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When was the last time someone at work told you that you just helped them realize their dreams?
Volunteering rocks. Try it.
www.taprootfoundation.org
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Asking someone about the weather seems innocuous enough. Unless you ask a Brit, of course. An englishman will speak about the weather for hours, and you dont really want that. But where can you really take a conversation once youve asked the dreaded question about the W?
Tomes have been written about making conversation with strangers. I havent read any of it. I have on occasion summoned up the courage however, to go out there and meet a roomful of strangers I know not a whit about. I did it yesterday. And strangely enough, Im not here to write about the horror that ensued, but of something good that came from it.
I usually like to quote myself some N-speak before I embark on potentially disastrous missions like this, and this time was no different. “If youre scared about doing something, youre probably doing something right. If people seem scared of what you are doing, youre probably doing something right”. Uttered by my friend Mr N in a state of inebriation, the words are obviously not meant to be taken literally. Jumping off a cliff will surely scare the hell out of me and anyone who might be watching, but like i said, not meant to be taken literally. But there is some real, deep sense in those words, and Ive seen some good come out of following that advice in my own life.
The location seemed appropriately Chicago. Smoke-filled and full of uppity Lincoln Park-types, I felt exactly the way I thought Id feel - like the way I always feel when Im in a room full of smoke and uppity Lincoln Park-types. Uncomfortable and out of place.
The organizer came over and shook my hand. “Are you new to the group?” Gawd. Was it really that obvious? “Yes, I am.” Another new face came by. I went down the list of mandatory small talk questions i had memorized based on S’s advice. I was perliously close to the end of my list, when I think the best thing ever happened.
We spotted a table clearing up and we appropriated it in a flash. So much easier to relax when youre actually, yknow, sitting down. Things got much easier after that. She was an art director who worked at the Art Institute of Chicago. I find comfort in losing all pretension, so I admitted I knew next to nothing about art appreciation. We were soon joined by new face #2, who Im pretty just wanted to sit down, like the rest of us. A political science major from an accredited university. This was getting interesting. New faces #3 and #4 rounded off our little discussion group - an exchange student from Italy and a research analyst working at a Big 4 accounting firm. Hey this wasn’t too bad at all. I thought all Id meet were wierdos and losers. So much for stereotypes. Come to think of it, the guy at the next table was screaming intermittently and being generally incoherent. So maybe I just got lucky.
And don’t get me wrong, it wasnt always a free-flowing conversation - everyone was still trying to put their best foot forward, and not say anything too dumb. But after a while, things got pretty relaxed, and we just, yknow, talked. Big 4 accounting firm guy was definately trying to impress the political science major. And admittedly, I enjoyed talking to the Art director more than anyone else in the group. But who the hell cares. I went out there and got a good conversation out of pretty much nothing.
A good three hours later, we decided to leave. We promised to keep in touch. Well see. Political Science major and I decided to share a cab. She got off at union station, and I decided to walk the remaining distance home. The summer’s almost upon Chicago, and I couldnt really pass up a walk down Michigan Avenue on a warm night.
Im glad I went. There are always a thousand reasons to not do these things, but I was probably better off not heeding those last night. So what did i learn? I’m not as bad at making conversation with strangers as I thought I was.
I just need to remember to sit down.
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| 2007-10-01 6:44P |
| John.. |
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The smell of French fries made me shift uncomfortably yet again. I cursed my luck for the zillionth time, as I tried to ignore the general chaos of the airport lounge. I didn’t have anything against airports, but I had missed my flight home, and I found myself stuck in the busy mezzanine at San Juan’s Luis Munoz Marin International Airport. Knowing that I would have to wait another 8 hours for the next flight home, I wasn’t exactly in the best of spirits. How did I find myself here? I didn’t want to think about it, but I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be home. Or back in the Caymans. Anywhere but here. Maybe I could fall asleep for a few hours, I thought, but quickly dismissed the idea as yet another passenger ran a stroller bag over my outstretched legs. “Ah, Descoolpah, senor”, he said, with a fakish grin. I gave him one of my own, as I played with the wooden beads I wore on my wrist. There were 12 of them, strung together on a thin wire frame. I counted them, it was on old habit. “Now don’t quarrel. Both of you get one. You have been good this year”, he had said, as he tied it on my wrist. First mine, then hers. As I resumed my futile attempts to make myself comfortable, I heard a voice that startled me awake. It was a voice I hadn’t heard for 17 years, but it was unmistakably familiar. As I looked up, I saw a gaunt, slender man, possibly in his fifties, walking feverishly towards me, his eyes sparkling with the look of a man who had found what he had been looking for. “Jackie boy..Is that really you?” he asked, but he knew the answer already.
