do write me a mail at ivak99@gmail.com asking for your copy of the ebook.

Making of a mentor 2 – If Summers is here can winter be far behind?

(This is the 2^nd article in the series, "Making of a mentor" where we are trying to figure out what it takes to be one, for our collective benefit. By "we"(and "us" and "our" which follow in the body later), I meant the not-so-successful-yet, middle-aged, PowerPoint-adept dwellers of the cubicles. Rest can read it as a source of amusement, or for future reference; but for us it is the only sliver of hope. For, mentorship is our ticket to rewards and recognition, which we otherwise couldn't achieve on our own steam. It is our first, last and only refuge to retire honorably – with a farewell party thrown-in)

This is that time of the year, when many an organization has an air of expectation hanging heavily about it. Soon the cafeteria will be teeming with a swarm of pugnacious, smarter-than-thou, rag-tag coalition of rambunctious kids, half-way through their business management program (I too was one of them a long time ago; but now I have no recollection of what I came across as then).

Few of the lucky peers already know who they have drawn from the lots and strut about with a spring in their step whilst whistling a romantic number or fast-paced track from a recent blockbuster. A handful of us have a worn-down look about us, which is a shade or two lower than our usual worn-down look signaling our pathetic state of affairs.

The Summers (or Internship Program or Summer Placement) is here and the mercury has considerably dropped between those who were assigned one or two bright young minds to take care of the critical projects and others like us who have to babysit, play scrabble with or spend better part of our time Googling frantically the latest management mumbo-jumbo these kids keep spewing out.

"What's the big deal"? You may query. Let me explain.

The mantle of mentorship doesn't fall into our lap by default. Most of the organizations have in place a sickeningly well designed and elaborate Mentorship Program just to keep desperate wolves like us at bay. First we have to pass the litmus test of "past track record". Next comes the "Well defined characteristics of a mentor" and our inadequacies are listed there with a few smileys scribbled against each by a scurrilous young HR executive.

The Summers program is one of the first hurdles placed in our path to becoming a mentor. The outcome of it gets into the "Past Track Record". The feedback from those difficult and disgusting demons which besmirches your "Characteristics of a Mentor" can seal your fate for good. The organization may as well stamp "Monumental Failure and Not Fit 2BA Mentor" in our "Additional Remarks and Recommendations" section in the appraisal form.

A right summer trainee is the only independent variable in the equation that brings the bacon home for an aspiring mentor. He works as a booster rocket for the mentor's prospects.

But then only successful executives have the enviable option of cherry picking hot candidates amongst the hordes of mentees clamoring for a guiding hand. Few of the wily peers who share juicy grapevine and salacious tidbits with HR too have potential winners served in a fancy e-mail and delivered to their desktop. For the rest of us quantity trumps quality.

Most of us have been at the receiving end once too often and have been assigned a platoon of poltergeists to chaperon. We are not sure whether:

• to assign them a project and go about doing our work - Once you turn your back they are sticking straws in your hair Or
  
• be at their back all the while to ensure they don't go off your radar – Then deadlines whizz past you and the boss is giving you the mickey in the open.
  

We are at our wit's end trying to figure out how to handle them, without losing our sanity and honor or scuttle our chances of becoming a mentor later. Worry no more, friends, for deliverance is at hand. The following story should sure warm your cockles

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One day an Ignoramus saw Mullah Nasruddin (MN) riding a donkey, seated with his back to the ass's head. While seated thus MN was reciting amusing tales to a boisterous boy brigade that was following him. Once in a while he would throw a riddle at them and come up with a couple of copper coins or a handful of dates from his shoulder bags, which he passed on to the kids.

It provided much amusement to the onlookers and was truly a mirth eliciting sight to behold. MN seemed to be oblivious to the merry repartees and snide remarks aimed at him and carried on with his task of herding the brood.

The Ignoramus was perplexed and asked MN why he was riding the donkey such

MN: "I am leading these mischievous and maturity-challenged lads to their destination. This way I can keep an eye on them all the way and ensure they stay the course."

Ignoramus: "Why not ask them to walk in front of you?"

MN (with admonition and incredulity mixed tone): "How can you be so absurd!? I am their Leader"

Ignoramus: So?

MN: "How can a leader follow his followers?!"

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Now I am looking for the equivalent of a donkey – a short time-bound project which amuses the ragtag and holds their attention while giving them enough ammunition to fill their summer report. Hopefully for all the relief and amusement it provides them, I may end up with a good score this time in the feedback and be well and truly on the path to becoming a mentor.

I am sure henceforth the Summers won't lead to a winter of disappointment!

Mentoring is the highest form of self-actualization in the hierarchy of needs of executives. Especially for those of us who have failed to earn our glory through our guts, or stripes through our sweat. But alas, we confuse mentoring with advising (Our English teachers, dictionaries and Roget's thesaurus have to share the responsibility of this heinous crime, but we will not mix issues here)

So most of the time, we believe the easiest path for us to be part of a success story (if not script it or be the protagonist) is by strewing unsolicited advice to whoever crosses our path. We can then take vicarious pleasure, once they succeed, in telling the world, that "I told her to take that assignment" or "I advised him not to…". You know.

Though the strategy is sound, it is not fool-proof. Since most of us are unable to distinguish between calamity and opportunity, more often than not we end up with a biff in our face and a flea in our ear. From those we seek out to advice.

Lot of times, we end up rushing to advice those who are under severe mental and physical stress (Working late hours, missed out on promotion, no invite to boss's house warming party, ….). Not advisable. The reasons are not far behind to see.

Unsolicited advice delivered post-facto, is the unkindest cut of all the worthy words that ever cross the lips of self-appointed, supposedly well meaning well-wishers. It thrives on misery. It is the proverbial salt rubbed on one's wounds; the grating sandpaper scrubbed into their sensitive soul.

Most of the hapless parties are so deep into their own desolation at the time that it is shoveled into their ears; they fail to recognize the goodness in the advice. Anger and the loss of whatever it is they lost clouds their discerning power.

And to worsen the matters, they may even feel (mistakenly so, for you and I know the truth) the adviser (you, or me) is invariably a peer who has reaped the benefits from that which they have lost. Or we have a safety-net or a mighty big nest-egg. And we may be inwardly laughing at their state of affairs safe in our cozy comfort.

