Tiny Stories

& some random jottings

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_____________________
Bharath Gopalan
Tiny Stories & some random jottings
Copyright © 2017 by Bharath Gopalan

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Also by the Author:

You can reach the author at Bharath.Gopalan@gmail.com

91- 9941832065

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 Table of Contents

What people say .................................................

Prologue .............................................................
Mother .............................................................. 6
Labour of Love ............................................... 10
An Octogenarian’s Birthday Party .................. 15
White Moustache and Inertia ......................... 19
8.29 Beckons .................................................. 23
Die-hard Hoarder of Notes ............................. 29
The Interview .................................................. 34
Village Fair ..................................................... 40
POETRY...............................................................
Grow Like A Tree .......................................... 48
Those Lovely Days ......................................... 50
Fear Never ...................................................... 51
In My Century……… ....................................... 52

Chapters contributed ……………………………55

The Guru Appears ...............................................
Be A Career Venturer ..........................................

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 What people say …

This space is for you, if you have something to

say about this - not necessarily only good

4
 Prologue

What a struggle it has been to get your writings

published those days. When my first poem saw the
print in YuvaBharathi in 1979, I can’t tell you how I
was jumping up and down. I still hold a hardcopy of
it - you can find that poem “In My Century Lies Our
Victory” on pg-52. The budding writers of my days
cherished the ‘Reject slips’ like war-wounds.

I am not telling this to tom-tom my story, but to make

you grasp how easy it has become today to publish
one’s writing without going through endless hassles
of yester-years. At the click of a mouse, you can
digitally in multiple channels simultaneously.

Though I have authored two books (Break Your

Boundaries & SMART Presenter), I have shied away
from putting my short stories in public domain. But
when my good friend Manikandan, whom I admire
for his short films, nudged me saying ‘there could be
a potential Sujatha (renowned Tamil novelist) lurking
in you’, I got tempted to bring this out. He must at
least be 10% true.

Bharath
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 1
Mother

“I'm quitting", he shouted as he entered

the house. He threw out his shoes and
relieved his shoulders of the drudging laptop
bag and quickly retired to his room and hit
the bed.

"You seem too tired, why don't you have a

quick dinner and go to bed."

"yes mom, but I'm sick of it, the same

boring job, the same irritating people all
around, same hectic travel everyday; how
long to go on with this? I want to call it quits
mom!"

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 "That's fine! For your intelligence, you will
get 100 jobs. But now freshen up yourself
and have your dinner!" Boys of today, she
thought, how so quickly they get bored of
everything. She went back in time. How much
he rejoiced when he got this job on the day-1
of placement in his campus. He was literally
jumping and dancing all around during the
entire next week. Naturally, since only four of
them got placed among the three hundred
and odd people who sat through the selection
grind. She was proud of her son.

As he came to the dinner table, she didn't

want to bother him with the thoughts of his
job and switched the subject to his favourite
topic. 'Did you talk to her today?" she asked
curiously.

"No mom, I was too tied up with work,

didn't have a second to breathe."

Realising it's getting back to work, she

kept silent.

As he was mechanically gulping down

what was on his plate, he suddenly noticed

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that yummy-yummy Alu Dum in the bowl
next to his plate. The moment he saw his
favorite dish, all the tiredness flew away and
he kissed his mother on her cheek and asked
"oh mom, you are great! But tell me what's
special today?"

"Nothing, I just thought you'd love it. It

has been a long time since you had this."

He was able to vividly recall the first time

she prepared this dish for him.

He had told her of this dish when he

returned from a party at his friend's house.
They are from the northern most part of the
country- Kashmir. When he returned home,
he was gung-ho about their family and also
about the culinary skills of his friend‟s mom-
Kashmere aunty. "I never had such a tasty
dish mom, they call it something like Alu Dum
Kashmiri".

After that, he forgot all about it. But on

the day when he returned home so joyfully
after the day-1 in his first job, his mother
welcomed him home with this dish. He

8
relished it so much- it tasted better than the
one he earlier had. He was wondering how
and when she learnt preparing this and how
much trouble she must have taken to learn to
prepare this. She brushed aside saying that
nothing is too big for her when it's for her
dear son.

"Oh, shit, how I forgot! I have completed

one year today." he screamed. But something
struck him very strongly about his mother
and what he uttered about his job a few
moments back - same boring job, the same
irritating people. After that, he ate the rest of
the food in silence and retired to bed.

His mother got up early the next morning,

prepared his breakfast, but somehow didn‟t
dare to wake him up since she was not sure
whether he had already quit. He came out of
his room all dressed up to go and with very
unusual cheer on his face, "mom, what's on
breakfast? I have to rush now; it's time for
our bus."