I hadn’t seen John since the accident. My parents told me he sold everything he owned and moved back to London, with no intention of ever returning. I remember feeling a sense of relief back then. I didn’t want to look at that grief stricken face any more. But the face in front of me wasn’t grief stricken. It was glowing. It was the face of a man who seemed to be at complete peace with himself. “John? I... how...I can’t believe my eyes!” I said.
“I thought you were in London...What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Just taking care of business. I was sitting right over there” he pointed. “I can still spot your egg-shaped head from a mile away” He laughed, that staccato laughter that was so familiar. I didn’t know what business John might have had in Puerto Rico, but I was intrigued by his presence here, the last place on earth I could have expected to see him. “Do you have some time?” he asked.
“I’m stuck here for at least another 8 hours. I missed my flight back home. I could have made it – the plane was still here! They wouldn’t open the doorways” I said, briefly reliving those moments of frustration. I noticed that he was dressed in spotless white – this was something he always did, even all those years ago. John, for me, was the epitome of cool. He always seemed completely at ease with himself, and carried himself with a conviction that had earned him the respect of his peers. But his coolness belied a steely resolve and a penchant for doing things with honesty and sincerity – at any cost. Even those who had been burned by his direct approach begrudgingly acknowledged his fairness in any given situation. He would never compromise on that. Never. But that was before the accident. Everything changed after the accident. “Ahem...anyone in there?” he asked, snapping me out of my reverie.
“So, I ask again – do you have time?” he asked.
“Time for what?”
“I have to show you something”
I didn’t understand. “Here at the airport?” I asked.
“No, not here.” He said. “Come with me”
I stood there, trying to figure out where this was going.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, perhaps reading the confusion writ large on my face. “Don’t you trust me anymore?”
“Yeah..But I don’t think I can go too far. I think I need a transit visa to step outside this airport – my current visa doesn’t...”
“Don’t worry” he cut me off. “Just come with me”
I picked up my bag and started walking. He walked in front of me, his strides full of purpose. He looked in amazingly good health for his age, and I had trouble keeping up with him. As we approached the security checkpoint, he said “Wait a minute while I talk to my friend here” He went up to a tall, stern-looking man in uniform. Fully expecting his unusual request to be turned down, I popped a life saver into my mouth and looked around. I seemed to be the only one there who wasn’t having a great time. Everyone looked unusually happy. What happened to all the grouches, I wondered. “Jackie boy!” I heard him shout.
“Come on this way, its ok!”
As I walked towards him, I saw the stern looking airport official nod at me and then break into a smile that seemed completely out of place on his otherwise cynical, somber-looking face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think I can leave the airport like this. It’s illegal!” I growled.
“Not if you are with me, its not. I know all the right people in the right places” he said with complete conviction. But that’s how John was. He always managed to smooth-talk his way out of the most awkward situations imaginable. Dad would never stop singing praises about this particular attribute of John’s. “Where exactly are we going, John? It’s been years since I was here. Have you been here since...”
“A few times” he said abruptly.
He started to look around for a cab. I saw one in the distance and held out my hand.
“I see you are still wearing those” he said, noticing the beads on my wrist.
“Never took them off” I said
“Why do you keep wearing them?”
“I don’t know”
A red and white colored cab pulled over by the curbside. We slid into the cab, and to my astonishment, John gave the cab driver directions in fluent Spanish. He also said something else that made the cab driver laugh. His sense of humor was intact and apparently worked in Spanish, too. “Why did you learn to speak Spanish?” I asked.
“It’s pretty good, isn’t it? It can be useful around these parts” he smiled.