Whatever be the reason, they sport a hurt-look. They show one finger or the mighty fist and storm out of our presence. Sometimes they may even stay put and condescend to counter advice on the likely nooks and crannies we can shove our advice in.

I used to be a Flash Gordon, wearing my mantle of a mentor, in rushing to the rescue of such colleagues in bereavement earlier. Now I play Houdini. Why, you ask? Read on.

_________________XXXX_________________

One rainy day a primate, all wet and shivering, took shelter under a tree waiting for the shower to stop so that it can go about its monkey business.

The tree was a safe-haven to many a chirping bird who have built their nests and stored their customary nuts and fruits just for such a day. They nestled in their warm beds, feeding their kids, kissing their mates or having a go at a nutritious seed with their sharp beaks. Most of the birds cast a lazy or disdainful look towards the simian, but none stirred from their respective places to extend a helping hand. Save one sparrow.

The lowliest of the creatures seizing the chance to do its bit of good deed, looked at the quivering monkey and proceeded to offer its words of wisdom thus.

Sparrow In Nest (SIN): "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Wet and shivering primate (WASP): "What do you think?" (Baring its teeth)

SIN: "Just asking. You know, you should have built a nest or something like the rest of us"

WASP: "gggrrrrrr…….".

SIN: "I mean, you know it rains every year. You can see that don't you? You could have saved yourself on this rainy day, and many such in future"

WASP: "GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR" (gesticulating wildly)

SIN: "I have lot of fruits and nuts stored in my nest. I sweated, flew far and wide, gathered from this tree and that. You can climb trees can't you? You could have done it too"

WASP: "YES. And here I come"

SIN: "kkkkkkkeeeeeeeeechhhhhhh..Hey what the….eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" (furious flutter of wings. A bit of a struggle)

Thud (Sound of a limp body hitting the ground)

Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch. (Sound of sharp teeth digging into scrumptious and juicy fruits)

_________________XXXX_________________

If you sin by rushing into giving unsolicited advice, you get stung. Fatally so.

So listen all you mentors in the making. Take my advice and desist from advising. Kapish?

Art of making impactful Elevator Speech – Wise minister learns the hard way

For long we struggled at it. Making the most profitable elevator speech. We knew its necessity and importance. We read about the spectacular successes. We bowed our heads in reverence. To the lucky few who made it. We invested in self-help tomes. Reserved premium seats in Gurus' lectures.

But never got within whiffing distance. Of the sweet smell of success.

We know the science behind it. Any Elevator moment has 6 components. In the following manner, to speak:

Sender – script – space – sucker – serendipity – spoils

Sender – the one fighting for spoils

Script – what to say to succeed

Space – appropriate place to amplify impact (neither restroom, nor any crowded place)

Sucker – impressionable and naïve head honcho. He always makes the first move - A smile, a salutation, a nod.

Serendipity – Tongue willing, Knees not buckling. A strong wit to carpe diem.

Spoils – your pie in the sky

One is you, six is given. Two - you had in back-pocket; nestling along with your resignation letter. Three - you buttered secretary for routine. Four - is a slippery moving target. Five - your nemesis, your Achilles' heel. Or so you rationalized your failures.

But we forget speech isn't science. It's a sublime form of art. And that's what I discovered recently. Here it is, for your benefit.

______________________________XXXXXXXXXXXX______________________________

Long time ago, a small yet prosperous kingdom was ruled by a large hearted king. He was loved very much by his harem and coterie and by the hardworking subjects, usually on the king's birthday (aka Annual Ostentatious Party (AOP)), when the bars and eateries were thrown open through the day.

The king was insulated from the day-to-day affairs, by the harem and coterie (H&C), whose writ ran over the court's proceedings. The king had a wise minister who brought some sanity and justness to the proceedings. This one was a misfit, who hallucinated about a welfare state, where all the subjects were justly ruled. And the riches, a product of the sweat and toil of the subjects, distributed equitably amongst them. He was forever creating vision statements and great strategies (or so he thought) to execute them.

This didn't go well with the H&C who continually pitched in the need to get rid of a righteous and conscientious pest. King, though irritated endless, indulged the minister. For though myopic, he wasn't a novice in the state-craft which required a benign and grey-front to ensure rebellious and fiery voices subside.

Still perseverance wouldn't have been given such a high purchase if it didn't have its merits.

One day the king had to decide between one of the two following proposals:

• AOP budgets put forward by the H&C and
  
• Tax-holiday for the subjects who faced a severe drought that year, proposed by his minister
  

The arguments were compelling from both sides:

H&C: Hunting. We can go far away and indulge, with none getting any wiser. We don't have to put up with the entire population clamoring for crumbs

Minister: There may be riots and lynching if we try squeezing pennies from the already impoverished lot

H&C: If we don't celebrate in downtime, we will get into a depression. Stimulate the economy by spending more

Minister: Love, affection, prayers, blah blah blah blah.

The king was wavering. Visions of rebellion and riots blurred the bacchanalian revelries. He needed a moment and a divine inspiration. He looked outside the palace window for and saw a travel-weary tradesman resting under a tree. This could be it. He will ask both the minister and the C to go out and find out about the tradesman and report back. This will give him the much needed respite to think.

The minister came back gasping. "The neighboring kingdom is going to attack us soon" he cried out!

"What?" said the king in disbelief. He thought himself to be a big-picture man but this is beyond his wildest imagination to grasp

"The tradesman is from a faraway land. He sold all his wares in the neighboring kingdom made a huge profit and returning to his land. The people in that kingdom are all happy with the king and are with him in his plans to expand his boundaries. While walking through our kingdom he found people miserable and talking about the prosperity and the peaceful environment of the kingdom next door. They were contemplating life under that king….." He could have gone further, logically laying out a compelling reason-why the invasion is imminent and therefore what immediate measures the king could take.

But he was cut-short in the middle of his statement by the booming voice of the coterie who swaggered in with two bags of gold-coins.

"Here, are the proceeds of the sales. Will come in handy, while hiring jugglers and clowns. As for the trader, he is no longer alive to protest" (Snigger)

The next day, the hunting party comprising of the H&C and a decisive and happy king left the palace.

______________________________XXXXXXXXXXXX______________________________

One doesn't know what fate had in store for the minister. Whether he joined the neighboring king, or was fed to crocodiles by the present master or he left the materialistic world and moved onto become a hermit; I can't say.