She thanked her god for answering her

prayers.
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 2
Labour of Love

„You are going to be the mother of my

child‟. That one line mail from him sent her to
dizzy. What a crap! She never thought that
this would go that far. She had even frankly
shared whatever transpired between them
with her hubby, to the extent that her hubby
could open her mailbox and read her mails.
But this mail! No way! She quickly deleted the
mail and also sent a very sharp reply to call a
stop to all these. And no further! She was still
furious and she moved his mail id to blocked
list.

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 More than two decades back, they used to
live in the same township. It was during their
later part of their school-going years or later
– now, she doesn‟t even exactly remember
the year. Those days they had a special
feeling for each other, which he had even
expressed once or twice tacitly. Though she
also had nurtured similar feeling for him, she
consciously didn‟t reciprocate explicitly nor
did she give a blunt No to him. She knew
fully-well that there was no future for this
relationship and all that she could possibly do
was to preserve the memories for the future.
He would pen a few thoughts and send it
across to her. She had a genuine appreciation
for his writings. She even sent one of his
writings, which had a tinge of romantic poem
to a woman‟s magazine with his name in
byline and he was so elated when she
presented the print copy along with a cheque
for a paltry sum which the magazine had sent
to her.

One big block was that she was two years

elder to him. Nevertheless, she could not
deny to herself that she felt good when he

11
was around and may be, he was good to be in
friends with. This went on till they went on for
some time, till the day her father came to
know of it and sternly warned both of them of
the undesirable consequences.

Years rolled. He went away from that

town for further studies and got settled down
elsewhere. She finished her college and got
married. Hardly did they bump on each other
until now when both of them are in their mid-
forties.

It was Zuck, who brought them back

together through FB. When she saw his friend
request, there was momentary hesitation on
her part. But a day later, when she shared
her „flashback‟ with her hubby, it was actually
her hubby who clicked to „confirm friend‟.
From then on, the friendship again grew on.
It started with some random „likes‟ and
birthday greetings and it grew into texting
and mobile calls. But she always made it a
point to share with her hubby of what
transpired between them, lest the trust is
lost.

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 But today, it‟s the height. How dare he did
that. She had always thought that theirs was
a sublime friendship.

She put his mail id on the blocked list and

never bothered to check it later, though once
in a way she was tempted to open it. One
such she opened said „I will be delivering your
baby in a couple of months”. What this
babble.

Two months later she received a parcel by

courier. She opened. It contained a new hard-
bound book novel carrying his name in bold
print.

A hand-written note on the top of a book

read, “I dedicate my maiden novel to you.
You sowed the seed of inspiration in me to
write again. You mothered this child”. She
could feel teardrops welling in her eyes.

13
 3
An Octogenarian's Birthday Party

I am turning 80 today. My son, his wife

and his three-year old son have travelled all
the way from Austin just to celebrate my
entering eighties. They are here for the last
one week running around and doing things in
a hush-hush manner, lest I come to know of
their secret plans.

I have stopped being a partying type long

ago and in the normal course, I would have
said a blunt 'no' to celebration of any kind.
But when my son came on skype two months
back and strongly suggested with an
emotional undertone, I couldn't say 'no'. I
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also thought probably this could be the only
occasion I may get to see my American-born
grandson. Yet, I told him sternly that it
should be a simple home-bound function
without much fanfare and with only the close-
ones as guests. All he said was 'leave it to
me, I know what you like and what you
don't'. I didn't want to be any fussy further.

I must have slept a little long, for I

already hear the whispers coming from our
drawing room. Out of curiosity, I peep out
through the slit in the closed door to see who
all have come.

My son knows that I have the wont for

getting up late and going for a bath straight
from my bed. He had instructed me the
previous night that I should wear the new silk
dhothi and the saffron slack kurta, which he
specailly got tailor-made for me.

I am seeing many friendly faces milling

around in the hall- young and old- some of
them who have worked with me as my
colleagues -many of my nephews and nieces
whom I have seen during most part of their
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growing up- neighbours of past and present
from different time zones of my life.

Ah, when did my ears become so sharp! I

am able to even hear some of them talking to
those next to them. May be, they are
rehearsing what they would say when I get
there. One of my ex-colleagues was
nostalgically recalling a training session of
mine when I'd ask them to fanaticize their
eightieth birthday and imagine what their
guests would speak of them. The exercise
was intended to trigger the thought on life's
purpose and vision. I was eavesdropping into
what he was saying, 'remember the eighties
exercise, he has truly lived up to what he
used to say- to live a life of simplicity.'
Another one was extolling about my erudition
and modesty.

My son has really surprised me. I never

thought he'd invite all those close to my
heart. But how, at all, did he know? As I was
relishing the good words coming in the air,
oh, whom am I seeing there in the corner, a
fragile figure seated in a wheel chair, oh, who
is that - face looks very familiar, but
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somehow I am not able to place him. Is it
that I am getting old and memory is growing
weaker? No, not that, I must not have seen
him since ages. Suddenly, a chubby boyish
face in school uniform flashed across my
mind. Oh, how can I forget my best buddy in
my school? Oh, how we used to chat and
giggle over every little thing for endless hours
those days!

