10 years on...

I could be a tad rusty here, but I believe it's been just over 10 years now (not to the day, though) since I'd first stepped into B-school. To say that most of us who undertook that journey together are today under 'somewhat altered circumstances' will probably be a huge understatement . Some of us will be fatter, balder, but most will be wiser, I hope. Some of you may be reading this against a backdrop of baby chatter, or office hubbub, or general ambient noise as life passes by. For some, it has been a journey worth making; some are still waiting to find out. But I'd like to think that the journey has been worth it for most if not all of us.

When we stepped in that day, I thought that the world was my oyster. Of course, I didn't know any good recipes for oyster, but the idea appealed to me nonetheless. Today, things probably taste a little blander. Moreover the dollar sign is a little blurred sometimes, often shaping itself into words like family, duty, friendship and home.

Funnily enough, I realised the other day that - knowing now what I know of what it took to go through those 2 years - I might just decline if the opportunity presented itself again. Those 2 years in a room with no walls (figuratively speaking), changed a lot in me. But at the end of the gruelling lectures, the undending tests, the late nights, the placements, the tension, the petty squabbles... the only thing that mattered was that I was among friends. For those 2 short years, we were like a family. At least so I'd like to believe.

Those of you who know me well, know that I love movies. Thankfully, it's a habit I've never quite been able to kick. There was one particular one, which ended with a quote that I always carry with me. The context is somewhat different, and those of you who recognise the movie will - I hope - excuse the little liberty that I've taken with its 're-branding' as it were. I thought it might make an appropriate ending for this note.

It runs something like this - "...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." - Abraham Lincoln, in his first inaugural address.

Peace out. And back to the real world. Where the dollar sign is sharper.

No Fear Or What it means to live shamelessly

As I wade knee deep into the mid-30s, I realise for the first time that there is actually a chance that I may die someday. And whilst I am not given to morbid phases of trying to imagine the time and nature of my eventual exit from this floating spaceship, I do think a lot more about the R -word these days. For the uninitiated - R stands for regret. That unnamed entity that lies somewhere between 'What next' and 'Oh shit was that me?'

Of late - the thoughts have been gnawing at me with frightening periodicity.

So I decided to do something about it. I've made a bucket list - things to do before I die (does not include Megan Fox). I first came across the title in the movie of the same name, and I quite liked it. It was nice to see Jack Nicholson ageing (but no less grumpy) and Morgan Freeman carried off the 'dying philosopher' with class and ease.

So here goes:

1. Write a book that will leave its mark
2. Fly my own jet
3. Attend my kid's graduation at Harvard with my wife
4. See at least one of them marry a supermodel (I mean my kids - not my wife; she's already married to one... ME!)
5. Go on a world cruise first class, ... and have money left over!
6. Spend a weekend at the Waldorf Astoria (could be the same weekend as the graduation)
7. See the 7 wonders (see - killed 7 with one wish!)
8. Learn 3 new languages
9. Be someone people can trust
10. Eat the perfect omelette

Of the 10, I think I've come close to achieving the 10th, thanks to a stay at the Hilton in Leeds.

The others are work in progress. Watch this space.

Self-Help for the helpless

Of late, I've been reading self-help books. No problem finding them around every corner these days, since they breed like veritable rabbits. Some are what I would term as very me-too: basically a clever distillation of things said before, masked with the chicanery of words. But now and again, once hits a gem. Something that changes your perspective,... or at least shifts it subtly enough for you to be able to comprehend a little bit more that you did before. In the end - comprehension leads to awareness, and I am assuming that that is the end-goal.

But there is a deeper question emerging: and it has something to do with the context of a life. I'll quote from Hawking, who said that we are an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. Or think about the new ring of Saturn discovered recently (not really new then, is it!) - one so large that it would take a billion earths to fill it. The point I'm trying to make is that - life itself is a mere blip on the horizon of the universe / eternity, depending on the scale you choose. So what then, sets me apart from the illiterate scratching his head next to a dried up well in a remote Indian village with no electricity? Way I see it - the only thing that will separate us when we both buy the proverbial farm, will be that I will have eaten a couple of hundred more hamburgers than him, had a google account, watched Christina Aguilera reach #1 being Dirty, and paid a fortune to be insulted by attractive flight attendants on economy class. Get my point?

