Choosing hope...

A project that I am currently leading in my office is about to shut down in two weeks' time because of funding issues at the client's end. A teammate, during a conversation two days back, asked me if I had started approaching other teams in my office regarding available openings. I told him that I was still hopeful of finding a sponsor for our project from the client's side. He let out a chuckle. "Don't you think you are being too optimistic? Haven't you faced bad times? Are you a guy who believes in happy endings?" 
I understood where his questions came from. 

There exists a perception that being hopeful arises out of an inexperience of life's hardships, or out of naiveté. But why cannot hope be a choice?
Life does seem unfair more often than not but isn't it better to believe than to just buckle in?
Isn't it better to strive for a surprise or a shock than simply surrender?

I am not trying to romanticize suffering by the above lines. Suffering does cause a strain. 
But by succumbing and settling in a safe shelter, aren't we losing out on living a full life? With such an outlook, when would our hearts get to reach a high?

I tried explaining these thoughts to my teammate. His face turned curious. "But, doesn't losing hurt?" I nodded and added a learning. "Not putting in the effort hurts more." It is better to hope and get hurt than hold regrets. He was not convinced. I asked him to hope for hope. He laughed. 

****

When I began publishing posts here four years ago, I would start typing down a piece only when I had my thoughts structured in their entirety, from the start to the end. The content mattered more than the form. But as I persisted with the translation process of thoughts to text, I started falling in love with the writing process more than the idea. 
The endings of the posts started mattering less. I liked letting words conjure up sentences and come to their own conclusion when they could continue no more. 
I started writing simply for the sake of writing and not for publishing. 

I believe being hopeful is a similar process.
One starts putting in the efforts and starts staying positive not primarily for the outcome but for the simple pleasures of living.
A post might turn out good or bad. An event might turn out good or bad.
But one is always the better for having written/hoped.

To my other friends...

The friend who listens to all my stories:

My coffee mug is white colored and narrow-necked, with a curved handle resembling the outline of a human ear. Many a day, I have wondered if this resemblance is the reason for my mug being such a good listener. Be it a happy story or a sad story, my mug always listens patiently and advises, "Have a sip." And with every sip, I am made to realize that life is also like coffee - bittersweet. When the memories are sad, I embrace the entire mug longingly and when the memories are happy, I hold on to the handle with gratitude. Be it the early morning hours or the twilight hours, my coffee mug will always sit across me and lend an ear, letting out steam for all the pressures in my life. 

The friend who will never let go:

My sweatshirt is black colored and two years old with a hood. Unlike other sweatshirts, mine is open to nature and is closed to people. It lowers the hood when it rains but it protects me in a room full of strangers. It takes a nap during sunshine and it loosens up in the midst of friends. My sweatshirt holds this unchangeable opinion that my heart is visible to others and so, it zips up when I am sad. I try telling my sweatshirt that it is okay to let go at times but it remains a steadfast friend who would not let go. Be it a celebratory t-shirt or an uninterested formal shirt or a caring casual shirt, my sweatshirt always ensures that warm hugs are available for every dress and emotion I experience. 

The philosophical friend:

My mobile camera is 24 MP sharp and it allows me to capture photos on 'portrait' mode. But it lays down strict rules such as to use 'portrait' mode only for capturing natural entities and man-made objects. "Respect the spirit residing in non-human elements," it guides me, as it lets me adjust the composition before capturing the photo. It also quotes two other lines constantly. "Celebrate the ordinary"."Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder". When I stumble upon a beautiful landscape or an extraordinary moment, it shuts off forcing me to enjoy the experience, and when I sigh at the mundaneness of something, it opens up throwing light on the beauty I failed to notice. My mobile camera is a friend that has helped me change my perspective about life. 

The friends in need:

My earphones are designed by 'Sennheiser' and my headphones are designed by 'JBL'. They always manage to know when to remain silent and when to play music. At times, when I consciously keep replaying a sad thought, they throw a Rahman song or a Hans Zimmer soundtrack at me. They refuse to leave my ears when I want to cry and they refuse to stay on my ears when birds are singing. They know what to sing when I am travelling; they know what to sing when I am stuck at work. They help me filter out all the abuses and anger, and they help me listen to only love and laughter. They never let me feel lonely and whenever words fail me, they jump into my ears and help my thoughts attain a rhythm.  