My zest and eagerness to meet my good

old friend got the better of me that I totally
forgot my son's instructions and started
walking in to the hall. How can the celebrity
of the day be in the night dress amidst all the
important people of my life? But that thought
could not stop me and I found me moving
towards the gathering.

Why no one is noticing me walking

through them?

Oh god! What am I seeing? I am lying

there amidst them, still sleeping peacefully.

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 4
White Moustache and Inertia

"Everybody continues to be in the state of

rest or uniform motion..." his daughter, who
is in seventh class, was mugging up the
Newton's laws.

'Hey, it's not everybody, it is every body'

he shouted as he was having his shave in
front of the mirror. Unless he shows his
Physics prowess at least once in a day he'd
not get his night's sleep- thought his wife
from the kitchen.

'why is it not everybody, pappa?' asked

his daughter with curiosity.

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 'because, Newton's laws apply to only
inanimate bodies and not to human beings',
he said as he came to her study, wiping his
face with the turkish towel.

'hey pappa, your white mousche has

grown thicker?'

Hearing this, his wife came there asking,

'oh, you have not removed it today also. How
many times should I tell you it doesn't look
nice on your face?'

'But how can I have it on somebody else's

face?' he tried to joke and evade the issue.

'Enough, it's dripping from your face!'

remarked she and went back to continue with
her morning chores. „it’ stands for „asadu‟ in
Tamil, though you don‟t have an exact
equivalent, it is some kind of stupidity.

'What is dripping pappa?' asked his

daughter innocently. It's not a Physics
question to show his brilliance now. But he
managed his daughter's question by asking,
'have I not wiped the foam fully from my

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face; do you also find it dripping?' His wife
gave a slant look, which made him feel so
ashamed of his reply that he could feel „it‟
really dripping now.

He had left unshaved the salt-without-

pepper stubs, on the upper part of his lips for
a couple of days under the pretext of an acne
that was showing up below the nose. But
somehow, he later was tempted to grow into
a moustache since it reminded him of his
boyhood days. Once it becomes a full thick
one, „I'd colour it black‟- he thought.

But no one was tolerant of this new

development either at home or at office. It's
after all his mousche, why should he care
about what others say, think or feel about it.

But the last one week had really been

literally a struggle defending his new move.
He had to answer many people around him.
His boss was more concerned. After five days
he asked him if his acne was still persisting.
He was not this concerned even when he was
down with typhoid and didn't turn up to office
for a week. Why this undue concern now?
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 One more day of ordeal at the office.
Work was no big deal. But dealing with the
people who came out with various advice on
his mousche was really annoying which he
had to put up with a smiling face, because
they all came wearing with a pseudo-garb of
good intension. His boss started looking at
him as though he was mentally sick.

Next morning he entered the bathroom

with a firm determination. And there he came
out with a clean shaven face. His wife saw
him and beamed a broad smile, as though
with a pride of a woman who saved her
husband from the brink of a disaster. His
daughter cheered him, 'pappa, today it's not
dripping' and went back to her mugging up,
'ever body will continue to be in the state of...

He mused- Newton's law applies to people

as well with a small difference: everybody will
continue in the same state and if he or she
tried to change the state, all the external
agencies will unite together bring them back
to the original state.

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 5
8.29 Local Beckons

It‟s already 8.27 ante meridian.

Parking his scooter at the disheveled

parking-lot of Mambalam station, he was
heedlessly rushing like his every usual day,
but without missing any of his automated
routines. Probably a psychologist would term
them as OCDs (obsessive compulsive
disorders), but he cared a hoot of what others
think of him, leave alone the psychologists.
Skipping any of those die-hard habits, he
believed, would make his day miserable.

22
 He shook the handle of his scooter twice
to ensure it was securely locked and fastened
his helmet to the bracket; troubled the handle
once again before hurrying towards the
station with his sling bag clung to his
shoulder. As he crossed the Ganesha temple,
he got out of the slip-on shoes, stood over
them for a moment with his knees slightly
bent forward and knocked his head thrice
with his knuckles muttering something like a
prayer; dropped a generous two rupee coin
into the usual dented bowl of the usual leper
squatting in the usual place; customarily
covered his nostrils as he speeded through
the urinal stink and increased his pace as he
neared the flight of stairs. The siren of the
distant train comforted him that he was in
time.

Start of the day was not anything like this.