“You must be joking. Id flunk Spanish every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
He laughed. But I noticed he hadn’t answered my question. It was unlike him to respond to a question with anything other than a brutally honest answer. The cab meandered thru the crowded streets of Old San Juan for a while, before we started going thru some dirt roads. We soon left the city behind and most of the traffic around us was of the touristy kind. It was nice to see John after all these years, but I was getting a little nervous. Where were we going? He hadn’t said much, other than offering monosyllabic responses to all my questions. Although the thought seemed absurd, I began to wonder if he was planning to hurt me. It would make sense that he would want to. But it had been so long. Had he kept it all bottled up inside all these years, and had finally decided to do something about it? My thoughts were interrupted by the picturesque images unfolding outside the window. I soon started to see the deposits of sand by the side of the road. We were close to the ocean. Almost on cue, the blue waters appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It was one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen. The almost milk-white sands and the blue waters coming together to complete the picture-perfect landscape. The cab came to a grinding halt by the beach. I recognized it instantly. Of course it had to be this one. This is where it all happened. I stepped out of the cab, as he continued to speak to the cab driver in Spanish. The sun hit my back as I walked onto the white sands. I took off my reefs, felt the sand fill the cracks between my toes. But I knew what was coming. It was inevitable; I had been waiting for this since the day of the accident. I thought I would dread it when the moment came to be, but I felt more relief than anything else. I was ready. “You remember this place, don’t you son?” he said.
I remained silent.
“Look there’s where we stayed” he said, pointing to a small row of houses right off the beach.
“And that’s where you – “
“Yes, I remember! I remember, ok?” I said, almost shouting.
“Do you remember everything?”
“Yes! Yes! Ok? Yes I remember!” I was almost choking now. “I don’t know what you plan to do, John. But whatever it is, I won’t stop you. I took something irreplaceable away from you. And I can’t begin to understand what you are going through, but I am ready to pay for what I have done to you. But I never stopped thinking about it, John. I never stopped being sorry. Not a day goes by when I...”
“Look, I know you are upset. I -” he offered.
“Let’s get this over with”
“What?” John looked puzzled.
“Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you going to kill me? For what I did to you? For what I took from you?”
“Kill you? Is that why you think I brought you here? I loved you every bit as much as I loved Ria. You know that!”
“Then why are we here, John? Why did you bring me here?”
“Because its time you made your peace, Jack. I know I have.”
“Show me your hands”
“What?”
“I said show me your hands!!”
Before I knew what was happening, he quickly snatched the beads from my wrist and flung it into the ocean. He then grabbed me by my shoulders and looked at me with those steely grey eyes that seemed to slice right though my soul.</p>“Its time you moved on, Jack. I’ve lost Ria; I don’t want to lose you too.” My knees gave way and I found myself kneeling in the sand. The sands were cooler than I had imagined they would be. He had started to walk away from me. I wanted to get up and follow him, but I couldn’t. He kept walking and walking, soon he was but a dot on the horizon. I wanted to call out to him, but I had lost my voice. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Sir”
“Sir?”
I woke up with a start.
“Sir, aren’t you scheduled to fly Flight AA 312 to Boulder?”
I looked into the face of the lady from the American Airlines desk. I had barked at her earlier when she told me I had missed my flight.
“Yes..” I responded, still shaking from the experience I had just gone through.
“Are you ok, sir?”
“Yes I’m fine, thank you”
“Your flight has started boarding...I came by to make sure you didn’t miss your flight again”
Impressed by her thoughtfulness, I extended my hand to shake hers.
“Thank you so much...I appreciate you taking the trouble”
As I looked down to find my bag, I noticed something. The beads were gone.
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My cellphone has endured a lot over the years. Well, 2 years. Ive flung it against the wall, dropped it on the pavement, and cursed it when it would stop working in places so remote I shouldn't have been there in the first place. Ive used it as a doorstop, a paperweight, a fly-swatter, and worse. Yet, my cellphone has survived. There are many tell-tale bruises on it, each with its own little story, each reminding me of events I would have long forgotten otherwise. Theres even a smattering of sand thats somehow made its way under the glass casing in the front, and it now looks like I had my phone customized for the beach-holiday look.
Somewhere along the way, my cellphone has picked up an odd little quirk. Everytime I flip it open, the time display takes a couple of seconds to update from when I last looked at it. So basically, I know when I last looked at the time on my cellphone. The reason this is significant, is that when I have a good day, I barely look at the time on my cell. Yesterday, while driving home after work, I noticed that the last time on the cellphone was 6:30 AM. Which means that I didn't even look at my phone once during the day.
There have been days in the past when Ive looked at the time every 15 minutes, and my phone would give me a gentle little reminder in its own way, that things weren't going too well. But its been different, lately. Time has flown past, and I am riding the waves of tumult with more abandon than ever before. Its a rush! And my cellphone reminds me that I'm back on my feet, and back to not worrying too much. Stuffing your life with a bunch of different experiences is the only way to live, definitely the most rewarding way. Time will then follow, not lead.