My wife says that the difference is that life experience makes me (or those of us in economy class etc..) more aware. And the more aware we are, the better choices will all shall make. Well, some of us at least. (Is that a groan I hear from Mr Woods?)

Nevertheless, will anyone remember my name when I am gone? And why is that important at all, since I will at best be cosmic cow-dung by then.

I'll let you know when I get the answer.

Waking up Sid

Methinks Ayan Mukherji (like what they have done to his name) is quite the dude. I came out from watching 'Wake Up Sid' feeling that he's done a capital job of romanticising Bombay - sorry, Mumbai - in the eyes of all and sundry. Sure, the monsoons are great, it has the dreams that stuff is made of, ... all fine. But in the end, the point didn't really hit home,... that is if there was one. I was reading one of the reviews, which said that rather than a story, it was more a slice of life. Very apt, I thought. Mind you, the slice was very well made. Ranbir and Konkona show us how it's done, and the cameo roles are nice too. And sometimes, the pathos was so stark it hit you in the face: like the scene where Ranbir tells her he is about to leave and go home... her utter desolation at the thought of her impending loneliness, almost like losing a mate (well, not mate yet!). She's the real deal.
The shots of Mumbai brought back memories - a mixed bag of allsorts that creeps up on you unawares whilst you are watching, and clings to your t-shirt like a piece of velcro when you leave the theatre. A warm and fuzzy movie - overall. Now - go watch.

I need a bath now.

The leadership ethos

CNBC ran a very successful set of interviews with accomplished business leaders from across a wide spectrum on industry: names included Indra Nooyi, Carlos Ghosn, Aditya Mittal, Ronald Cohen and Sergio Marchionne. All venerable names, held in the highest esteem in international business circles amongst peers. I bought the 2-set dvd, thinking it would be a catch-all silver bullet that I could take with a glass of water and a dispirin, to wake up in the morning and discover that I had turned into a jargon-spewing behemoth with a private jet parked in my modest back garden. Not so... but I was pleasantly surprised nonetheless. £10 well spent.

These men (and women) had one thing in common: drive, an eye for talent, and decisiveness. But what pretty much jumped off the screen whilst I was watching, was their conviction and belief in what they were doing, and the energy that backed that up. I'd like to make reference here to a now-famous speech from the movie "The Recruit", when Al Pacino (who else!) was addressing Colin Farrell's class of rookies, at The Farm (CIA -speak for rookie-school). He asked a question: "Why are you here...?" And he went on to puncture any notions the befuddled recruits may have had about money,fame or sex as potential motives for joining the CIA. And then he made that statement: We are here because we believe... right over wrong, good over evil etc etc. Sure, corny stuff, you may say. But think about this: the money-fame-sex thing definitely holds for the guys in C-suits. And for some, perhaps that's an end in itself. But for a few - I think it's because they believe. And in this case, they believe they are making a difference, a change for good that will fundamentally alter the way we conduct our lives - whether it's driving cars, making steel or drinking juice. Sometimes, that belief gets clouded and they start believing their own publicity, and you end up with a Bernie Ebbers or a Ken Lay. Very often, they start preaching what they don't believe.

But for the cautious few, it's a straight and narrow path laced with touch decisions, intense scrutiny, failure (at times), hard work a responsibility for the lives of his/her employees, and the customers who trust you enough to buy your product. That's a responsibility - just like bringing the news to the masses, or making food or preaching a sermon. And the smart ones are the ones who do it for the right reasons.

What's your reason?

The battle of the Bulge-bracket

Amidst an economy that threatens to shrink to miniscule proportions - possibly rivalling the earlier dresses worn by one Christina Aguilera for some of her videos - the average oaf on the street (self included) is quietly wondering how we got here in the first place. And just when you thought it was safe to go back into the multiplexes again - they hit you with a double whammy: Swine flu, and Wolverine. Apparently, one is a brain-numbing, highly contagious affliction that leaves you devoid of normal bodily functions after you've been through it, whilst the other is a new strain of fever. Leads one to wonder - SWINE FLU... just how exactly does one get swine flu? Mouth to mouth resuscitation with pigs? As if AIDS wasn't bad enough.

