The Singles and Twos: An essay on three kind men

I do not know cricketer Sanju Samson personally.  But something tells me that he is a kind man in real life.  I write, “…in real life” as though he plays fictional characters on screen!  But what I mean by that is, my exposure to Samson is limited to those moments on the screen, mostly on the field and a few glimpses off it.  Recently, I watched a clip of his interaction with a cheeky little kid to whom he gifted his cap.  After watching the clip, I mentioned on Twitter that the kid’s love for the game will increase manifold.  I also added that the child’s belief in the value of kindness will grow.  It will, if he remembers to grab that moment, bottle it in his mind and pour out the same kindness unto others when(ever) he has the opportunity.  This interaction made me think of the times in my own life where people, owing to their fame, position or age, did not have to extend kindness to me but they did.  And in the process, created a lasting impact on me.  In this piece, I have picked three people and my interactions with them where I was in the shoes of the kid whose evening was lit up by Samson. (You may not know two of the three people but it shouldn’t matter, trust me.)

Diwali 1993.  That was a time when my love for cricket was at its peak – not that it has ever ebbed!  I had developed not just a love for the game but also its history.  I had watched highlights (heard of video cassettes, anyone?) of more vintage games than most 12-year-olds.  I would speak of specific strokes and deliveries from games played at a time even before my parents knew of each other’s existence.  In this context, my maternal Uncle, who was (and is) the best friend of former cricketer Krish Srikkanth, was going to the latter’s place to celebrate the festival.  When my grandpa got to know of this, he had asked my uncle if he could take me along.  He did. 

I had the excitement of an Energizer bunny that entire day.  When we reached his house, there was a huge crowd of his friends and relatives.  I could barely get a glimpse of him.  I watched him play tennis in the court adjoining his house.  I was yet to get my proper introduction.  When it was time for bursting crackers, he led the way, with the stash of fireworks.  I was eagerly awaiting an opportunity for my idol to see me.  But I was among several kids on the street.  His first words to me were, “Thambi, pattasu vekkariya?” (Kid, do you want to burst crackers?)  He did not know that I was his best friend’s nephew.  I happily accepted his kind offer.  The real fireworks were happening inside my heart, which was beating in sixes and fours! 

Later that evening, my Uncle introduced me to Srikkanth.  I asked him what his favourite shot was.  He said, “It’s the straight drive.”  Without missing a beat, I asked, “What about that square drive off Roberts?!” He was pleasantly surprised – shocked, maybe? – that a 12-year-old knew of a specific shot that he had played when the kid was a two-year old infant!  I have known him for the past 32 years.  I have grown older, with silver linings in my sideburns.  In the meantime, he has grown progressively younger at heart.  When I visited him a few months back, he spoke with much kindness and affection, urging me to take good care of my health.  The visit was brief.  But the impact of the interaction lingered in the way a good movie refuses to leave your mind after exiting the theatre.

One such ‘good movie’ refused to leave the mind of Mr MSJ Venkatraman.  MSJV Uncle was my mom’s manager in the early 90s.  I had this habit of stopping by Mom’s office during the lunch hour when I had exams. (I would go there to tell her how well I did!  You see, I had no confidence issues as a kid!)  Or during the evening, when I would accompany our driver.  I loved visiting her workplace since it was filled with people who were unfailingly sweet to me. 

MSJV Uncle was one of my favourites.  I had once gotten full marks in a bi-weekly test, a performance that I thought that merited his attention more than my mom’s work!  While I was waiting for my mom to wrap up her day, I knocked on the door of his cabin.  He welcomed me with a huge smile.  When I shared the news of my score, not for a moment did he sound or look dismissive.  He said, “Congrats, man!  On the way back home, ask Kousalya to get you a Five Star chocolate!”  He added, “There’s this movie about a little girl.  Do watch it.  It ends with a shot of the girl happily going on a bike ride.  Fantastic film!”  The movie, of course, was Vasanth’s remarkable debut, Keladi Kannmani.  I watched it afterwards.  I didn’t think much about his recommendation at the time.  But now I know why he liked it.  He probably saw a bit of himself in the lead character played by SPB.  The innate affection towards and an unfussy manner of demonstrating respect for everyone, regardless of age.  To this day, I remember the sweetness of his character as much as I do the Five Star that I gleefully had my mother buy me that day.