Am I going to buy an Iphone? Most certainly not! I have the best phone in the whole wide world :)
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A line from my new favorite TV show The office had me rolling on the carpet for minutes on end. And as is the case with the Office, it doesnt seem funny unless you actually see it for yourself.
Michael Scott considers Dwight Schrute as his possible replacement: "Dwight has the best sales record of our team. He is loyal, and likes me a lot. Hes also an idiot."
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I dont like taking too many pictures with people in them. If they have to be in them, i prefer that they look away from the lens rather than right into the eye of it. There. Thats my photography 101 for you. I havent mastered the art just yet, but those two things are what make pictures more than just pictures for me - thats when they turn into memories. These pictures become multidimensional, and you only need the smallest of cues in them to bring all the memories springing back to life. I feel like you can get a lot more out of a picture this way. For instance, the picture of the subway entrance i posted earlier brings back everything about the trip I was about to make on the subway that day. An alternative might have been to have me grinning awkwardly into the lens, pointing at the sign or something. Very distracting, not to mention downright silly.
Once when i tried to do this, the proverbial "uncle" stopped me in my tracks and said "Go and stand there, i will take your picture". When i told him i wasnt looking to do that, I got some unsolicited advice on not "wasting film" in this irresponsible manner.
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| 2007-07-12 10:29P |
| ... |
| Public |
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Wave by wave
they come on by
lonely come
lonely dry
They come on by
Come what may
As the one before
Does this one say
All at once
All together
Were they all delusion
Or just plain disarray?
I look by my side
They come, they stay
I look not once
Come what may, as they say..
I look again
They look at me
I embrace, this time.
They come with me.
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I will relentlessly pursue it, tackle it, beat it down till it begs for mercy and surrenders meekly into submission.
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I didnt plan it, but it happened anyway. I love meeting people over lunch, and I love all the lunchtime conversations, but sometimes I need to get away for a bit. I had a bit of a headache, and I needed some fresh air. It helped that it was the nicest day of the year so far. Where should I go?, I wondered aloud. Stacy suggested that I try out the picnic benches by the lake.
So I took my lunch with me and walked to the lake. Lemon rice, a banana, and a small can of grape juice. I found an unoccupied bench by the lake and sat myself down. It was like time slowed down to a mere trundle, very unlike the warp speeds it seems to assume otherwise. I could hear the trees swaying in the breeze , and the grovel crunch under my shoes. A ladybug showed some momentary interest in my lunch, but then decided to be the bigger person and crawl away. The nice lady on the next bench smiled politely, and then went about her own business. Perfect.
The lunch was gone in a flash and I just looked at the blue waters for what seemed like hours. I finally got up and hauled myself back to work, refreshed. Im going to do this at least once every couple of weeks.
Heres a picture:
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Fell in love with another song (well the entire soundtrack actually) from Garden State. In the waiting line, by Zero 7. The song seems to go well with my favorite kind of world..
Glass windows, raindrops latching on for dear life but failing, greenish glows everywhere. Ive actually looked for apartments that fit this image in my mind. needless to say, hard to find. Someday, maybe :)
Yell on top of a deserted truck. Kiss in a bathtub. Save your tears. Live your life.
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Songs like Ai Hairatein Aashiqui (From Guru's soundtrack) make me want to sing again..they also make me look out my window and see something completely new in the view I've seen every day for the past year or so. There was something different about the Sears Tower, shrouded in fog, something intriguing about Lake Michigan, in the distance. I also had a new-found appreciation for the ledge by my window that I can rest myself on (yes, all six feet of me :) and take in the city, one highrise, one passing car, one huddled passer-by at a time - steaming cup of coffee in hand.
Yeah, a good song can do that to me. Thanks a bunch, Sonal :)
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Growing up in a fairly conservative environment in India, a lot of importance was attached to "respecting" pretty much everything around me. Respect the plants in the garden, dont kill them. Dont whack them with a twig, like your silly friends do. Respect your books. Dont step on them, even by mistake. If you do, touch the book and then touch your forehead, as a mark of respect. And as an acknowledgment of the wrongdoing you just committed by mistakenly stepping on it. Respect your teachers. Dont ask them questions like "why". There might be immediate and painful consequences to doing so. Respect those younger to you. Protect them. Respect your elders (this was a big one). Dont answer back. Do as they say. Dont question anything they say, do, or think.