In other news, Barack Obama has completed his first 100 days in office, and promptly declared that he is not a miracle worker. Yeah - like we didn't see that one coming! And as the US economy limps back to a crossroads where no doubt other horrors (beginning with prime lending) will begin unleashing themselves upon it, one wonders if the news channels would do people a service and just report something 'nice' for a change.

Ode to the Woman

The news of the divorce - Madonna and Mr Ritchie - was probably just another chapter in the grand dame's re-discovery process. One more time. She's changed so many times already, it's a wonder she even knows who the real Madonna 'really' is. Fans will be saddened no doubt, and her detractors will add fuel to an already sad and sordid tale made more so by the misery of pain and separation,... her own as well as the lives she has ruined.

But in the end, she will rise above it all. Because, for her fans - she represents something beyond the mundane and the ordinary, something timeless that a few tabloid columns and headlines on the daily news cannot tarnish. For them - as for me - she is a passport to an entire epoch of our unspoilt youth, as fundamental a part of growing up as love and longing itself. We dreamed of her, worshipped her, pined for her, sang her songs in private and danced to her rhythmic beats that kindled flames of freedom, dark desire, and the promise of days to come. We worshipped her at the pedestal of innocence - and she was the original goddess of 'come hither boys and become men.'

We're men now,... but Madge - you are timeless. As pure and pristine as the music that defined our growing years. Here's wishing you never change,... and that you always do. From now until eternity.

Genius and the guitar hero, or Only the most committed wins

They say genius is the ability to take pains. I came across the following article on the Metallica site about Kirk Hammett:

"A keen student of his instrument even today, Hammett followed his first 'Kill 'Em All' tour by taking lessons from Joe Satriani, and embarked upon a passage of guitar self-education that took in jazz, blues and classical styles. Indeed, education has always been Kirk's answer to potential burnout. After the marathon 'Black' album tour ended in 1993, he immediately went to the City College of San Francisco where he took classes, something he credits as the reason behind his reinvention as a guitarist on the 'Load' and 'Re-load' albums. Kirk continues to bring not only a dazzling array of lead guitar parts to Metallica's music but also some savage rifferey, having started sharing 6-string duties with James during the 'Load' era. .......Oh, and for the record, Kirk plays his guitar at least 361 days a year. "

Got me thinking. What is genius? Maybe it's not about solving Fermat's last theorem whilst waiting for a pizza, or writing 'The Gift of the Magi' whilst your publishers are waiting downstairs (yes I hear old Henry pulled that one off), or painting the Sistine chapel or even scoring perfect 800s on your SATs. Yes it IS all that.... but a little more. It's about losing yourself in 'your' art, making it a passion that rules you, and no compromises.

Is it very different in business? The most successful practitioners of the art of commerce have been men who have devoted - literally - their lives in some manner of speaking - to the advancement of their chosen field(s). They have lived in it, enriched it, and sometimes changed the rules of the game. They utterly and completely justify the adage: "The most committed win."

So I ask today - How committed am I? I think it's a question we're not so much afraid to answer, as we are afraid to ask. Because, that's one of the fringe handicaps of being human. Born with unlimited potential, the last thing that we want is to discover that we're really good at something, but that something comes at a price: total commitment.

Can you live with that? Consider well the following, before you answer: There is a point of inflexion in every thing that we do,.. be it learning a language or solving a problem or cooking a dish. Human expectation is that the more we practice, the better we get at it. Right? Right. So far so good. But there is a point of inflexion beyond which that improvement tapers off, plateaus and perhaps even declines. 99.9% of people give up at that point. The .1% that persist? - you guessed it.

The most committed win. As a sign-off, check out the latest from Vlad's library of images. Peace!