At 630 in the morning, Parandaman was
much more a relaxed person. He would squat
on the small thinnai of his house and
spread The Hindu in front and take the news
and his filter coffee in alternate gulps. But it
would gradually gain momentum and when he

23
came out of his bath reciting the slokas,
passed down through the generation, he
would already be multi-tasking with dressing
up, stuffing his bag with his paraphernalia like
paper, tiffin box etc at the same time
muttering his morning prayers. The sprint
would peak at the breakfast table and he‟d
gush in whatever was on the plate. „Why this
head-butchering urgency? Heaven is not
going to fall, if you miss the 8.29‟, his wife‟s
admonition to slow him down would only
irritate him, but he would not retort. His
irritation would show up when he kick-started
his scooter which frequently refused to
button-start.

Two years back he used to be more

stress-free. He was not very fussy about
taking this 8.29 local to Beach station where
he would switch another train to get to his
office. Things changed, when a small
unassuming gadget appeared at his front
office. This little inanimate creature reminded
him of the old Tamil maxim which roughly
translates as „don‟t under-estimate the power
of the murthy (idol) by its size‟. This

24
biometric reader impartially and religiously
recorded the time of entry and exit of every
employee. Initially he didn‟t take it too
seriously, but one fine day, it started
triggering innocuous mails of his entry and
exit timings- with cc to his boss. He could not
ignore it anymore. Initially this had put undue
pressure on him and now has got used to that
hurry as a way of life.

Climbing up a flight of forty steps made

him pant and he halted for a while after going
up, as though looking out for the „Fast‟ train,
while trying to control his gasp. Then he
alighted on platform no 1 jit (just in time) as
the 8.29 arrived at the platform at 8.33.

The relief of having got into the train

faded away when he lost the lone vacant seat
to a senior citizen who overtook him. He
occupied a corner comfortable enough to
stand and hold his newspaper. He pulled out
the newspaper from his bag and folded it
fourfold and started going on from where he
left. He used this also as a strategy to create
an elbow room from the co-commuters who

25
would soon occupy every inch of the floor-
space.

The conversation happening near him

drew his attention and he gave keener ear to
it while he kept on the pretense of reading.

„I can‟t believe it, I saw him in our coach

two days back‟.

„But who can predict this yaar? no one is

born with the expiry date. And such things do
not come announcing; he was in a hurry to
his office. But he never knew that he was
actually in a hurry to leave forever.‟

„What actually happened?‟

„He was hit and thrown off by the 9.10

local as he was crossing the track to take the
Velachery train on the other platform.‟

„He was really a very nice guy‟.

„Poor fellow, he had such a caring wife.

She couldn‟t control her grief. It seems she‟d
tell him almost every day not to be in such a

26
maddening hurry. Who knows? May be she
had this premonition‟.

Parandaman couldn‟t hear any more. He

was full of emotions -all sympathy for his wife
and himself too. He felt how badly he had
been treating his wife. It was after all the
care she had for him that she showed as
anger. How many days has he really cared to
appreciate her for the nice dishes she so-
painstakingly prepares. He couldn‟t think of a
single day, he even spoke to her some nice
words. He felt cruel about himself. These
thoughts were churning in him even during
the day and he decided to should change
himself - from Tomorrow.

The day had worn on and gave in to the

next day. Parandaman was back at the
breakfast table. He looked at his watch. Oh,
no, it‟s already time for the 8.29 local.

27
 6
Die-hard Hoarder of Notes

Demonetization came as a big jolt to me,

at a time I could have least expected it. I was
travelling and my worry was more about what
would happen to all my notes I have been
hoarding for long.

8th November 2016, it was night ten past

ten. The flight hit the runway with a thud at
the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International
Airport and was jerking awake the sleepy
passengers all the way like an auto-ride on
Lakeview road back home at chennai. „....You
are free to use your mobile phones now, but
keep your seat belts fastened until the plane
28
comes to a complete halt. Please remember
to take your belongings from the seat pocket‟,
announced the flight attendant into her hand-
held phone. I pulled out from the seat pocket
in front of me, the printout of my ticket on
the back of which I had scribbled down many
of my random thoughts in my hardly-
decipherable handwriting, folded it carefully
as though it were some precious thing and
pushed into my shirt packet. Yes, I had jotted
down some thoughts on a recent experience
with a cabbie that affected me deeply. And I
must say it is my wont to scribble my
thoughts like this on every piece of paper I
find.

29
 Let me get back to my story. I pulled out
my MotoG and powered it on. As the
Samsungs and iphones around me got alive
instantly and were beeping and pouring out
all their three-hours of pent-up messages like
a loyal pet on master‟s return, my mobile was
still struggling to find its signal. I could hear
someone yelling, „hei, this can‟t be true yaaar‟
looking at his mobile. Another was
speculating that ensuing elections could be
the reason. As I was trying to make out what
they they all talking about, the watsup
messages in my phone were also cryptic: „the
media prepared for Trump; Modi came out of
syllabus‟; „America counting votes; India
counting notes‟. As I moved up to the earlier
ones sent, it started making sense to me; all
the messages starting from eight pm had just
one theme – deometisation.