One thing is for sure. In his eagerness to present a big-picture and make an elevator speech that will impact the people at large; he forgot a simple fact.

Logic doesn't work when you have 30 seconds to make the other person decide. Your speech/arguments should be one of immediate benefits delivered in a hard hitting manner. Say how and how much it will have to add to the coffers. Paint a picture of what you can do with it.

It's an art to accomplish such a job. Only a few possess it.

I know my limitations and am content climbing steps. And I have enough logic to convince myself that it helps me fight cholesterol and keep fit.

The blokes who use offer letters as an instrument for negotiating a better deal (and get it) are more sinned against than sinning.

Wait. Hold your horses. Do not curse me yet. I haven't switched sides. I am still firmly with the fraternity of failed fools. For life.

You would have heaved a sigh of relief when you heard it first. That the colleague who was your competitor has put in her papers. As the days pass by and no further gossip trickles in, you prepare for the farewell. And your own little party at home to celebrate the occasion. Then the email-bomb hits you.

That the deserter has been made VP this or GM that. The grapevine further adds to your misery. That she also got a substantial hike and a cabin with a coffee-maker.

"Blackmailer", you spit, resigned to your fate (because you cannot resign your job)

I used to be in that corner for a long time. Now I bow to the ingenuity of the cabin usurpers and cheer their achievements. Hoping one day I could emulate them.

And here is the story that changed my perspective.

______________________XXXXX______________________

After having her back-broken (Please
refer to 7 Ps of power – Enlightenment…, it's a tad bit long, so read it at your own risk), the poor overworked donkey (POD) took a while to revert to her previous condition. The wise owl (WOW) took pity on it and advised her thus.

WOW: Don't show your eagerness to multi-task. Don't rush to finish your job ahead of schedule. Since you do not have a say on the quantum or quality of load that's put on you, bear it; but take your time. Don't be a slave to conscience.

POD: As you say, my friend. Will do all I can, to get out of this misery.

Months passed and the donkey did its daily chores, in a leisurely manner. And in the night time, where it earlier ploughed through the forage and thinking of the day ahead; it started taking lessons in prancing like a horse, standing with its forelegs in air like the dog and other such wise tricks. The WOW, having taken the ass under its wings, noted with satisfaction the progress of its protégé.

Meanwhile the master's work-life balance was getting effected. He was reaching the lake late and getting home much after the sunset. Business was increasing as there was more dirty linen and laundry to be washed, but he was not able to make most of it. He realized this and did few quick calculations, for he was good in numbers if not in employee-employer relationships. He noted that the only way to deliver more door to door and also reach home on time is to get rid of this donkey and get 2 donkeys in its place.

He told the same to his wife, got the broad's approval to sell this one and get two on board in the upcoming town fair. The day has come and pocketing good number of gold coins (for two healthy donkeys are likely to cost thrice as much as a lazy ass) the master set about to the town fair to offload the current quarry.

He met an ass broker there whose famed motto was "Right Ass on Right Seat" and left the donkey in his able hands and went about to pick up few trinkets for home before the auction of the asses began.

Knock. Knock.

The washer-man's wife opened the door and let the travel-weary guy in. Taking the bag of goodies from his hand she enquired about the day's proceedings.

Weary washer-man's wife (WWW): What happened? Struck a good deal? You seem so smug, my dear!

Smug Washer-man(SW): You bet. The broker is one of the best ass-kicking salesman (AKS) I have ever seen. He paraded our ass and extolling its virtues started the auction with 1 gold coin. 2 immediately called out someone!

WWW: Not bad for an ass that has been slow and past it's prime

SW: It was just the beginning. Our ass stood on its hind-legs and the auctioneers started whistling. 5 gold coins someone said; 10 another shouted.

WWW: Oh, don't tell me you got 10 gold coins for that dumbass. My king, my hero!

SW: Wait there's more! It then started strutting like a stud and the assembly went wild. 15, 20, 25…. Excited and agitated voices rented the place, with people falling over each other to make it their own.

WWW (Swooning): Hold on, I am about to faint. 25 gold coins…OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

A familiar and happy sounding animal cry pierced the WWW's ears.

WWW (bewildered and apprehensive): What's that?

SW (doubly smugly): It's our very own ass! I ran onto the stage and stopped the auction. Paid 35 gold coins to the AKS to buy back the same. You don't believe to what high heavens everyone praised me and congratulated me on such a steal and being a proud owner of a prized ass….

Hey, you have fainted! I too did nearly, knowing what an ass I was to be, letting go of such a worthy being!

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You may still be scratching your head wondering "what's the point"? Here is the thing.

What matters is not what you do and how well you do it or how eager you are to do more. That's not how your valuation is done. People have more faith in what price others put on you. Period.

So don't grudge the blokes who show you the path.

Focus on form than on substance. Learn a few tricks that you are not expected to possess. Put yourself in some good consultant/image-maker/spin-doctor's hands to work on your profile. Get around, get a few offers. Know what you are worth in the market.

And let your organization realize your true value.

Help them. To help yourself.

Farewell to qualms – Or how beggars can be choosers

Forget about the blue-eyed boys or boss's pets. Or people who network better than you, look smarter than you, or have superior social skills. What I have seen is that most of the times we fare worse than some of our peers who are more or less in the same boat as us.

We start off at the same rung in the corporate ladder, make similar moves, are butt of miming in office parties, and are always the last ones to be picked up in any offsite team tasks. Yet we see the guy on the right side of the bell-curve in increments, though bunged in the same executive band. He may share the same designation as us, but his perks are always a tad bit higher than ours.

I couldn't fathom the reason-why till a while ago. Now I am an enlightened soul. Here's why.

Once when Mulla Nasruddin emerged from the mosque after prayers, he tumbled upon a beggar sitting on the steps soliciting alms. The beggar looked supremely overconfident with an air of superiority bordering on insolence about him. He neither lifted his begging bowl, nor thrust forth an upturned palm. He merely glanced at MN and turned his eyes studying his bowl. He seemed well fed and as far as the eye could make out was pleasantly clothed.

MN's curiosity was tickled and he proceeded to hold the following conversation with him:

MN: Are you extravagant?

Supremely overconfident beggar (SOB): Yes, MN

MN: Do you like sitting around drinking coffee and smoking?

SOB: Yes, frequently.