The Women: The return of the ditsy genius

Imagine waking up one day and walking out, only to find that all the men had disappeared. Now if you're a man, that might be deemed cause celebre unless you're George Michael; but think about the women! Downright scary you might think. Who'll take out the garbage? Bring home the microwave dinners? Lie belly up on the bed on Sunday morning in a tangle of hairy appendages, orange juice and the sports supplement of the times! The implications are legion, and horrifying. I can hear Germaine Greer groaning in displeasure, but hey - that's just me.

But director Jane English seems to have no problems with that; nor does she have any problems with foisting it on what was predominantly a male audience (at least last night when my wife and I went to see it). Apparently Ms. English has gone to great lengths to ensure an all-female cast, to the extent that even the dog was a girl. I wonder if all the NYC cabs we saw had female drivers!

Nonetheless, a brave movie even if it was a remake. The ensemble cast reads like a who's who of middle-aged Hollywood. The intro might be mistaken for a 'Sex and the city' sequel, and Annette Bening looks decidedly 'Cattrall'ish as she negotiates the pavements in the opening shots. What followed was an unending stream of 40-something starlets dolled up in Hamptons-couture and driving upscale Japanese brands, going on about charity dinners, manicures, Saks, cheating husbands and friendship till I felt like getting up and banging (no ... wait for it) my head against the walls (which were thankfully padded). Again, the spectre of Sex and the city loomed on the horizon. The dialogues were hammy, albeit delivered with as much chutzpah as one could possibly muster and hats off to the cast for that. The ending was the saving grace, and will probably count as one of the most memorable delivery room scenes since 9 months. There were laughter and tears, forgiveness and joy and all round heart-warming fuzziness as the audience spilt their guts onto the floor laughing.

But the real (re-)discovery was Meg Ryan. The ditsy genius of rom-com is back. One wonders what she has been doing since 'In the cut', but Meg is alive and well. There was the trademark eye-rolling, nose-twitching, flouncy dresses and poetic self-deprecation all dipped in syrupy melancholy, all the traits that we have come to love. No Tom Hanks, but Meg shines her own light. She was an Atlas carrying the weight of the film on her shoulders. And in the end, however the film does, I think people will just be happy to have their favourite fighting 'shop-girl' back on the screens, looking none the worse for wear.

Hurrah!

For England...

It was like a chapter out of Moby Dick; except that in the end Ahab got the whale. Andy Murray embodied the spirit of the man who donated his name to the stadium; this was no Connors-Ashe match, and Nadal is too honorable of a man to belittle his opponent in the manner of Connors,... but Murray showed that whilst confidence is classy, class is classier.

Never for a moment in the match did he put on that he was pressed to the hard. Shots flowed from his quiver as effortlessly as words from the pulpit, and in the process Murray re-wrote the record books, doubtless ensuring that his name will not be lost in the annals of this great game.

And whilst Roger Federer proved yesterday beyond any measure of doubt that he is alive and well and in no way out of the reckoning, yet he will look upon Murray with new-found respect when they cross rackets 22 hours from now in NY. But for now, Andy Murray is the king of the world.

For England. And for tennis.

Solace

These days, my wife and I are bucking the trend. We spent the long weekend holed up at home, barely kept alive by the antics of the crew from ndtv.com. Then the next weekend, we took off to Cornwall on a whim. 600 miles behind the wheel, and the weekend flew past in a flurry of castles, coastline, fur-seals and overdone cornish sausages. But there were small blessings. The image on the right is proof that there is still that 'measure of peace that so many of us search for ....' lines from 'The Last Samurai.' Knock yourself out with this photo we took at the foot of Pendennis castle.

So peace out - till the next time I decide to test the limits of human boredom. Or the next weekend. Whichever comes sooner.

A Knight's tale

As I came out of the movie theatre, treading fairy footsteps so as not to trip over the sagging carpet, I looked back at the screen as the ending credits of 'The Dark Knight' rolled down against a shadowy tapestry of a myriad movie-goers. And I could only think of one thing: DC - 1; Marvel - 0. This one goes to Bob Kane. The man who gave us the Batman, would have been proud of this one. To see his characters come alive on screen not through the chicanery of special effects, but in flesh and blood. As people with angst, hate, fear, self-loathing, and heroics.