The entertaining gang:

The books I read come from different backgrounds and in all possible shapes and sizes. Every book is filled with countless stories and is incredibly interesting that the books, individually, gift me a good time and as a gang, they lead me into new worlds of joy and intellectual bliss. They are so loving that they share numerous stories with me and never expect a story in return, completely understanding my introverted nature. They are so content that they do not even mind if they never get a chance to leave my home. The journey between my bookshelf and my bedroom is satisfying enough for them. These books are truly my friends with whom I can stop a conversation midway and start it from the exact, same point even after the passage of months or years.

****

As I reach a 'Friendship day' in life where I have run out of ways to express my gratitude to wonderful human friends, I have tried describing my other friends to whom my gratitude has been long overdue. 

I have been understood by these friends as much as I have been understood by some amazing humans. 

With limitless love, I wish my other friends a very happy friendship day.

A golden plant

I came across a golden plant tonight
She smiled and shone like a shy moon
Illuminated by her charming sun - the street light
The same street light under which mosquitoes sing,
Kids play badminton, and dogs bark at beggars
The same street light that does not have a political stance
Or an economical one
For it campaigns for multiple political parties
And rents out a 2BHK flat at Rs 20,000 per month
And rallies for a trade union strike happening next week
But why talk about a street light
When we have a golden plant?

I came across a golden plant tonight
She would have put my mom's jewelry to shame
Being beautifully lit by her endearing flame - the street light
The same street light that brightens up the textbooks of poor kids
And guards the return of people to their homes late night
The same street light that sweetens up pani-puris and momos
And glistens up the sweat beads of midnight food-delivery boys
The same street light that serves as the sun to security guards
And gleefully romances balcony after balcony in the surrounding flats
But why talk about a street light
When we have a golden plant?

I came across a golden plant tonight
She glowed like the FIFA world cup trophy at display everywhere
Basking in the love of her fan - the street light
The same street light that seems to be ashamed for some reason
With its head bowed down at all times
The same street light that measures the intensity of rain
And provides comfort of a power cut all around
The same street light that waves a flickering welcome to bats
And bids a serene goodbye to sparrows and pigeons
But why talk about a metaphorical golden plant
When we have a real one?

Gods of Globalization

(A short story dedicated to the man who wrote Animal Farm and 1984, and whose 115th birthday fell yesterday)

"Sure, Mr. Ganesh. Sure. We understand your concerns. We can definitely look into the 'Prayer granting framework' and investigate what went wrong." Ajit tried his best to convince Mr.Ganesh who was audibly angry. But it was clearly not working. He pressed the 'Mute' button on the Polycom device and looked at his team. "Do you guys think we can fix the issue?" His 8-membered-team of 25-year-olds did not answer. "Do you guys have an estimate for the fix?" Silence again. He pressed the 'Mute' button again to go audible. "Mr.Ganesh, we just had a quick internal discussion here. The team is of the opinion that we should be able to fix the framework by tomorrow EOD."

"Hey, Ajit. This is Jesus here. Are you guys confident that you can fix the issue by tomorrow?"
A smile spread over Ajit's face. Mr.Jesus was a more lenient client that Mr.Ganesh.
"Definitely, Mr.Jesus. We are a 150% sure that the framework will be functioning at its best by tomorrow." Ajit's team members helplessly looked at each other as another sleepless night lay in wait.
"Sounds good, Ajit. But just take an extra day perhaps, so that you can recheck the fixes. Guess you had over-promised even to Hanuman last week and had shared a faulty tool."
But Ajit was not willing to take an extra day. Fixing an issue faster was more important than fixing an issue the right way.
"We understand your concerns, Mr.Jesus. But this time, we are sure that the framework should be up and running by tomorrow."
One of Ajit's team members started typing out a WhatsApp message to his friend - 'Dude.. Am not going to be able to make it to the movie tonight. Find someone else..'
"Okay then, Ajit. Let's wrap this call now. Drop a mail tomorrow once the framework is fixed. Thank you."
"Thanks a lot, Mr. Jesus. Thank you for your time. Thank you too, Mr. Ganesh. Have a great day."
A grumpy 'Thank you' was heard from Mr.Ganesh.

