One of the things that I have realized as I read books like Randy
Pausch’s “The Last Lecture” and Anu Hasan’s “Sunny Side Up” is that the more aware one is, the more memorable are the little moments and those little lessons that life affords us.
These moments and the people that I mention here might not merit a place
in my “Inspirations” series. But in their own way, these mostly positive
memories have stayed in my mind for a very long time. So, without further ado, here you go:
(Disclaimer – Over the
years, I have been the lucky recipient of some tremendous advice and several golden
nuggets from my near and dear. I have not
included those ‘big’ moments and epiphanies in this list and instead, have chosen to focus on
smaller moments and incidents.)
“Arab Exodus” – this is one of my favorite memories from my
high school days. One of my class
mates Vijay was a brilliant student who had amazing powers of
concentration. He would always listen to
lectures intently while the less serious ones like yours truly would be
blithely unconcerned about the lecture and instead engage in ‘meaningful’ (!)
debates with our bench mates on topics such as, "Who is the better music director? Ilayaraja or Rahman?" And, when we took notes,
the rest of us would usually copy what was written on the black board by the
teacher. I didn’t know what Vijay's notes
looked like…until one day, when I
borrowed his history notebook since I had been unwell and had missed classes
the previous day. As I started going
through it, I was quite stunned – he had not only absorbed the essence of the
lecture's contents but also summarized it in crisp phrases that demonstrated his
keen understanding of the material. One of
his section headers is still absolutely fresh in my mind – “Arab Exodus.” Especially because it was not a term used by
the teacher! The usage of the word “exodus”
- which I thought was splendid for a 13-year old - was his. The style of notes was entirely his! It's still something I remember fondly when I take notes during meetings at work!
“Please give him some water first” – My Dad’s work had brought
us to the US in 1998 after I had completed high school in India. My Chithappa had lived in the US since ’81. So, while I had grown very fond of him thanks
to his few trips to India, I had spent quite a bit of quality time with him
when I had visited the US in ’91 as a 10-year old. One thing that I remember vividly was his quiet,
understated compassion towards my grandparents (who had lived with him). In ’98, I was to witness another
instance of that genuine compassion towards his loved ones. My Dad had rarely run on the
treadmill. But when we were in my Chithappa’s house, he decided to give it a
try. Without warming up enough, he
started to run at a fast pace. After a
few minutes, I heard an almighty scream…literally. My Dad was screaming, “Narayana!” He had gotten off the treadmill, was panting
for breath and was in tremendous discomfort.
I started chiding him for not heeding my well-meaning advice. My Chithappa calmly walked up to me and said, “Please give him some
water first. You can chide him to your
heart’s content but don't do that now. At least wait till his pain subsides.”
Simple words but some chords were struck, I’d like to think.
Ken’s priorities - While in business school, I was studying for
the final exam of an Operations Research course. There were two broad areas to study: 1) theoretical
concepts and 2) case analyses. The
Professor had mentioned that the exam would contain some pointed questions from
the cases for which we had to re-read all of the cases at least once before the
exam. I called Ken, a peer of mine the
night before the exam to ask some clarifying questions. I also casually asked what material he hadn’t
studied as yet. He replied, “Ram, I
still have to re-read some of the cases.
But I am going to first make sure that I finish studying all the theory
material. If I miss some specific case
related questions on tomorrow’s exam, I might not get a great grade. But more than that, I want to make sure that
I have gotten the theoretical foundations from this class well. That’s what is ultimately important,
right?” I muttered, “Oh, yeah…” and that
was the end of the conversation. But it
was only later when I reflected on what he said that I appreciated the
significance of his words. The night
before a final exam that was worth 40% of the course grade, here was a person who
was calm enough to have a clear mind and a clearer goal: learning the material
well.
“Sachin runs hard…” – I once asked film director Vasanth whether
it’s ever bothered him when the actors in his movies sometimes walk away with
more laurels than he does. I asked this
question not to feed his ego. But
instead, I knew his style of direction which is to act out every scene for
every performer. He smiled and said, “Sachin
runs hard even when he’s the non-striker!
In the end, it’s a run for the team!”
Probably owing to the cricket analogy, it’s something that played a small
but meaningful role in making me a better team player. At least, I think so; I must check this with
my teammates!
Now to my last story below... This is a personal
favorite. It’s slightly long but read it
and you’ll see why.
The street sometimes makes you
smarter – One of the chief pleasures of street cricket is that when
taken seriously, it can teach you a lot of nifty little lessons. There is one ‘series’ (it was dead serious I tell you!) that I played in my friend's huge backyard that is an absolutely indelible memory. Some basic details first – when we chose the teams (4
players a side, 8 overs a side), I had agreed (nobody forced me) to captaining a
side that was a much weaker bowling unit.