I opened my wallet, Gandhiji was smiling

at my spate, from ten pieces of atm-fresh
500s that I had drawn that morning and
stuffed into my wallet. I remembered how
quickly I brushed aside the thought: why no
100s at all. As I was wondering how I would

30
push the next four days at Kolkata without
any valid notes in my wallet, another thought
stuck me. Notes- what will happen to all my
notes at home. Come to think of it, they are
lying in bits and pieces in every nook and
corner of my home and some of them in my
office too. You will find them hidden in my
books and diaries or even the old
newspapers. I have been thinking converting
all my notes and moving them into digital for
some time, but I knew it was a monumental
task; I have not even kept track of them and
would not be able to provide a coherent
account.

My wife had given a warning threat to me

as I was leaving home in the evening. I am
going to throw out all these old magazines
and books to radhiwala. Though she is a
cleanliness freak, this was something she has
been putting up with. May be, she is running
out of patience now. Does she know the real
value buried inside each of them? If only she
would try to skim though and get all those
notes stuffed inside. Would she care to do it?
Why not call her and tell her openly all about

31
it? But somehow, my prestige stopped me
from doing that.

Somehow I managed the next four days

with the help of plastic money and some
friends, and returned home on Saturday. First
thing I did, after clearing my packet of all my
paraphernalia on my desk, was to rush to the
room to ensure my precious notes are
untouched. Oh what a relief, everything was
intact, the way I left them.

„Can I clear your desk of these papers and

throw them in trash?‟ shouted my wife from
the hall.

„oh no, why are you in such a hurry?‟ I

rushed to salvage all the Notes I have made
on the air ticket printout and on other bits of
paper during my four days sojourn at Kolkata.

I opened my laptop with a strong

determination. Yes, I am going to digitise all
my notes right away- right from today.

32
 7
The Interview

I hastened Rakesh to fill in the jaf quickly.

Rakesh had walked into our office twice
before for the earlier rounds of interview for a
team-lead position in marketing. He had to be
put before our president Nand today for the
final interview. The jaf is supposed to be filled
in by the candidates in their own handwriting
before they are taken for final interview.

Prez‟s nod is a crucial step before the

candidate is offered fitment. Though most of
the time this final interview becomes more of
a formality, we can‟t‟ be sure. Nand‟s
uncanny knack of spotting the unspotted
could, at times, bring up some surprises and

33
would put us, we HR guys, back to ground
zero and we may have to start the whole
process all over again.

Nand had told me the previous day that

first thing he would do today was to meet up
with the candidate. I know if I didn‟t put
Rakesh to him right in the morning, he would
get into the thick of day‟s business and it‟d
not be easy to have the interview later. That
was why I was rushing Rakesh to complete
the jaf, which, if you have not guessed by
now, stands for job application form. As
Rakesh was scribbling his signature on the
fourth page of the form, I discourteously
pulled it out from below his pen like an exam
invigilator, since Nand had already walked in
to his office.

When I entered Nand‟s office, he was

pouring his black coffee from the flask and
noticing me at the door, he asked, „has
Rakesh arrived?‟ Had he not, that would be
enough for him to write him off. Not being
punctual is something brooked by him. „Yes
Sir‟ I said. I could see my overstressed „sir‟
sounding pungent in my ears. Though Nand is
34
liberal about being on first-name terms even
with his junior colleagues, we have been
hanging on to sir-culture so that the other
old-timers did not get offended. As he settled
down in his chair with his coffee, I placed the
filled-in jaf on his table along with the ief that
has already been signed off by the previous
panelists with their ratings.

„Rakesh doesn‟t seem to be marketing

type- seems to be a very introverted guy.
Don‟t you see that in his form?‟ he said,
giving a cursory glance at the jaf.

I didn‟t really know what I missed out in

his form, because I didn‟t have much time
even to give a look into it before handing it to
him.

He continued, „Look at his handwriting,

tiny letters slanting to the left‟.

I realized that he was just reading the

hand-writing rather than what it contained.

„Probably, he has not let his handwriting

get the better of him‟ I blurted out in a lighter

35
vain, with the usual anxiety of a HR man. I
didn‟t not want to let go off the candidate at
the final stage.

„Why do you say that?‟ Nand asked, as

though to ask me what evidence I have got to
challenge his assumptions.

The least I wanted at that moment was to

say something that could help wipe off any
bias about the candidate. Something clicked
in my mind and I continued, „may be you are
right sir, but why not we give the candidate a
fair chance? Can we postpone our conclusions
till we get enough data and probably start
with a null hypothesis- by which we make a
conscious assumption that actual is different
from what is observed, which might have just
been a chance occurrence. What I am trying
to say, sir…‟

Nand cut me short, „don‟t start your

training class now, you want me to start with
a premise that Rakesh fits right for our
marketing slot, right? ok, call him‟.
Something made me feel that the graphology
thing was not about the candidate but was
36
more about me. I felt good about myself that
I have not become another „yessir‟ guy.