MN: I suppose you like to spend on pampering yourself with regular baths, maybe amuse yourself, even, by drinking with friends.

SOB: Yes I like all those things.

MN reached into his pocket, fished out a gold coin and dropping it carefully in the SOB's bowl moved on, his pious deed for the day done.

A few steps further down, he practically stumbled on another mendicant, flea-infested one with disheveled hair, a personification of meek dejection and abject surrender. What a study in contrast!

A similar but substantively different conversation followed between the two.

Study in contrast (SIC): "Good day to you sir, may god shower his blessings from heaven unto you and may you and your family prosper for generations to come".

MN: Are you extravagant?

SIC: No, sir

MN: Do you like sitting around drinking coffee and smoking?

SIC: No, Sir, I have no such vices.

MN: I suppose you like to spend on pampering yourself with regular baths, maybe amuse yourself, even, by drinking with friends.

SIC: No, Sir, I want to only live meagerly and to pray and lead a life of piety.

MN tossed a small copper coin into the largely empty bowl of the SIC.

"But why", wailed the pitiful soul, "do you give me, an economical and pious man, a penny, when you give that extravagant fellow a sovereign?"

"Ah my friend", replied MN, "his needs are greater than yours".

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I don't know what you gathered from the story, but it sure did open my eyes.

Stock phrases like "Job satisfaction, challenges, learning opportunities, great organization, and terrific boss" will push one into the realms of pious and economical living.

Anybody who has it in them to dole out largesse, and hear those coming from you will see your needs as basic in nature. A mere sustenance pay-package should do the trick for you, they infer to your detriment.

On the other hand, if you look, act and spend like a million bucks, then its incumbent upon the donor to help you keep up with your lifestyle. Even more so, if the donor himself is into such extravagant lifestyle, he knows better than to deprive you of such essentials in life.

Now that the realization has dawned upon me, I am saving every bit of copper that comes my way to be able to afford a good barber's service, a refreshing bath and a hearty meal. For, now that I know what it takes, I am determined to live life king-size and choose the denomination that comes my way.

So here's to a new beg-inning.

FROG in the well – Of a much misunderstood phrase and Rightsizing

Not many of you know the origin of the phrase "Frog in the well". I will not fault you for that. But what I cannot condone is the fact that you go about muddying the reputation of that ribbiting rationalist, of which you know little.

You may not condescend to kiss it; you may despise the sight of the slimy, translucent toad. I have no qualms. "Myopic individuals; people with meager social skills; those who are cooped up in their cubicles" "Aah, here is a frog in the well", you croak, tarring the name of the good amphibian. There, my dear friends, I draw the line.

And here is why.

Once upon a time there lived a frog king named Mundaka in, well… a well. Like all kind kings who took care of their coteries and sycophants, Mundaka too was despised by a lot of lesser toads who were his subjects. Some brave blubbers even went to the extent of questioning his ways of ruling. Little could Mundaka do to either banish such lowly but large numbered leapers or bring a sword swiftly down to settle the matter once for all.

He bid his time sporting a soul-searing yet affable smile and going about the daily affairs. He needn't have to wait for long, for good times come to all who work for personal agendas.

One year there was an exceptional drought like situation, where the water table was receding and the green algae depleting. There was pressure everywhere to survive and Mundaka had to do something to not only ensure his own survival but that of his close brood.

Being an exceptional jumper and a great believer in plotting by jumping around, Mundaka in one of his out-of-the-well thinking moments chanced upon a snake in the grass (The same stricken one who reinvented itself after an appraisal. He apparently shed the old skin and became a consultant).

Mundaka: "Hello, friend!"

Snake (hissing from the corner of one side of the forked tongue): "You are my meal."

Mundaka: "No, I am your meal-ticket. I am a king overseeing an oversized organization. Now tell me what can you do for me?"

Snake (switching to the other): "You came to the right guy. My motto is "FROG - Fruitful Rightsizing of Organization. Guaranteed""

Mundaka: "I want neither undue panic nor inkling of the impending operation"

Snake: "Give me a large enough hole in the wall, in which I can curl up during the day. And leave the rest to me."

Mundaka: "You are hired."

Snake took his place in a hole in the wall and went about doing his stuff - few frogs a day, surreptitiously. Nobody noticed any difference as it wasn't any large scale disappearance. Mundaka meanwhile had a safety plan in place for himself and his hangers on. He heard of consultants who were taken on board for advice but stayed put to takeover the reins. He kept his coterie, sycophants and family members inside the deep-end of the well; where the snake couldn't reach. It was sure to drown if at all it ever put such a tempting thought to action.

Over a period of few months, the snake did its bit to the utmost satisfaction of Mundaka. The draught situation was also easing off and the feeders – fodder balance was restored. Rightsizing was achieved.

The snake having realized it wasn't getting any more of its daily calories called out to Mundaka at the other end, requesting a meeting. Mundaka said thanks but no thanks and performed a rain-dance at the deeper end of the well with his hangers on.

Snake weighed both the options. Of over-reaching its mandate by jumping into the far end of the well or crawling back up in search of shallow wells lorded by less cunning kings. The risks and rewards seemed to be far better laid out in the latter case. With things under control and none to raise their voice against him or curse him, Mundaka ruled the well happily ever after!

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Now you tell me readers. Wouldn't you want to be in the inner circle of such resourceful and wily boss, who can guarantee your survival and success even in adverse situations? Or will you still go back to what you have learnt from fools with a bit of moral fiber in them, and continue mouthing the phrase in the same disdainful manner?

Open your mouth, hahaha – Lessons from the woodcutter’s life

It is not just Johnnies-come-lately who rush to all and sundry to gush about the minutest of their accomplishments. Even the most seasoned of us cannot keep our gob shut in moments of elation. Or despair, but that I have already dealt with earlier in "Make an ass of yourself, but don't let the world know about it".
We undermine the perils of parting with information; and sacrifice the benefits accrued at the altar of sharing! Don't. I beg of you, as a well wisher. Falling on deaf ears, do I see? At least desist from turning a blind eye to this short and sweet story.