Ajit disconnected the call. "Can someone explain to me what the hell went wrong this time?" Ajit's team members did not answer. "This is the 7th time I have had to apologize to these silly Gods for a sillier mistake." Silence prevailed for a minute. A team member finally gathered the courage to speak up. "We are committing the same mistake time and again, Ajit. We should not be giving these impossible timelines when we know it only worsens things."
Ajit rose from his chair and picked up a marker. He then walked to the white board plastered to the wall of the conference room. "Help me understand how this timeline is impossible. Let us break down the tasks hour by hour."
One of Ajit's team members started typing out a WhatsApp message to his dad - 'Would be held up in office tonight. You and mom go ahead with the cake cutting for Preethi.'
"Help me understand, guys. What is the first task?" Ajit wrote an intimidating 1 on the white board and circled it. One of the team members visualized herself as the '1' trapped inside Ajit's circle.
The next hour was spent thus from differing viewpoints:

• Ajit's viewpoint - Creating an exhaustive hour-level breakdown of the fix for the framework
• His team's viewpoint - Planning needlessly for a fix that would result in a bigger error

These hour-level breakdowns had become a routine after the Great Gods organization had become a client. The Great Gods had approached Ajit's data analytics startup with a problem statement as below.
The prayer data we receive has been exponentially growing with every passing day. It has become difficult to differentiate the good prayers from the evil ones. Help us design a system that sorts these prayers and generates a final list of prayers to be answered.

Ajit had gotten excited with the problem statement. More so because he could visualize this project leading to a chain of potential projects in the future. Ajit and his team had devised a plan for a 6-month long program and had labeled it, 'The God Program'. The components of the program were as below, as written in one of Ajit's team member's notebooks.

• Prayer granting framework - 1 month (Real timeline - 3 months)
• Prayer forecasting framework - 2 months (Real timeline - 4 months)
• Devotee churn analysis - 1 month (Real timeline - 3 months)
• Devotion campaign management - 1 month (Real timeline - 2 months)
• God performance tracker - 1 month (Real timeline - 3 months)

Ajit's clients had been surprised by such an ambitious plan but since they had witnessed all possible miracles of mankind, they had given a go ahead to the program. And so had started the string of errors and the hour-level breakdowns that had become a routine. Ajit's team members never had the time needed for quality control, which meant that every deployment of the framework led to serious consequences. The team usually caught these errors only through the error logs, which were the newspapers. But their most recent error had led to a devastating consequence - the start of a civil war in a middle east country. And hence the grumpy responses from Mr.Ganesh, and hence Ajit's promise to fix the framework in a day.

22 hours later, Ajit sent out a mail to Mr.Ganesh and Mr.Jesus that the issue in the 'Prayer granting framework' was fixed and his team had double-checked the fix. When Ajit's team members read his mail, one member questioned his teammates curiously, "Did we even finish all the quality checks once?" They replied that there were 3 more checks pending. But then, one of the members joked, "How can things possibly get worse than yesterday?" and the team let out a hearty laugh.
The next morning, one of the team members posted a message - 'Guys! We have screwed up again!' - on the WhatsApp group that Ajit was not a part of. When another member asked him what had happened, he shared a news article on the group. 

The title of the news article read, 'The United States of America elects its 45th president'.

Mirror, mirror, what do you see?

I move my hand gently over the mirror

I carefully study my reflection

My reflection looks like a different person
He does not resemble me..

When I feel tears cleansing my face
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel ants biting continuously at my heart
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel silence breathing upon me
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel loneliness embracing me dearly
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel the weight of others' sorrows
He seems to be smiling peacefully
When I feel suffocated in an empty space
He seems to be smiling peacefully..

I want to help him
I try breaking the mirror
I first use my fists
That have turned softer by wiping away tears
I then use my heart
Which has become the hardest part of my body
And only then does it hit me
I am the one trapped inside the mirror
I am the one trapped with the truth
He is living happily in the outside world
He is living happily with a lie
I want to help him
I need to break this mirror
Can someone help me please?
Or rather, can someone help him please?

Understanding life and death

"So, how is the experience?"
My grandmother questioned me an hour back, wanting to know about my experience of having spent 2 days entirely at a hospital. I was accompanying my grandmother who had to be under medical observation for her fluctuating haemoglobin count.