Sweetness, of course, comes in different flavours.  Just like how product labels separate out natural versus added sugars, there are people whom we fondly remember as naturally sweet.  One such naturally sweet man I remember with much gratitude is my maternal uncle NR Murali.  When I was 12, my grandpa died in an accident.  NR (as I affectionately called him; it used to be “Murali mama” when I was a kid) was one person who showed up day in and day out to show support to my grandma (to whom he was very close) and the rest of us.  Apart from the demonstrative moments of solace at a time of grief, there were several quieter ones where he just let my grandma purge to the extent she needed. 

It would have been easy for him to ignore me because kids are rarely the focus in grieving homes (from what I have seen).  But he did not.  He cheered me up with the help of cricket, something that cemented our bond for life.  He would spend quality time with me chatting about the game, its history and teaching me a thing or two about technique. (Now you know how I learned of Srikkanth’s square drive off Roberts!) NR would take me and my cousin (his son) along to cricket games at the Chepauk stadium.  More than one individual moment, I am simply thankful for the time that he had for me.  I just wish I had more time with him, for he passed away in 2008, aged just 58.

Krish Srikkanth.  MSJV Uncle.  NR Murali.  Three people from different walks of life.  Despite the differences in my relationship with them, what binds them together in my eyes are two related traits.  And those are the ability to provide a sense of belonging and exhibit kindness through little gestures.  Kids learn a lot less about kindness through story books, cartoons or verbal advice than they do by observing the behaviour of elders around them.  At that age, they may not be able to articulate what those little moments mean to them – I certainly could not.  Singles and twos in a long cricket partnership do not make it to a game’s highlights package.  But astute observers of a game know of their importance.  Similarly, little gestures of kindness are what keep the scoreboard of our lives tick.  We just need to be alert enough to observe and thoughtful enough to acknowledge the people who, through their acts of kindness, make our partnerships with them meaningful and memorable.

Twenty/20 Hindsight: Reflections Beyond Cricket

What a wonderful spectacle has the Indian Premier League (IPL) been this year!  More than half the games have been completed.  Yet, it is nigh impossible to predict the eventual winner.  Young cricketers have dazzled on the big stage without seemingly projecting any of the nerves that are associated with high-stakes contests.  There have been a few predictable victories.  But there have been several surprises, some pleasant (depending on your allegiance) and others not so.  But beyond the actual cricket, beyond the frenetic pace of the games, there were several vignettes and snapshots that made me pause, to reflect. 

An image that will remain with me for a long time is Rahul Dravid on a wheelchair, showing up for Rajasthan Royals as the coach.  One could, of course, make a case for not romanticizing these kinds of instances where one may be unnecessarily pushing themselves, when rest maybe better for their body.  But knowing Dravid, he would have weighed his options and listened to medical counsel before deciding that his presence, despite his injury, would not aggravate his pain.  A coach pushing himself to go that extra mile to mentor a young team, is a leadership lesson unto itself.  With Dravid, this reputation was not built overnight.  We have watched him for nearly 30 years now.  Unfussy expression of fierce commitment has been his hallmark for three decades now.  Long after his playing days, the veteran continues to be an inspiration.

Another veteran Krish Srikkanth demonstrated something which is increasingly rare these days: the willingness to apologize with sincerity.  In a Q&A session, in order to express his disagreement with another analyst’s (Prasanna aka Pdogg) reading of the game, he essentially pulled rank and dismissed the latter’s opinion.  But in a subsequent episode of the show, he apologized sincerely for saying what he did in the heat of the moment.  Unequivocally.  No qualifiers.  No excuses.  Just a plain, simple and honest apology.  As an ardent admirer of Srikkanth, I found it heartwarming to witness his disarmingly candid approach as a critic.