What went on during the next half an hour

between prez and Rakesh was something
exemplary of an interview. Opening with a
casual inquiry about Rakesh‟s travel from
Mumbai set a cordial note and from there, the
way the discussions took on to his career-
related stuff got Rakesh into a free flow.

As he went on, Nand‟s questions seemed

as though he wanted to get the best out of
Rakesh and Rakesh‟s responses seemed to be
fully in tune with that expectation. During the
course of discussions, Rakesh was seen
stumbling, for a moment, when he was asked
whether he had experience handling large-
scale payment defaults and if so, what the
lessons learnt were. But Nand‟s cue to his
stint in a small business town that faced the
brunt during the recession times blew the
bulb in Rakesh‟s head and he was again seen
in full form.

Towards the close, when Rakesh was

asked if he had any questions to ask, he was
37
very candid in saying that it was one of the
best interviews he had had and then asked
the prez, „do I have any feedback?‟ Nand
glanced at me and then he said, „Rakesh, you
can take on the baton‟. As we wound up,
Nand endorsed the ief with his comment „fit‟.
(If you had guessed ief as interview
evaluation form, bingo)

When I look back at this interview, I could

sense one thing: when you are naturally self-
expressive, you tend to be impressive. But
when you try to impress, you inhibit your
expression.

38
 8
Village Fair

He had spent most of his vacations during

half-trouser days in a small little village called
Thillaisthanam. This village is on the northern
banks of river Cauvery and a couple of
furlongs eastward to Thiruvaiyaru, the
pilgrimage spot for Carnatic musicians. His
grandparents lived there in a sprawling house
which had a big koodam (the living room)
with ceiling at the center courtyard rising
above the rest of the house with windows on
all sides.

39
 When you look You never get to look
through those windows unless you are lying
on the floor. The tall coconut trees during the
day and make the hall feel like air-conditioned
one even during summer.

Whenever our school holidays stretched

beyond weekend on either side, my father
would drive us down to our grandparents‟
place in Thillaisthanam, which was about 9
miles from our home on the outskirts of
Thanjavur.

My grandfather used to have an arduous

task of force-filling my memory bank with
undecipherable Sanskrit hymns by making me
sit. I used to go through a rigorous regimen
of reciting every word thrice after him,
though we (my siblings included) would be
very alert to even his slightest slumber to
make an escape. But today, I‟m happy that
he had not let me escape much and I
gratefully cherish those memories of his
earnest attempt to transfer at least a little of
whatever treasure he had.

40
 Though that was mostly during summer
vacations, two other occasions that attracted
me those days to my ancestral place were
Sapthsthanam and Thyagaraja utsavam.
Before I dwell on my experience at the
Thyagaraja festival, let me tell you something
about the former. Sapthasthanam, as the
name suggests, stands for seven spots and
during this festival, the deities from the
temples of seven villages surrounding
Thiruvaiyaru, would be brought in a
procession in highly-decorated palanquins,
each vying with the other on beauty and
elegance. What was even more alluring for
we, boys, was the village fair that would be
held the previous night on the riverbed sands
of Cauvery that would conveniently go dry
during that season. The fair used to have a
host of attractions like bloated cotton candies
and chilly bujjies, bioscope and magic shows,
ranga-ratnam (merry-go-round) and giant-
wheel rides etc, all coming in a small pocket
money of five to ten rupees, which we used to
garner from different sources like grandma
and other uncles as a return for the liberal
prostrations, we do before them.

41
 Having my roots near Thiruvaiyaru, the
pilgrimage centre of carnatic music, had its
own advantages. Though I had made quite a
few friends, while at Thillai, I have always
remained a rank-outsider compared to the
natives, who seemed to have acquired two
talents very congenitally. One was swimming.
They were so natural at it that I had always
felt that if they were pushed in to the river
even in the middle of their sleep, they would
swim back to shore unconsciously. Whenever
I was in Thillai, my cousin Sriram would take
me to the river for morning bath. My usual
ritual of bath was to get two or three steps
down into the river and take a few dips into
water until the back of my head got wet and
return to the banks to dry myself up. But
once it so happened that when I got beyond
the second step, the third step went missing
and I was just going deeper and when my
feet touched the sands, I was gasping for
breath. It took a few moments for the people
around to realize that I needed to be rescued.
When I was finally pulled out, I saw them
looking at me like a strange creature that
couldn‟t swim.