"So, how is the experience?"
When you are an aspiring writer, it gets increasingly difficult every time you are asked to describe an event or an object. The words do not escape your mouth unless they have become a part of a breathtaking sentence.
"When you speak, it is just the first draft. You do not have to put in so much effort as in writing," I tell myself. But the words become paranoid patients, not willing to be discharged before they spend good time at the Intensive Thinking Unit.
I still took my time to collect my thoughts and tried speaking like a writer to my grandmother. I said, "So much blood and so many bandages makes one understand the frailty of the human body and the strength of human bonds." The nurse who was administering medicines to the neighboring patient threw me a look which diagnosed that I also need to be kept under medical observation.
And so, I got down to typing my experiences, wondering why the human mind found it comfortable to write/read truth than to speak/hear it.
(Which led me to remember this earlier post.)

Hospitals seem to be the place where most grandparents and parents face regret for not forcing their children to pursue MBBS. I heard an old lady resting in the neighboring ward say, "We missed the opportunity to make our boy a doctor. Let us at least search for a bride who is a doctor."
Would the future to-be-bride have imagined that her wedding oath would be decided by her Hippocratic oath?

Hospitals also function like cinema theaters playing Indian movies, with a range of emotions being displayed in a room of 4 patients. You see joy. You see longing. You see sadness. You see anger.
One patient was overjoyed because she was informed by the doctor that she could follow her normal diet from the next day, which meant that she could return to eating non-vegetarian food. One patient longed to know if the people in his apartment enquired about him after his admission to the hospital. My grandmother was sad that she was troubling her family members owing to her ill health. And another patient was angered that her Lord was fond of placing one hurdle after the other on her journey. 
I clearly remember a nurse's response when the patient blamed her Lord in anger. "The Lord only tests those who are strong enough to face difficulties."
I wished that every doctor included this quote in his prescription, along with the names of medicines that provide very less motivation.

I also experienced a wide range of emotional states at this place.
Fear. Gratitude. Joy. Sadness.
Fear every time I crossed the casualty ward on my way out of the hospital, that I might suddenly hear a scream of grief. Gratitude that the society and the world are still at a state where they are filled by more screams of anger than by screams of grief. Joy that many nurses alternate very easily between gossiping and being guardian angels. Sadness that the shit of a disabled human still needs to be cleaned up by another human.
And only when I noticed my moods oscillating to the extremes, did I understand how beautifully Buddhist a doctor had to be.

In the room that my grandmother was admitted, the doctors visited the patients every 2-3 hours and provided affirmations that they were en route to becoming healthier. As I noticed this, I marvelled at the irony of the medical profession. Would there be another profession where the employees genuinely wished that their clients never faced any problems, though that meant lesser growth and opportunities to the employees?
I tried imagining a data analyst who wished for his client to never face any challenges with his data. And I understood that my imagination needed some data treatment.

As I continue to type my thoughts, I notice my grandmother looking at me like a kindergarten kid who is eager to narrate the new story taught at school. I stop typing and ask her if she wants to say something. "Do you remember the old lady who lived alone in the house above ours?" she asks. I nod, preparing myself for a tale that could be made interesting only by my grandmother. The writer in me tries to disagree initially, wanting to type more but he gives in pretty soon, realizing that a part of the writer would not exist if not for this storyteller-grandmother.
And so, a tale unfolds. So does my understanding in this place of life and death.

Redistributing love

She would have been 65-70 years old.
Perhaps, in a parallel universe, she could have been resting on a cot that was placed in a corner of her daughter's 2BHK flat, and could have been immersed in a tele-serial brimming with sadness.
But the present universe did not seem to be so generous. It was working towards making her reality sad, and not her pastime.
She slowly walked around the bus stand asking for alms.
All the people were willing to offer their 'No's but not their money. I wished for a new nation to be formed that accepted people's denials as a currency. Wouldn't it be a paradise for beggars and one-sided lovers?

She slowly walked around the bus stand asking for alms. Receiving a handful of 'No's, she then slowly walked towards a roadside eatery. The owner of the eatery looked at her empty hands. He then turned to look at us, the people crowded at the bus stand. Maybe he understood that the old woman's plight was not just her fault. He handed her a plate with a few scoops of rice.

The old woman walked towards the bus stand with her food and sat before us. She then took a handful of rice and turned to look at us. Spotting a small girl amongst us, she called out to the girl and offered her the food.
The girl's mother held the girl's hand firmly, scared that she might step forward and accept the offer of selfless love. The old woman called out again with an affectionate smile. But the crowd that was not willing to offer was also not willing to receive.

Looking at the happenings, I longed for a communist movement to be started, not for the 'redistribution of wealth' but for the 'redistribution of love'.
How beautiful and fair would the world be if every person could receive the same amount of love he was willing to offer!