And whilst Bale's Batman may have been spent more time brooding and dishing out pithy on-liners than one might have expected, the masthead of the plot had to be the triumvirate of the Batman, 2-face and the Joker. Master stroke that, from Chris Nolan. It could very well have doubled as a 101 on Freudian analysis. Batman and the Joker each living in the hope that society would embrace the best and the worst (respectively) of human tendencies, whilst Harvey embodies the fragile balance between the two, forever swinging between right and wrong, aided and abetted only by a coin and a fascination with chance. Somehow, amidst all the chaos it was Harvey, and not Bale's Batman that stood out (at least in the first half) as the sole voice of reason and hope. And he proved - at least for a while - that sometimes, you don't need a costume and a mask to take up a cause that is right.

In particular, his line about 'You either die a hero, or live long enough to become the villain', was a rebuke to modern morals, I think. Is he saying then, that one can't survive by treading the straight and narrow?

Something to think about,... especially for all the corporate wannabes out there. But one thing's for sure... this one goes to Batman. And maybe it's time Marvel had a deep think about what it comes back with next, to counter this Knight's move.

Till next time.

Life at 30(000 ft)

Picture we took in Paris: lends some perspective at the end of the first innings of my life. I guess there's a sense of isolation when you're that high up. So just how far does one have to go to fulfill one's dreams?

Dawn comes with rosy fingers...

In 2000 October, I turned 24. I'd been thinking about this event for quite some time: about 11 years to be precise. Since it coincided with the Millennium, it meant something to me. I associated it with a coming of age, almost. I’d spent long summers idling on a hammock staring at trees, birds and prehistoric buses from my crow’s nest on a Calcutta highrise. Passing jet planes enroute to distant locations reminded me of an England where I’d spent many summers growing up. I wondered and worried about where I would be when I was old and sane.

On my 24th birthday, I found myself in B-school with a 100 other wide-eyed wonderers. The next few years flew past in a crazy blur of jobs, flights, marriage, more flights, more jobs, cars and multi-ethnic food. Then 32 came. It was summer in Reading. A house, a home as my wife calls it, but also a yearning for better things. The promotion, the perks, the fancy job-title, the branded watch, the ultimate driving machine sitting in the underground car park ready to be let loose upon the world in ambitious fury, the compulsory trips to India and home cooking, doting parents, wary relatives and old friends who never got jealous. And yet. One asks oneself (aka Old Jack in the eponymous move): ‘What if this is as good as it gets?’

I put down my constant aggravation and moanings about the future to my b-school regimen. The steady drone of wisdom emanating from a bearded Socrates wielding chalk and a goodly volume. ‘If you’re getting comfortable, you’re getting slack. Time to move on. Look for the next best thing.’

But then – what if this is the next best thing? What if in this constant search for ‘better’ in today’s catalogued and glossy paperback version of life, I’m losing sight of Here and Now?

As I type, I grow increasingly aware that my dusty monologue is beginning to bear an uncanny resemblance to the suicial rant of a man with mid-life crisis. So I say: “Enough of this poison: let me seek the antidote!” I'm off to the hills and dales of Derby this weekend. The BBC weather service - frightfully accurate as always - has predicted snow on the hills. So I'm packing my gloves, picnic hamper and ample wife into the car and hitting the high-road. See you soon!

Happy New Year - the iceman cometh

They say that the first rule of writing - especially when you're in a block - is to wrote garbage. Which is what I'm doing. To hell with intention - it's the action that counts. So this year, it's gonna be all about the action. Doing as opposed to twiddling the appendage oft used (thumb silly!).

I love this thing about living in the hope of 'what next.' Isn't that a bit like - the greatest has-been that never-was? Because by the time you've gotten to the point where doing something will probably achieve the desired result: hey - that moment's gone. Past. Manyana. And you're on your bum again in front of the tv.

It's the first day of the New Year and I haven't a clue what I'm going to do. It's a holiday, so that's kinda nice. Watterson said that there is never enough time to do all the nothing that you want. I'm about to find out the hard way. I looked at a random horoscope and it said that in 2008, I'd be very popular. I'm elated. I've always wanted to be popular. Like Superman or Roger Federer. Actually, like JK Rolwling.

Peace out.