42
 Another talent that ran in their blood was
their flair for carnatic music: humming the
kirthans of Thyagaraja without missing the
sangadhis or finding the raga even before the
alapana began or lap-tapping (thala) to the
rhythm of music, all came naturally to them
and they didn‟t need to attend any special
class to learn all these. During Thyagaraja
Utsavam, our village would throng to
Thiruvaiyyaru and I would join my friends
with spring in my steps. Squatting on the
sprawling river-sands in front of the samadhi
of Saint Thyagaraja amidst a spell-bound
crowd and listening to the pancha-ratna
kirtana, was a very emotionally-moving
experience for me. During the Utsavam those
days, one could see great exponents of
carnatic music coming and participating with
utmost dedication and humility without the
least expectation of any reward or
recognition. This would remind me of what
my father used to narrate to me when he
would casually sing a couple of lines from
Saint Thyagaraja „‟Nidhi chala sukama?
Ramuni sannidhi seva sukama?‟ The Saint
was summoned by the then king to his court

43
to sing in praise of him and was offered a lot
of wealth in exchange. The saint, a great
devotee of Lord Rama, stubbornly refused the
king‟s offer, though he was living in utter
poverty. That was when Thyagaraja sang
these lines starting with the rhetorical
question, „can mere material wealth bring
happiness to man? Or is it rendering service
to Lord Rama?‟

Insofar as picking the basic threads of

music like telling a raga or humming a
kirtana, I have always remained a novice and
my sitting through the concerts at the
utsavam had been of no avail. But the good

fortune of listening to some of the stalwarts

44
like MSSubbalakshmi, who had dedicated
their lives to music, had taught me what good
music is all about. If I have an authentic taste
for good music, I owe it to the utsavam. All I
ask is „is there shraddha in the sound that
reverberates on my tympanums?‟ My
intellect fails to find the answer. I just close
my eyes and listen and if it brings tears in
them, then that is it.

45
Poetry

46
 Grow like a Tree
In the Jungle of Work
-
Bharath Gopalan

Oak and pine are the tallest of them all

That rise over the rest with brisk and risk,
But oh, how mighty is their fall
At the blow of a wind too strong and
fast!
See the grass that surrounds the pine
Smiling and dancing unmindful of any
gale or rain
For it believes not in growing tall
But in enjoying the every ‘now’ that
befall
There is this banyan spreading far and
wide
Helping every branch to grow its stem and
root
And from them draws its strength and
spread

47
 To provide its underlings the much-needed shade.

It is in the newness that the plantain believes

And blooms with a newer shoot day after day;
With its fruit and bud, and stem and leaves
It serves the humankind in myriad ways.
And that Chinese bamboo takes its own sweet time
Not a month or two, but about years four to five
On its 10K hour journey to mastery, as Gladwel
asserts,
Yes, that is the time bamboo takes to deepen its
roots
Grow you may in whatever way
While you carry on in the world of work:
Taller, or wider, or newer, or deeper,
But make sure to align it to your inner core.
You know what really matters at the end of the
day
Is not the money you earned or the fame you
reaped;
But how happy were you, is what truly counts,
In putting that smile on the face of the world.

48
 Those Lovely Days

Flashing back to those lovely days,

My heart seldom fails to ache;

Though gone are those lovely days,

My evergreen memories can never fade;

Many sleepless nights brought those lovely days,

But without that thought, on my bed, I never lay;

I pray the Almighty to get me back to those lovely

days,

If not, at least the strength to thrive along with

those agonising memories all my way.

49
 Fear Never …

Fear never, fear never and never fear forever.

If, against us, are to steer, even all men of the
sphere,
Fear never, fear never and never fear forever;
If all in the world do ignore, even when as a mite
they sneer,
Fear never, fear never, and never fear forever;
If to fill our bowels bare, even when begging bowls
we bear,
Fear never, fear never and never fear forever;
If even all our beloved belongings are lost haywire,
Fear never, fear never and never fear forever;
If our friends very dear, even to give us venom
dare,
Fear never, fear never and never fear forever;
Even if the sky above does shatter and our terrace
comes to tatters,
Fear never, fear never and never fear forever.

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51
52
53
Chapters Contributed to
10 Habits of
Truly Optimistic People

54
 The Guru Appears
- Bharath Gopalan
We say in India, "The Guru appears, when you are
prepared". The Sanskrit word Guru literally stands for
"remover of darkness". Gu denotes the darkness and
Ru means who or that which removes darkness. But Guru
does not necessarily mean a 'person' in the physical
sense.

Have you not, sometimes, wondered at some

surprising coincidences, the way the things fall in place?
You might have bumped on a person whom you were
dying to meet for some time, or you might have found a
book or a piece of information, you wanted very badly,
popping up from nowhere. We often brush them aside as
casual coincidences without really acknowledging the
‘power of our mind’ in making them happen.

But more focused minds reap greater rewards. Come

to think of serendipity, the accidental discoveries. They
are no accidents at all and they are just the way the
nature rewards the focused minds with the unexpected

55
results. What we need to keep in mind is that what we
seek is always there around but it is for us to stay
focused to find them. It is the attentive mind that sees
the gravitation in the apple fall or the buoyancy in the
bath tub. Beethoven composed his symphonies not by
listening to the music but by listening to the silence
within.