Candid criticism, of course, has been flowing as freely as water through a dam with defective floodgates, in the case of the Chennai Super Kings (CSK).  One is being wise after the event, when discussing the auction strategy and team selections.  But beyond the raw emotion displayed by disappointed fans, it is equally important to be in tune with changing times, adapt to newer styles and pick horses for courses.  There was a time when India was not playing the kind of unfettered T20 cricket that others were playing with great success.  Results were dismal.  Rohit Sharma took it upon himself to walk the talk, playing the kind of aggressive cricket that injected a fresh shot of adrenaline into the batting.  CSK needs that kind of metamorphosis with a leader who is willing to risk his talent, go for broke and enabling a pivot in terms of the team’s strategy.  We see in the professional setting how an inspirational leader, especially one who walks the talk with sincerity and authenticity, can truly lift a team's spirits when the chips are down.  They can do that by not only setting the vision or a strategic shift but by demonstrating the implementation of that in their own actions.  Their actions inspire multifold when compared to mere words.  

CSK needs to look no further than Mumbai Indians, led by the enterprising Hardik Pandya.  The team was in the doldrums a few weeks ago.  But they have played a fearless brand of cricket, with their bowling spearheads Jasprit Bumrah and Trent Boult complementing the scintillating batting efforts.  When I follow their games, I do not see them doing anything crazy.  They have not shaken up their team composition significantly.  They are just sticking to the basics unwaveringly.  Their stars aligning and shining brightly are not accidental.  But a result of excelling at the fundamentals, which may seem like basic textbook knowledge but is just not executed as often as it should be.

Speaking of textbooks, a school kid has just scored the second fastest ever century in the IPL at an age where books, Bournvita and bonding with friends over street cricket form the trifecta of every cricket-crazy kid’s existence in India! (The last two certainly did for this writer.)  Vaibhav Suryavanshi is at an age (14) where he can barely shut his eyes off the glare of the spotlight that has been shining on him ever since he made his debut. 

A lot has been written over the years about the perils and pitfalls of overnight stardom.  What I think is just as important is providing kids like Suryavanshi a conducive environment to flourish.  In the workplace, we speak of psychological safety.  How it is just as important as physical safety.  It is true across fields of work, study and sport.  In order for one to thrive, one has to feel the confidence that someone has his or her back.  That they have the space to find and show up with their authentic self.  For kids at an impressionable age or for professionals, especially in the early to middle stages of their career, it is so crucial to make them feel like they belong.  That their voice matters.  That they have the environment that will celebrate their successes and will lend a shoulder when they fail. (Suryavanshi just scored a zero yesterday.  That’s okay, kid.  You will learn from this zero more than you did from your century.) Just as important as lessons that are taught are those lessons that are gained from lived-in experience.  And for one to learn those experiential lessons, it behooves the ones around them to give them the platform to learn.  After all, a learning platform is the foundation for excellence at the big stage.

As we enter the final few weeks of this exciting tournament, there may be more surprises in store for us.  There may be lessons too.  For the cricketers and for us.  We just need to take a few minutes for them to sink in.  Life sometimes happens at the kind of breakneck speed as a Suryavanshi century.  But we owe it to ourselves to press the pause button, to reflect, to rejoice and to remind ourselves to see the bigger picture, regardless of the size of our TV screen!  After all, even a fast-paced T-20 game allows the teams an opportunity for a 2:30-minute Ceat Tyres strategic timeout!

The Gods Are Happy: A review of Ashwath Marimuthu’s “Dragon”

Years ago, I had the opportunity to interview writer-director Visu.  During our conversation, I asked him how he felt about the inclusion of Manorama’s character in “Samsaram adhu Minsaram” (1986).  The character was not part of his original script.  It was owing to producer AVM Saravanan’s recommendation that Visu included her character for comic relief. (That she made it unforgettable was a testament to both the writer and the actress.) Referring to the goddesses of wealth (Lakshmi) and learning (Saraswati), Visu said in trademark fashion, “Saraswati veLeela pogatha varaikkum Lakshmi ulla vandhaa thappu illa.”  It was a memorable analogy, one that I think of whenever I watch a film that has commercial appeal, yet is tastefully written and delicately crafted.  Case in point - Ashwath Marimuthu’s “Dragon.”