Once upon a time, there lived an honest and diligent woodcutter (WC) in a god-forsaken village. You know the kind. One who sharpens his axe for 8 hours, if he had 10 to fell a tree. Sustenance chopper, who stays forever poor, struggling to make ends meet. One day, he was doing his bit to bring down a mighty mahogany when his hands slipped and the axe fell into an abandoned well nearby. Having lost his means to earn his livelihood and no capital to procure a new one, he sat there on the edge of the well ruing his fate, after taking a good look into it and determining that there is no way he can get out of it alive.

His wailings reached the ears of a lesser god (LG), dweller of the well and a benevolent soul when he is in a good mood. And that day was one of those do-good days in his diary. Out he came, enquired the matter with a stunned and still sobbing wood-cutter, and dived right back in only to come up with a brand-new copper axe.

LG: "Take it"

WC (wiping his eyes, still in daze): "Not mine"

Dive 2. Silver axe

WC (shaking his head): "Nah"

Dive 3. Gold axe

WC (gaining composure and losing mind): "Wow. No again. How can I cut wood with this? Mine is of iron"

Dive 4. Puffing and panting.

LG: "Take it. And take the other three too. Consider this once in a lifetime hike, out of turn, for honesty. Run"

Pleased with his good deed for the day, the god dived right back in a 5^th time for a well earned repose. Even gods are human sometimes.

The WC headed home, happy and whistling at the good fortune that struck him. Honesty pays. Goodness prevails. Such were the thoughts on his mind, when he met with his scheming neighbor, a blacksmith.

BS (eye raised and conscience troubled): "What's up? Never seen you this way before"

WC (gaining composure and losing mind): "Brother, from today all my problems are solved" Blah blah..axe..slip..fell..well..god..1,2,3..Run

To make a dash into his hut and bring the heaviest axe out (rusting with no takers) was the work of a second for the BS. Off he zipped into the forest and reached the wealth bestowing well. Aiming well he dropped the purported seed of his future fortune into it and waited.

Thud.

LG zapped out of his nap like a mad cap. Ayyieee..

Running his hand on the part of the head where the ruddy thing delivered a deadly blow, he floated up menacingly. Cursing and cussing he looked in the direction of BS and was about to direct a volley of vitriolic verbiage guaranteed to wreck havoc.

BS was nothing if he wasn't a cunning sycophant. Prostration followed by paeans punctured with apologies in between flowed effortless from him. Slowly LG's temper came down to manageable levels. He realized that this poor soul was only driven by greed and a desire to make a quick fortune, which is but natural in the earthly beings. And it wasn't his fault altogether. If only that honest motor-mouth had refrained from uttering a syllable about the benevolent heart that LG was.

Zip. The Copper, Silver, Gold axes vanished from WC's hut and materialized in LG's hand.

Zap. They found their way into the stretched and grasping hands of BS.

Zoom. Into the cozy interiors went the LG, once again to catch a much needed snooze. Happy in the knowledge that the fortunes are safely in the hands of a selfish soul who wouldn't squeal.

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So you see folks? If ever you get a pay hike that defies gravity or the laid out norms; if you are sent on an offsite before you have the tickets safely in hand; when you are invited by the boss outside of office hours; or to his home; when you got a congratulatory email or you are privy to the impending pink slip to the dweller in next cubicle.. SHUT THE AHEM UP!

Because there are enough and more fast thinking, flash Gordons around than the number of disease carrying germs on your keypad. They will beat you to it (whatever it is), before it is signed and sealed and declared off-bound to others.

I know it is easy to get carried away. But these rewards are easier to get carried away by scheming and snooping peer-a-sites.

SO SHUT UP. And Savor in Silence.

 

Mentor-trap – It takes a mouse…

Take it from me. It is better to have no mentor than have a mentor who has all the good intentions, but doesn't know what's exactly right for the mentee. In the first case, you still have excuses to put forth for not getting the cheese, in the rat-race. In the later, you have nobody to turn to and crib, complain or be catty about. You are trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

As the wise men of yore said, "Few people are born with mentors. Some acquire mentors along the way. And a significant portion has mentors thrust upon them." It's with the last lot our sympathies should lie. Still skeptical? Sample this story.

Once upon a time there lived Sage Suchitha, or "Pure Mind", a morally and spiritually superior being with a golden heart. Every day he took bath in a stream flowing by his hermitage and offered prayers to the gods. By a quirk of fate, one day, an eagle flying above head carrying its breakfast, a she-mouse in this case, accidentally dropped it into the stretched hands of the sage. Suchitha took pity on the hapless and injured she-mouse and took it home and applied medicine.

Using the powers vested in him by virtue of his pious nature and penance that he did over time, he turned the mouse into a young girl. He looked after her as his own daughter and taught her all the scriptures and sciences he was teaching his students at that time.

Years passed and the girl grew into a beautiful young maiden of a marriageable age. Sage Suchitha wanted to get her the best groom possible in the whole world; and set out to search for him.

He first approached the Sun god, the provider of light and heat to all worlds and the sustainer of life on earth. "O mighty lord, will you accept the hand of my daughter and make her happy?" Sun bowed to the sage and said, 'O holy one, I would be happy to oblige you, but I am not the strongest or ablest one that you suppose I am. It is the Cloud king, for he can overshadow me and cut the light and heat off in a jiffy. His is the abode, you want your daughter to be sent as a queen to."

So the wise man proceeded to the cloud king's palace. He got a grand reception at the place, and a patient hearing. The upshot is that the sage gained knowledge that the wind god is powerful than the cloud king as he can blow all the fluff in the world in a blink. The hot-air god (for it is by now, afternoon) led the perspiring sage to the mountain king stating that he alone breaks his path and changes his direction by standing his ground stubbornly and not giving way. Who can be mightier than the mountain?

"The mouse king" Pat came the reply from the mountain king, after the customary pleasantries were exchanged and purpose revealed by the pure-heart. "My mighty deportment is a mere nothing when confronted by the powerful jaw of the mouse king. He tunnels through me like I am made of cheese. He is the right choice".

Off he went to the mouse king and sought his hand. The mouse king readily acquiesced. The daughter was turned into a she-mouse again, and betrothed to the mouse-king. "I got her into a great place, where she can lead her life happily ever after", so thinking the sage's eyes went moist. The daughter too shed tears but for a different reason.