An old story goes thus: a stranger visiting the village

asked the wise old man sitting by the road-side: “how are
the people in this village?” The old man shot the
question back and asked him, ‘how were they in the
village you come from?’ The stranger said, ‘they were all
cunning, greedy and jealous over there’. The old man
then said, ‘they are no different here’. Sometime later,
another passer-by came there and asked the old man the
same question about the people in the village. The old
man asked his opinion about the people in his previous
village. When the passer-by said, ‘they were caring,
loving and happy people’, the old man gave the same old
reply: They are no different here.

56
 The world is abound with plenty of everything. How
it occurs to us depends on the way we look at them –
what are opportunities for an optimist may be problems
for a pessimist, what are challenges for the courageous
may be nerve-wrecking for the jittery. And we cannot
complain for what we see comes from within.

The cat shuts its eyes and assumes that the sun has
set. For the cat, night is the reality when it shuts its eyes.
But we have the power to create our light just by
opening our eyes. When you are focused and stay in
action, things do start happening and conspire with you
to produce the results you want. And the light has always
been there, and when we get focused and stay prepared,
it is just that we open our eyes to get a glimpse of the
light.

…And the Guru appears.

Take Away:
Take up one idea that you haven’t paid enough
attention; it could be writing an article or solving a
problem. As you go to sleep at night, stay with that that
57
thought until you completely sink into it. You will wake
with your solution or article next morning.

58
 Be A Career Venturer

Bharath Gopalan

I am a strong votary of “stay and play”. I never fail to

join my daughters in cheering the minute-to-win-iters,
who choose to stay and play rather than dashing away
with the cash. When we see people going beyond their
normal stops, we see a bit of ourselves that urges us to
break out of the comfort zone and strive to be what we
truly are capable of.
We do come across similar dilemma in our real life
too, but with a difference. There is no anchor person like
in tv show, to shout out to us to resolve it instantly. But
when we are alert to that little voice inside, we recognize
such situations where we need to either save our job and
stay where we are or dash away to play our passion. But
most often, this little voice is too feeble that we can shut
it up quickly. Let me share with you a real life story.
During the mid-nineties, I used to be working in a
banknote press in a sleepy little town in the southern
part of India. I was managing a crew of about 30 people

59
in the finishing and packing section. Where people
mostly would not care to stretch even an inch beyond
their normal call of duty, there was this odd person Shant
who would always look up to doing things better. He
would vault to attend to machine breakdowns with the
speed of a fielder in a cricket match. His enthusiasm was
simply infectious. Though he was only an operator, he
would call his crew for a chat in the evenings and set
targets for the next day. He was raising the bar for his
crew without any real authority bestowed on him. Being
his manager, many a time I would find myself
embarrassed about my own leadership capabilities.
Spotting the talent, the management thought he’d be a
better fit at the training centre and moved him there.
Highly enthused, he started conducting training sessions
not only for workmen and staff but soon for officers too.
This somehow could not be brooked by some officers
who felt that it was hierarchy that mattered more which
resulted in his being thrown back to the machine
operation section where he belonged. He just called it
quits and ventured in to a direct marketing business.
While some of his colleagues doubted his calibre and
made fun of his decision, others predicted his doom in
60
the coming days. But his faith in himself won over the
doubts and diffidence of others. Today his business is so
flourishing that those very same people would not mind
queuing up to join his growing business,
abandoning their false sense of prestige.
More often, it is ‘what we want to have’ that holds
hostage of ‘what we want to be’ and ‘what we want to
do’ in life. When I meet up with young persons who are
looking for jobs, I invariably ask them ‘what would you
look for in your job?’ The usual reply would run on these
lines: ‘good starting pay, a good designation to flaunt and
of course, a big brand’. While I do not undermine the
importance of these tangible factors in making one’s
career decision, I exhort them to pay heed to a more
pertinent question ‘what I would be doing in my job day
in day out?’ if I let the pay and perks guide the decisions
of my life, then I can’t grumble about carrying on with
things that are essentially unappealing to me nor
satisfying to me intrinsically.
Instead of looking at opportunities in terms of the
material benefits, if we explore their scope to enable
their self-expression, then I would term it as an inside-
out approach to career. Here, you first try to find out
61
who you are- what you stand for- what interests you
innately-what you are passionate about; and when you
have discovered yourself, you start doing what you are
passionate about and then strive for excellence.
Eventually, the opportunities show up to meet your
talents and in the process, you achieve what you have set
out to conquer.
If you ask me whether it is a sure shot to get what
you want, I can only say, it will certainly lead to a sense
of purpose and fulfillment in life, a very sense of
achievement at the end of the day….

62