This is the story of D Raghavan (a convincing Pradeep Ranganathan) aka Dragon, a youngster who decides to transform from a studious, responsible school student into a wild college goer after being spurned by a classmate.  He is suspended from college by his principal (Mysskin) after he pushes the envelope a little beyond acceptable limits.  He also experiences a heartbreak, after his girlfriend Keerthi (Anupama Parameshwaran) breaks up with him.  Burdened by this and his 48 uncleared papers, he decides to take the easy way out by indulging in forgery as a means to a well-paying job.  Pelf follows.  So does a marriage proposal with the daughter of a rich industrialist.  Whether his past and conscience catch up with him is the rest of the film.

Ashwath Marimuthu is a gifted writer who not only writes marvelous standalone scenes.  But also excels at creating parallel narrative arcs that all have neat, and at times, unexpected, closure.  One of the best subplots is that of Keerthi and Dragon.  (Spoilers ahead) In a powerful scene at a restaurant, Keerthi stands up to him while providing valid reasons for breaking up with him.  He abuses and drives her away.  When they meet years later, Keerthi feels a pang of guilt for how Dragon’s life has panned out.  Even here, Dragon does not treat her with the dignity she deserves.  But in a beautifully written moment outside the exam hall, he says something that I have rarely seen Tamil movie heroes do.  He apologizes with utmost sincerity.  And adds, “I didn’t deserve you.”  That line and the spontaneous hug brings about a closure to their story in the most satisfying manner.  Anupama turns in a lovely performance in this scene.  The shock on her face looks absolutely real. So is her satisfied smile as he walks away.  

The other element of Ashwath’s writing is his ability to seamlessly weave thoughtfulness into the dialogue without making it sound pretentious.  Take for instance the delightful scene featuring Dragon and his protege Vetri aka Kutty Dragon! (Harshath Khan aces his part!)  At the end of a well-executed stunt sequence, there is a hilarious line uttered by Harshath.  The moment Dragon starts to dish out advice, he dubs him a “boomer.”  Acknowledging the tag, the lines uttered in response by Pradeep drip with common sense and depth.

The film goes into top gear in the climactic portions, with some of the twists unfolding in an unexpected yet believable manner.  Here too, the writing is exquisite and psychologically acute. (Spoilers ahead) That Dragon would want to check on a student who has attempted suicide is very believable.  Because as a student that has failed multiple exams and who sees himself as a bit of a mentor to younger students, he would have been in equal parts anxious and eager to help.  And what he does after he learns the truth, makes the character shine brightly.  Traditional notions of success and failure are turned on their head in the most perceptive manner. (The cameo at the end is the kind of audience-pleasing element that doesn’t take away anything from the integrity of the writing.)

The casting of “Dragon” is pitch perfect.  Mysskin, KS Ravikumar, Gautam Menon and Mariam George are all perfectly cast.  The standout for me was Mysskin.  Essaying the role of the principal with utmost dignity, he infuses a welcome casualness into his lines.  Little touches like the “I missed you, man” that he says to Pradeep, add gloss to his characterization and performance.  He is the one that propels the plot starting with the memorable pre-intermission sequence.  And he rises to the challenge in superb fashion.  

In this day and age of memes and trolls for anything that remotely resembles earnestness and sincerity, it is difficult to make a truly responsible film.  But Ashwath has demonstrated with “Dragon” that it is possible to make a thoughtful film without losing a wee bit of the entertainment quotient.  In essence, the director of “Oh My KadavuLe” has ensured, much like a certain veteran did back in 1986, that both Saraswathi and Lakshmi have blessed him and his film!