For she knew the sage could have, if not so naïve though well meaning, gotten her to marry any of the gods he has visited:

1. Sun – The shining star who worked fixed hours
   
2. Cloud – All fluff floating well above the measly earth, that people looked at and made their own interpretations, without taxing the god's mind much
   
3. Wind – Hot air and invisible to pin down for any misdeed. What fun!
   
4. Mountain – Stubborn, rooted to the place, lead a languid life without moving so much as a finger
   

Instead now she has gotten into a hole, a future mapped out to work incessantly and in mortal fear. A rolling stone slaughters mouse. And the well rooted deportments have many that can crush the tiny body and snuff the life out any moment! Bah, strongest!

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So you see folks? If the mentor was smart enough, he would have known what your constitution is. And at the very outset hitched your wagon to the right being. Without rising false hopes.

Or he would have, with the powers vested in him to change you for better (a la mouse to maiden), packaged you and gotten you into the right place without breaking a sweat.

All you mentor-blessed or mentor-hunting minions may smirk at me today, for being mentor-challenged. But make sure, you will not cry at your fate for being delivered into the hands of a well meaning one with less street smartness tomorrow. For then, you know who will have the last laugh!

“Performance” Linked Incentive – The PLI-ght of the blighter who was neck-deep in…

(2 posts ago, I mentioned the god's way of disbursing bonuses. This week, it is a humble effort to show that even human way is no better. Bottom-line? – No Hope! J)

The day you have signed on the dotted line endowing a substantial part of your pay packet to performance linked incentive (PLI) you are doomed. Take it from me. I am not talking about increment – a chunk of your future denied but incentive – a part of your past robbed.

Most of us would have had the wool pulled over our eyes. There is no shame in admitting it, for our ilk has the strength in numbers, if nothing else. At the last straw poll, the head count stood at a comfortable 99.87%.

When we got appointment letter with the last (and least important) page coyly mumbling "salary break-up" and loudly screaming PLI – 20%, we did not wince. We grinned sheepishly, when the HR hinted how employees who do not "put their stake in the ground" or "do not wish to grow with the company" rank a shade below thugs and many notches above petty thieves. We believed naively that the company is merely holding it for safe-keep for we know not, how to manage our finances. And behold the joy in the eyes of the starving souls at home, when they see 240% at one go, than 20% every month! Wow, these guys are good with numbers!

A year later, the sheepish grin gives way to quivering lips. Belief turns into bewilderment when we sit holding the last salary check. Figures in front of us get blurred. Suddenly we hear things that are completely different from what we were feeding to the investors and announcing in public domain. "Company is in bad shape". ""You did well, but your team/function on the whole slipped". "We have invested more in you than we got in return" "None in the company is paid a dime".

"Where is the harvest?", you wonder. But frankly, did you not see it coming?

You would have, if you had heard this fabulous fable at the knees of your elders. If not, lose no more time and deep-dive into the narrative.

Once upon a time, a young bloke walked into the court of a king seeking a suitable position. The king was in an indulgent mood, so he directed the administrative officer to take him on rolls as a palace guard and pay him "10 gold coins every month", a princely sum. The young man's joy knew no bounds and he profusely thanked the kind king. The kind king, then directed the young man to do a small task to prove his worth and mettle before he could join the duty.

"Your wish is my command, dear lord; please let me know what I have to do?" cried the lad.

"Stand over-night, neck-deep in the river flowing by the palace clad only in your loin cloth and report to duty tomorrow. Or off with your head". The jolly king ordered thus and retired to his harem.

It was the month of December. The cold wave was at its strongest. It is the time of the year when even a rhinoceros would prefer few blankets and a cozy corner, just inches away from the crackling fire place.

The youth ventured forth jauntily. With a song on his near-blue lips he dipped his toes in the waters. Inch by freezing inch, he waded through the liquid ice and settled down in a place where he could comfortably have his head above the waters. He stood there all night, stark naked, save his loin cloth. His eyes, full of life and zest, wandered hither and thither and rested upon one of the brightly lit torches shimmering through the palace windows. He meditated upon the golden words of the king and the thoughts on the impending job. The remuneration it carried eased the cold current cutting through to his bones.

Next day morning the happy soul made his way to the king's court and stood there quivering and expectantly. The king lifted an enquiring eyebrow at him and asked what he wanted. The youth, though taken aback a bit, narrated what transpired the previous evening and asked him for his reward. The king still groggy from the bacchanalia of the previous night and the sweet but hazy memory of a night well spent, inquired "how did you manage to walk here, without passing out"?. The youth answered that he was a happy and sturdy soul and the thought of the bounty that the morning would bring kept him from freezing to death. He also mentioned spending time looking at the brightly lit torch. "Aah, there you are now I know how you managed to stay warm and alive even in the freezing cold. The warmth from the torch of the palace! And to think that the precious oil and the high grade cotton is wasted on a vagabond like you doing meaningless chores of standing stark naked in neck-deep waters! What if you had died? They would have blamed me and not you! Glad I kept the window open, so you didn't meet an untimely death. Now off you go, and do not ever set foot on this soil again. Else…"

Now I have heard varying versions of the same, where a wise and unwavering minister comes to the rescue of the stricken lad and gets the king to see reason and make good his promise. But I think, it's pure fiction and humbug. Which king drunk with power ever saw reason? Or which coterie feeding off the fat of the land merrily would stake it's all for the sake of a naïve aspirant?

I am a smart man, if not a wise being. I have a year-long supply of thermal loin clothes handy for I know winters here are much worse. And the only favor I ask my king is to ensure it's water that he sends me to stand neck-deep into and no stinking swamp. Thank god, I indeed am blessed with a kind king.

Re-inventing self after an Appraisal? – Learn from the stricken snake

The Appraisal Pandora envelope brings with it many plagues – "Meets expectations", "Extend probation / Defer promotion". Those are the early pests that fly in your face, the moment you step into the claustrophobic and asphyxiating cabin of your boss.

The unkindest bite of all, though, is delivered by "Needs to improve on people skills". Words fail one. Your entire water-cooler and office party life flashes in front of your eyes for a mind-numbing moment. What does it mean?

Whatever it is, you fall into concurrence because EMIs on house, car, children's education; the liability list jolts you out of your reflections. You nod meekly and surrender abjectly. Better the white flag than the pink-slip, you realize. You take the feedback to heart. You strive hard to change. You invest in "How to..", "Joy @ "2 minute..", "Soup and Cheese.." and other delirium inducing series. You buy roses to strew around, pick up the bill where earlier it was the toothpick, at best, you picked up. You suppress your nausea and raise your eyebrows in appreciation, at the ghastly family pictures on the softboard of your colleague. You greet everyone, right from the security guard to the CEO's driver. You gag your conscience and compliment the secretary even on her worst hair-day. The works.