I am not being acerbic. I think these are all good lessons to learn and impart to growing children. Im just sitting here wondering how deep of an impact these lessons have had on me. And my personality.
Usually, people tell me Im a 'nice guy'. What does that mean? That I am easy to get along with. And what does that mean? That I usually dont raise hell when people say, do or think about things a certain way, even if I disagree. I agree to a lot of things externally, usually because nothing is at stake. I dont see anything to be gained by opposing status quo. Maybe because I spent most of my life that way. Not opposing status quo.
However, what this means is that when I do have something at stake, when I do have to oppose status quo, it takes a monumental effort on my part, and it leaves me exhausted at the end. Exhausted enough to not look forward to doing it again.
I like being known as a nice guy. I dont judge people very much. I dont interfere in people's lives unless I am asked to. I dont ask nosey questions. These are all traits that come with the 'nice guy' package, I think. However, I dont value these qualities very much. Maybe because they are so much a result of me following the path of least resistance in my childhood. The path of least resistance, which when followed, resulted in the least amount of unpleasantness, which I liked very much.
I am also loyal in my relationships. Especially the ones that matter to me. I can go to near-ridiculous heights to protect and preserve my most cherished relationships. I value this more. It is me, it is a choice I make without having to think about it very much. It is a choice that has never been influenced by my environment very much. Not being overtly loyal doesn't cause unpleasantness, being loyal doesn't lie on the path of least resistance.
My loyalty is my most cherished possession, one that can never be taken away from me. Those who choose to ignore it, will do so at their own peril. They know not what they lose.
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Its amazing what this guy can do with a $100 camera, Adobe Premier and a burning desire to make films!
Great job, Nick. The clip made me miss you guys at the DISH :)
http://films.thelot.com/films/16823
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What the creator of a song puts into its creation, might be completely different from what the listener gets out of it. And its probably uniquely different for the millions of people who listen to it, live with it, get saved by it. Its probably also different for each of those different people at different times in their lives. Music is truly a gift from the gods.
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I have a very good friend who lives in Denver. He's been a wonderful listener over the years and belies his age whenever he opens his mouth to speak about life and its vagaries. He also happens to be a big Jon Stewart fan. He also told me once that he just knew that Id love John Mayer's music. Even though Ive never been a serious listener of so-called "western" music. Just try, he said. John Mayer is now one of my favorite musicians, and rarely does a day go by when I dont listen to his music.
So last November, I thought hmm, maybe I can see if theyll send me a couple of tickets for my friend and his wife to go see the Jon Stewart Daily Show show live, in New York City. So I sent them an email. They said, "If dont hear from us in a couple of weeks, sorry.." I didnt hear from them for a couple of weeks. I did hear from them almost two months later, yesterday.
Mr. Narayan,
We've been able to reserve you two tickets for Tuesday January 30th. Please tell those who are using the tickets that they will need to use your name and information when they arrive for the taping. The tickets are reserved under your name and your information.
Thanks!
Audience Dept.
I called my friend. He flipped. It doesnt even matter whether he makes it to the show or not. He now has bragging rights forever. :)
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Speaking in public was something I liked to do. But years and years of coding and computers have managed to keep me away from doing it regularly. Ive decided to correct that by becoming a registered Toastmaster. I get to give prepared speeches every other week, and I also get called on randomly to speak on random topics. Brrr! If public speaking is feared more than death itself, then I, my friends, am about to die.. :)
Yesterday, as I got up to do my first "Table Topic", I felt the rather familiar knot in my stomach. I felt many sets of eyes watching my every move, and of course, the imaginary beads of sweat that you swear are there. But once I was done, I knew that joining this club had been a good decision. Your public-speaking cobwebs (believe me, they exist) get blown away, and thinking on your feet (especially in front of other people) is something you actually seem to get better at. Not a bad way to spend Monday evenings, methinks.
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How far into a book do you decide if it should be put down or pursued further? I think my threshold is page 40. If Im still plodding along after page 40, maybe it isnt not my kind of book. If i like the book, im usually past page 100 before I know it. Sorry, Radhika, I tried reading God Of Small Things, I really did. I just couldnt keep going, for some reason. Its not the book, its just me :)
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Talk about perspective. Courtesy Josh Kaufman
''We succeeded in taking that picture [from deep space], and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam. The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity — in all this vastness — there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It’s been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.” - Carl Sagan, astronomer and science writer
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kartik's journal