***

The film is streaming on Netflix: https://www.netflix.com/in/title/81762715

Official poster downloaded from Wikipedia

Some chapters are incompl…

It was supposed to be a routine Sunday morning.  I was in my maternal grandparents’ house.  It was a two-story house, with my grandpa’s office room at the far end of the upper floor.  I woke up a little earlier than usual for a Sunday.  The 8^th grade final exams were round the corner.  I was especially keen on doing well in Math, a subject that I loved, but a subject in which my recent test score didn’t exactly reflect love.  Or even infatuation, for that matter!  But the reason why I woke up early was not that test score.  India was playing a one-off Test match in New Zealand.  India was in the process of bundling out New Zealand for a paltry 187. (No, I did not have to check the score on Cricinfo.)  And I was following the game with intense, unwavering focus befitting a student.  Student of the game, I mean.  Only to be disturbed (!) by my parents, who said to me that we had to leave for our apartment. 

I grudgingly turned off the TV.  And I walked downstairs.  I took my backpack, put on my slippers, bade my goodbye to my grandma and got into the car.  As my father was about to drive away, I said, “Wait, I need to say, ‘bye’ to Thatha.”  And I ran upstairs all the way to his office room, hugged him and said, “Poitu varen, Thatha.” (“I’ll leave, grandpa.”)  Mind you, this was not a routine for me and him.  I have no idea why I did what I did.  But little did I know that that was the last time that I would see him alive.  He died in a freak accident later that morning. 

As people who know me personally (or even through my writing) know, I have never really made peace with that loss.  It was the first time in my life (and unfortunately not the last) that I had to deal with a loss for which I was scarcely prepared.  But that hug has always meant something to me.  As much as it was a chapter in the book of my life that had a shorter than desired length, the last sentence of that chapter was not incomplete. 

I recently revisited portions of the beloved Julia Roberts film, “My best friend’s wedding.”  In the film there is a lovely little line uttered by Dermot Mulroney that goes, “If you love someone, you say it, you say it right then, out loud.”  He adds, “Otherwise, the moment just...passes you by.”  Of course, in the context of the film, it is about romantic love.  But if we think deeper, it applies to all forms of love and affection.  Sometimes, we look back at people who are no more.  Or not part of our lives anymore.  And we bemoan the things that we wish we had told them.  Be it expressing affection, gratitude or repentance.  Sometimes, we obtain closure, even if delayed.  Otherwise, through circumstance or quirk of fate, we do not.  Especially in the case of the latter, it is more difficult to make peace.

After my grandma suffered a heart attack in India in 2013, I made it a point to call her every day (mostly) until she passed away in 2018.  Because I had this feeling that I might not have her around much longer.  Sometimes my Aunt would pick up the phone.  And I would say to her, “Shoba, I have almost reached work.  Please give the phone to Thathama.  I don’t want to miss talking to her today.”  What I didn’t realize was that my Aunt was going to pass on before my grandma did, in 2016, aged 49.  

After my Aunt passed away, I tried to consciously avoid the regret of not talking to her more.  Simply because I had no idea that she was going to leave us prematurely.  I just took comfort from the fact that in the last years of her life, I was uniformly nice to her unlike in my younger days when I used to argue, fight or occasionally be insensitive.  As I grew older, I understood the depths and purity of her character better.  And I would spend quality time with her whenever I visited India.  After her passing on, I do things in her memory such as donating blood around the time of her death anniversary. (She died of hematologic complications.)  With this way of thinking, I am essentially being kind to myself whenever I reflect on her.  After all, fate sometimes forces us to discover, on our own, the avenues where coping mechanisms reside.

Of course, I would be remiss to not acknowledge the power of action and how it can be a lot more powerful, meaningful and enduring when compared to words.  It is not always about expressing something in words.  Thoughtful actions and gestures can make a lasting impact on someone’s life.  It is just that we must make every day count when we have the power and the ability to do so. 

I love Paulo Coelho’s line that when we want something badly, the “universe conspires” to make it happen.  It’s just that the universe doesn’t always bring about neat and tidy ways to close out certain narrative arcs in the story of our life when we want it.  Sometimes it does.  At other times, we must place the faith in the power of goodness.  And bide our time, with a pinch of acceptance and dollops of patience.  When we do that, we give ourselves a chance to experience peace without expecting that it will be handed over to us on a platter.  But really, we want to ensure that in our book of life, there are no dangling ellipses…and that we can have chapters that are, in their own way, complete.