6 months later (or an year later, depending on how often your organization wants to inflict this on you), you will be sitting in the same cabin, across the same table and same face, with the same words slashing your heart "Needs to improve on people skills".

I learnt the futility of such revolving-door-reinvention, the day my grandmother told me this story! Am I any wiser? Now that's a territory, I ask you strictly not to trespass into! Read the story and may be YOU will benefit.

Master Wai and monk Waimudu, after cursing the do-good villagers (ref my earlier entry "Bless the bounders…" ), took leave from them to proceed towards their next destination. The good villagers that they were, warned the master-monk duo of the perilous jungle that lay ahead and suggested an alternate path, which was a tad bit longer. Wai smiling, proceeded at a faster pace towards the straight and narrow, dangerous as it may be.

The path was covered with grass, indicating it wasn't used in a long time. The jungle itself appeared serene and bountiful, with fruit laden trees; brooks with cool, clear and sweet water and what not. Waimudu keeping pace with his master was taking the beauty of the jungle in, along with a juicy bunch of wild strawberries, wondering what it was that kept the villagers off this nature's boon. And the answer to that appeared the next moment and lay right in the middle of their path.

A huge, hissing, snarling, slithery being with glowering eyes. Waimudu, was just about weighing his chances of being welcomed into the celestial damsels' abode, when Master Wai proceeded to address the snake thus.

Master Wai (MW): How are you today, my friend?

Hissing, Snarling, Slithery Snake (HSSS):
Hungry and ready to sink my fangs in trespassers like you (Proceeding ominously with hood raised)

MW: You won't dare do that with me. Here, sample this – "De-motion" (Author: An effective mantra, if ever when used on lowly minions of all hues, that hampers further progress)

HSSS stopped in its tracks petrified, its limbless supine body feeling that more than ever. Finding tongue (the other one, that comes in handy precisely in such situations when you misuse one) it said

HSSS: Please forgive my ignorance. I spoke loosely knowing not how powerful you are

MW: It's ok. Why do you want to unnecessarily scare poor folks away from enjoying this largesse of nature; which belongs to all. Don't scare them henceforth unnecessarily and I will ensure status-quo-ante

HSSS: Please, I won't. I promise to mend my ways. Thanks (feeling the cold blood circulate once again).

Mouthing platitudes profusely, HSSS crawled away to its little hole in the ground, shedding its hitherto scales of meanness and aggression.

After a few months of spreading wisdom in their journey, Master Wai and Monk Waimudu on their way back happened to pass through the same but different jungle – Path wide and well-worn, de-fruited trees, huge stumps whose trunks ended up warming many a cold wintery nights or cook a delicious meal, brooks muddied. Mourning over the ravages the once beautiful jungle had suffered, Master Wai turned his head towards a thick bush alongside the path, from whence were proceeding heart-wrenching gasps and hisses, that of a dying being.

Going around, he found the once proud HSSS in a pitiable and pathetic condition. Huge wounds, oozing blood and feasted upon by flies, were all over its once shining mane. The eyes lost their luster, the once long stretched body coiled listlessly with nary a sign of life, save a slow and erratic heaving. MW ran a soothing hand over the body of the stricken snake and asked it what has brought it to this state.

(Author: The following narrative is pieced together using some creative license, as it would be impossible for a snake on its last limbs to be able to reconstruct so lucidly such a long narrative)

HSSS (gasping and in a sepulchral tone): I followed your advice master…and stopped hissing n biting n scaring the one or two brave souls who in the initial days have wandered this way. Slowly the word spread, and the trickle of passersby turned into a torrent of travelers; caravans, families on bullock carts, wood-cutters, farmers..everyone who had or did have a stake in this forest. At first they were still trepidations about what I would do. Then it started with a pesky kid throwing a lump of mud at me.

Encouraged by the lack of response, they then started throwing stones of all makes, from a distance and then over a period ventured to poke every square inch of my body with sharp wooden pikes. And then took immense pleasure in beating me with them. Just yesterday, two kids and their uncle stomped on me taking turns for over an hour as a part of some elaborate ritual. Now here I am waiting for deliverance. Where did I go wrong?

MW: My dear friend. I asked you not to bite them and scare them without reason. That doesn't mean you lose your natural instincts and stop hissing and keeping them at bay all together! Here drink this potion and you will regain your strength and form. Live a long life with this lesson learnt.

The story ends there, and I don't know what happened next. Whether the snake heeded the advice second time and made hiss-story or whether the emboldened junta using longer sticks and bigger stones snuffed the life out of it, once they saw it rearing its hood again. But not being any wiser than the snake after its first appraisal session; and not having a wise Master Wai around to help me read between the lines and nurse me back to strength after initial set-backs; I still play the fool and keep reinventing myself never endingly.

Here is to hoping at least some of you profit from my granny's story!

Pray for just rewards – But choose your god well!

It's an annual ritual. Bleeding hearts, burnt dreams. Cursing tongues, thunderous snorts. All troop out beating retreat. A handful of smiling visages, whistling lips; follow suit a little later.

A passerby (who's making two trips one coinciding with the march past of the majority and the other with the motley minority) can be excused for wondering if they sign in the same roster. They do.

For the day when one sees this vertical split in the emotions of ranks is the "Annual Bonus Cheque Day" (ABCD in short).

It's but natural to feel let down, after having slogged for 364 days (plus one in a leap year), seeing your age on the cheques. As against hearing from helpful minnows in HR about others who had their telephone numbers slapped down on those very cheques. The blood boils!

But who do you curse? At whom should you direct your well justified (so you think) anger at? Who should you haul over the proverbial coals? No one but yourself! Surprised? Over to Mullah Nasruddin (MN).

One day, MN was on his evening walks mulling, as usual, over the world and its ways. He came across four boys, who were carrying a sack of walnuts. Seeing MN, the wise man that he is reputed to be, the four boys asked him to distribute the walnuts among them. They all had toiled together to amass that bounty. One brought the sack from home, one made a hole in the walnut garden fence, one stood vigil and the other climbed trees to fill the sack. Indeed, great teamwork. Now is the time for sharing the spoils, for they know not the economics of the same. Except a vague notion that it should be equitable. But alas, none of them is equipped to carry out the task. MN was a god-sent dispenser of justice, for anyone else will have surely demanded a share of the pie.