On paper, the batting strength of the teams was about the same. But apart from myself, hardly anyone in my
side could turn their arms over for a decent, inexpensive over. Plus, I had agreed (again, absolutely nobody
forced me) to a rule that every bowler be allowed only two overs. It was a huge misstep given the fact that we were a much inferior bowling side. So, even though I was quite a regular bowler, I could bowl only two of the eight stipulated overs with the other six being bowled by much weaker bowlers (who were better batsmen) on my team. So, as a captain, I had selected a sub-par team and
had agreed to a rule that clearly disadvantaged us, hoping that we would do
well anyway. How wrong I was to be.
In the first game, we were
thrashed out of sight by my opposing team- led by my friend Harish - which
batted first. When we batted, our
batsmen threw their wickets away in trying to chase the big score. I came in last and in my frustration, threw
my wicket away as well, with a senseless shot. Series score 0-1.
In the second game, we were thrashed
out of sight by my opposing team which batted first. When we batted, our batsmen threw their
wickets in trying to chase the big score. (The copy–paste from the previous
paragraph is intentional!) We
were 13/3 in the third over, chasing 57 in a maximum of eight overs. I came in last but this time, I was determined. (By the way,
given the small teams, we didn’t bat in pairs; we came in individually!) I told myself that I was going to last until the end of the
innings and that there was no way I was going to throw my wicket away. There was one weak bowler in their ranks and I
decided that I would try and take at least 20 runs from his two overs and milk
the rest of them without doing anything risky. Everything went per plan. The last over was bowled by one of their best
bowlers. With 9 runs required, I didn’t panic. A voice went off in my mind that said, “I am
winning.” The kind of blind confidence
that I enjoyed in myself was ephemeral yet magical. As we inched closer, I first wanted to ensure
that we didn’t lose and so, first worked towards leveling the scores. Then, with one run required, I calmly placed
the ball in a gap on the off-side. We won
the match, yes. But more importantly, within
myself, I reached a ‘high’ that I revisit in my mind even now whenever I feel
low. It was an instance when I channeled
my anger - at my side's performance - purposefully. It
was an instance when I believed in myself, completely, unequivocally and not for a moment, did I think
that we would lose. Series tied 1-1.
For the third match, I was
desperate to win the toss so that we could bowl and chase a target again. But Harish won the toss and wisely chose to
bowl at us knowing that with our new found confidence that we might chase any
target. Our batting floundered again. I made the crucial mistake of not opening the
innings, thereby squandered the chance of carrying my form from the previous match. Instead, I erroneously chose to rest up for a
few minutes, hoping that my fellow batsmen would have gotten inspiration from
our previous victory. That was not to be
as they wilted under some accurate bowling. I should have come in to bat after maybe the fall of the first wicket. But I didn't. Before I could think, wickets fell in a heap quickly. My failure to act quickly cost us dearly. When I came in, I knew that whatever target we set would be overcome by
Harish’s team given our weak bowling. But still, I wanted to bat out the
innings. That was not to be as I got an inside edge (off their weakest
bowler actually!) and was bowled cheaply.
We set them a paltry total which they overcame quite easily. We lost the series 1-2.
Yes, we lost. But I certainly gained a few insights along the way. Sure, in the end, the better side won. But we could have maximized our chances by believing in ourselves, sticking to the basics and not playing those silly shots (myself included) like we did in the first game. I should have acted decisively in the third game by coming in at at least the fall of the first wicket to avert the collapse that followed. I have reflected on that day
numerous times since it happened way back in 2009.
Be it at work or otherwise, I have grown acutely aware of the team that I am a part of, the rules that I play with. Sure, sometimes luck has a role to play, as with my
unfortunate inside edge in the last game.
But what is of more importance than luck is that game that we sometimes play in the
head against that behemoth of
an opposing side called self-doubt. If one can emerge victorious against that opponent in the mind, one can emerge victorious in any game. So, in a strange way, I am glad that we lost
the series that day. Given the relative
insignificance of the setting and the loss itself, I was afforded an
opportunity to learn from a ‘series’ of mistakes life lessons that no reams of
text could have taught me as effectively.
Actor TS Balaiya famously remarked
in Bama Vijayam, “As a student, you
learn your lessons and then write your exams.
On the other hand, life is a teacher that gives you exams to test you
and then teaches you lessons from it.” Now, all
I want to be is a perspicacious student, for I will never know when the next exam is around the corner.