Life-Work Balance

One company’s co-founder waxes eloquent about working 70 hours a week.  Another company’s chairman insists that employees work 90 hours a week.  Social media has been flooded with memes ever since these proclamations came about – the Amul “Labour & Toil” one took the bread…err…cake!  What would we, as a society do, if not for humor!  Be that as it may, completely ignoring these statements is perilous.  Because not only are these statements the tip of the iceberg and a symptom of a larger problem.  But also, these lines could have an insidious effect on work culture that may extend beyond the companies that these so-called leaders helm.  And what could end up as the biggest casualty is that beautiful but often elusive notion of life-work balance. (Why does everyone have to call it work-life balance!)

Image courtesy of Financial Express

Over time, especially with the omnipresence of social media, an unfortunate development is that people that are scarcely qualified to make statements on a particular topic get the platform to do so.  Anyone with a smartphone assumes the role of a movie critic.  One does not seem to need a medical degree to make a health-related recommendation.  Similarly, C-suite executives feel entitled to speak about antiquated work practices while seemingly ignoring the concept of productivity and the ill effects of continual stress on one’s health.  What we hear are the voices of those who have the self-granted license to get away with irresponsible statements.  It is because these executives are in positions of great power.  They know fully well that despite all the backlash, the searing opinion pieces and the hilarious memes, that they can continue to wield the power to make statements and even foster unhealthy work practices. 

I have seen some argue that these executives got to where they got to by dint of hard work and long hours.  Full credit to them, yes.  But not everyone might have the capacity, desire, willingness or the means to get to the upper echelons of management.  More importantly, the folks that defend these statements fail to realize that the leaders did not achieve what they did in a vacuum.  Just like the ones who join a corporation owe the company a focused, enduring demonstration of their abilities and a healthy attitude, those at the top owe to their employees a physically and psychologically safe environment.  When we hear numbers like 70 and 90 hours, it is clear that that safety is not their utmost concern.  Not by a long shot. 

Am I suggesting that one must not go the extra mile at work?  And inflexibly stick to a strictly 40 hours a week routine?  No, not at all.  There are times when one would have the zest and passion to go above and beyond.  There are times when there will be a time-sensitive need to work a little harder and, yes, longer than normal. (Seeing the previous line, I realize that I should have italicized, “normal!”)  There are times when an employee might not really have a ready alternative to a tough environment, due to reasons ranging from financial to societal pressures.  But working long hours without sufficient rest or proper sleep will, for the most part, catch up with us and manifest themselves in myriad ways.  In the form of strained relationships, declining physical or mental health, burnout and so on. Social science research shows that the pernicious effects of continual stress are significantly higher than the stress caused by one-off life events (such as the loss of a job, death of a loved one, etc.) Sure, there may be exceptions.  But I do firmly believe that nothing immoderate is sustainable. 

On a related note, I must point out that there is an important distinction that we must make between hectic and tedious.  During times of high pressure and tough deadlines, it is imperative that employees feel an intrinsic motivation to work hard.  They must feel like they belong.  That their work matters.  And that they as a person- inclusive of their physical and mental health- matter.  I have witnessed some superb leadership of critical path projects wherein leaders and team members rallied around one another, under high pressure but without having that pressure transform into stress.  So, I know that it is indeed possible to at least create a sub-culture within a large organization where one's health is not a casualty during times of intense work pressures.

Commitment to our work is important, no doubt.  It is what keeps the lights on and puts food on the table at home.  But commitment to the ones for whom we are an integral part of their support system is even more important.  Additionally, we also have a commitment to people whom we consider as our support system.  Because the ones that are shouldering our burdens, concerns, worries and pressures, in turn, need and deserve the bare minimum assurance that we are doing things in service of our own physical and mental health.  Alas, these commitments are all intertwined, rarely mutually exclusive.  One needs to put in genuine effort to ensure that the scales don’t tilt heavily in any one direction for a lengthy period of time.  It may not always be easy.  But one cannot afford to stop trying.