MN, smiling and stroking his silver-grey beard; asked the boys how they want it to be shared. "God's way or the human way".

"God's way", pat came the reply in unison. For it is god's will alone that has brought riches on them!

"So be it" said the benevolent Mullah and got down to business.

He took two huge fists-full of walnuts and thrust them into the stretched hands of a one who took them gleefully. The next expectant slob was in for a rude shock – one walnut!! Joy knew no bounds when the third kid had the entire sack emptied into the headscarf that MN asked to be opened and laid down! And a tight slap across the face of the aghast 4^th poor sucker!!! 2&4 let out a shriek that would have reached heavens; while 1 was left in two minds – whether to be happy with what he got or feel miserable looking at what 3 has received. Leaving behind sobbing, shrieking, slapping, scratching kids, MN went on his way muttering "they should have asked for the human way"!

For all you folks who feel odd like 2&4, let this be a lesson. When you have prayed to god to grant a fair share for your toils, your fate was sealed. That's how gods function. Nothing mysterious in that!

Be advised to direct your prayers and pandering elsewhere. To the gods in human form – boss/top management. For the happy folks whom you have seen walking by planning the next big investment or an expensive 7-star holiday, know where to turn. And whom to propitiate and prostrate!

May somebody bless you. I am off to do some Find & Replace on certain nouns in my hymn book.

Mantra to fare well in your career – Bless those bounders that hound you out

Most of you would have done that. Curse to high hell the company and / or the team that you were leaving behind. Wishing it folds up, being sucked into the vacuum created by your leaving. "They should know better than kicking me out". You mutter, while stuffing the "Dadda, mamma, me and our home" impressionist scribbling done by your 2 year old into the staples box.

Such is human tendency. Especially the tender, raw nerve that's touched upon by not having a farewell or worse being send off by one-line email, "wishing him/her all the very best in his/her future end…". Understandable.

Pink is not exactly the color-célèbre, when it comes to slips.

But my dear fellow travelers hear me out. There is never more a foolish wish to be praying for than asking for the plague of the company you are leaving behind to disintegrate and those pests of peers and superiors to disperse all over. Instead you must pray for them all to do extra-ordinarily well, the company listed in the best of the bourses, their ESOPs multiplied a 100 times, with salaries tripled and promotions hastened and that they outprice themselves from the job market. Think I am extremely stupid? Read on.

A long time ago, in the era when masters were mentally, morally and spiritually superior to their follower monks; there lived master Wai and his naïve yet faithful follower WaiMudu. Master Wai was a wandering soul, seeking nirvana that is anywhere but the place he is present in. (The modern career-minded may recognize this hopping nature of the monk and nod approvingly at the breaks in his spiritual CV; for then as now parking in one place never got you anywhere). Breaking down complex philosophical commentaries into simple quotes, showing the path to worldly riches in seven simple steps, managing life in one-minute or saving cheese…you get the drift, were few of the philanthropic deeds the monk indulged in for the benefit of the humanity.

During one such wanderings, he passed through a village. Knocking at the first house that lay in his path, Wai asked for a glass of water and some meal to go with it. "What the… Look at you, you %&#$. You look hail and healthy. Why can't you *&^%$#!@ earn your daily bread instead of doling out worthless and unsolicited advices to us. &^%$ off". First the barrage. Then the bang of the door in his face. Wiping the spittoon off his weathered yet smiling visage, Wai proceeded to the next house. And the next one. One street after another, not profiting either in the way of quenching thirst or quelling hunger Wai and Waimudu, a disparaging and derisive crowd behind them, stepped out of the village.

Waimudu was muttering under his breath what he would like to be done to the villagers (his recently enhanced vocabulary coming in handy), when to his utter disbelief, there proceeded from the mouth of his master, the following:

"May this village prosper for a 1000 years and all its inhabitants and their future generations make merry like no other. May they have timely rains and bumper crops; turn stinking rich and build palaces in this very place"

Waimudu did not know what to make of this insanity. Nor he had the inclination to clear his doubts then and there for a
grumbling stomach is not an ideal audience for the voice of reasoning.

Slowly but steadily their weary legs bore them towards another village.

Lo. What a world of change! On sighting them, the humble and caring villagers fell over each other to offer them worldly comforts. One elderly person washed their mud-caked feet, another wiped them dry. One housewife held an umbrella from the scorching sun while another started fanning them. Cushions were brought to make their seating comfortable; plates were laid and simple yet delicious food was offered. Sweetmeats and fruits appeared and vanished at the same pace. Packing some for the journey ahead, for one known not when the next such benevolent village will come their way, the contended master, follower duo left the village, leaving behind a joyous bunch of simple minded folks.

Waimudu, squeezing a juicy mango was contemplating the order and magnitude of blessings he wanted to bestow on the large hearted villagers, when once again his disbelieving ears perked up at the following contrarian words, which proceeded from his master Wai:

"May this village be hit with a disastrous famine and the villagers disperse in all directions"

Incredulous as they were, Waimudu couldn't hold on any longer and confronted his master, all his righteous indignation boiling and bubbling over.

"What sort of insanity is this master? Where you were kicked and spat at and driven out like a dirty distempered dog; you wanted heavens to shower prosperity on them. And where our parched tongues and simmering stomachs were truly and selflessly served, you cursed them to rot in hell!"

Smiling and looking indulgently at his bristling ward, Wai said:

"Son, without reflecting upon the consequences and acting in the heat of the moment, imagine what would happen if I had reversed my words on the respective village.

The kindly villagers would prosper yet stay put. The kickers would disperse all over the world, to surface and cross our paths in some other village where the same fate would then await us. It is better they prosper where they are, see no reason to leave the place and in the process contain the damage they can wrought on fellow human beings and limiting the poison they are capable of spreading.

The givers on the other hand, should move about the world and seed such DNA of sharing and caring; helping wanderers like us to make our living"

I firmly believe Waimudu was my ancestor and his blood runs in me. I may not have learnt much to become a master. But I learnt enough to pray for the buggers I leave behind earn their stripes where they are, not crossing my path or ending up as my peers or bosses in the next company I land a job in.