Auto, Wallet and I

I never used a wallet in my life, until I came to Gurgaon in 2006. In Mumbai, carrying a wallet in local trains was not advised. Instead I kept a small pocket diary in which I put a couple of currency notes. Never was my pocket picked in those 5 years of commuting. In Pune I continued the same practice and there wasn't much spending possible with the kind of salary I was getting.

After the mobile phone became a part of my attire in 2000, I started carrying a handbag in which I could put keys, papers, mobile and glasses. So again there wasn't any need for a wallet. After Gurgaon, I got on to online credit cards transactions and so gathered three additional cards and ATM cards. Then the wallet became necessary. But it never got inside my pocket literally. I still keep it in my handbag. Not many men carry handbags. According to my survey, the percentage never goes beyond 2%. But I am fond of handbags and I pick up one every year. I keep rotating the usage every 3-4 months. My current one was picked up from the Tibetan shop in McLeodganj a couple of months back. It has a traditional Tibetan motif of infinity and it is more like a zola.

While travelling by bus from Harihar to Pune, my handbag became a bit of an inconvenience. I couldn't keep it in the wirenet pouch in front nor at my feet. So I kept it in the overhead bin and dozed off. When the bus halted for a dinner break, I went for the zola and it slipped from my hands scattering its contents on the floor. There was my mobile, keys, wallet and assorted papers. I patiently picked up the contents and went outside to have dinner. My fellow travellers had noticed this episode. All of them looked typical wornout corporate executives - English speaking, courteous and generally keeping to themselves. Dinner was quick and frugal. I thought I could go back to sleep.

I kept the zola on my lap and tried to sleep. It didn't work. I kept it up again in the overhead bin. I had this slight hesitation. My fellow travellers had seen the contents. Some of them could easily eye the wallet. I pushed this thought away thinking that these guys are decent. I went back to trying to sleep. From time to time I would look around, but everyone was asleep. The bus driver had made up all the delay and we reached Pune ten minutes before time. I took the zola from the bin and found its flap was open. Did I not fasten it earlier? I wasn't sure.

I am one of the minority among Punekars who have a soft corner for the Auto Rickshaw Drivers. But I am a Punekar to the core. So I get into my element when the Auto chaps try to take advantage of the situation. At 6 in the morning at Swargate Corner, the Auto driver asks me to pay up Rs 150 to Baner Road. I tell him I will pay by the meter plus Rs 10. I raise it to Rs 20. There are some uneasy moments. But I stand my ground. There is a chap who is now ready to come at Rs 130. Its a deal.

Off we go in the snappy morning air. It's still dark out there. Now our man notices that his front lights aren't working. He keeps wondering how the light has suddenly gone out. Day break is at hand, so I am not worried. We zip into the apartment complex at Someshwarwadi.

He tries to tell me that even by meter the fare has jumped up to Rs 120. I calculate using my formula and tell him it is barely Rs 100 and I am paying him Rs 30 extra. I put my hand in the inside pocket of the zola to take out the cash. I knew the wallet cash had finished and so I would have to take it out from the secret reserve. Like all handbags, this zola from Tibet does have an inner pocket. As I pay him I find there is no wallet inside the zola. Panic grips me. The Auto chap looks into the Rickshaw and says, "You must have forgotten it in the bus". But I never took it out from the zola. Everything else is there, except the leather wallet given by one of my students many years ago. Leena had presented it to me with great affection.

All these chaps look so decent these days. They dress well, speak smoothly and now it seems, they flick with finesse. How foolish of me to keep it in the overhead bin? I came up carrying my bags and told my daughter that I had lost my wallet. I never keep better part of my cash in the wallet. Old habits haven't left me. My cash is kept along with some papers, envelopes and diaries, but rarely in the wallet. Its only the credit cards which always stay in the wallet.

My daughter immediately switched on the laptop and connected the internet and asked me to intimate the credit card providers of the loss, theft or whatever. I did not recollect the credit card numbers for three of the four cards I carry.

After the mandatory round of self cursing, I sat down to think of ways of recovering the card numbers. May be online banking? Yes, that looks good. Then the bell rang. The Auto driver was there with the wallet. I gave him whatever cash was there in the wallet. He said he had not opened to see the contents and asked me to check the cash. I didn't have to, because I knew it had only a few tenners.

He had gone out and kept thinking that he had seen the wallet in my hand. At some distance from our complex, he stopped and searched at the back of the seat and there it was, my red leather wallet stuck in the gap. It had slipped from my hand while getting down and taking the bags out. He came back and told the watchman. The watchman knew my flat number. That's how Raju Patil found me again. My wallet was back, my faith in Auto Rickshaw Drivers was reinforced and I knew Leena would not be disappointed.

Language beyond words

Yesterday was my mother's 8th death anniversary. My daughter visited the Home for the Aged, where they announce the day meal commemorating the departed dear ones of the family. It is a remarkable institution - established 145 years ago with financial support from the famous Syrian Jew, David Sassoon. (www.niwaraoldagehome.org) It brought back memories of Gulu the dog.

Gulu had adopted us as his pet family. He was a stray on our IMDR campus. He was named Gulu after his tendency to vanish before you could bat an eyelid. He became a favourite with some students, after he strode to the dais when one inspired guest speaker was delivering his most abstruse address to an unsuspecting audience of students. The speaker stopped in his tracks at the sight of Gulu sharing the dais with him. After that the poor fellow could not regain his composure. I lost my cool and asked a student to get a pack of biscuits to tempt Gulu away from the auditorium. Anyway, the whole thing provided unmitigated amusement to the students.

Gulu would come at fixed times in the morning and night to our house and demand his meal of roti and milk. He would soon disappear after making a quick go at his meal. He was brown in colour and probably a cross between a local breed and fox terrier. He had a nonchalant but alert manner. Not being a pet, he had a rather obstinate turn of mind. Strangely enough, though he wasn't overtly friendly with anyone, most people who knew him felt very friendly and protective about him. My daughter was one of them.

My mother had been ailing for most of February 2002. She had lost her appetite and was eating very little. She was bed-ridden for almost 7 years. She was becoming weaker with every passing day. But she had the ability to pull herself back from the brink. She had done that in the past. So I wasn't prepared for the end. On the fateful day, I had a session in the morning at about 10 am. I went to the class.

At about 11.15 am the door of the room was nudged open and it is Gulu who ambles in. He came near me and sniffed at my feet. I wasn't happy at all at this intrusion. So I shooed him out of the class. The attendant came running to take Gulu out and away. I told him to feed Gulu with some biscuits. After 10 minutes, Gulu scratched open the room door. Gulu had never entered my class any time before. He was also well aware that I did not countenance his entry in the premises. Yet he had made a re-entry. I told the class that Gulu was trying to communicate something.

Just then the attendant came with a note that asked me to rush to the residence as my mother's condition had worsened. She breathed her last at 11.40 am. I believe Gulu was trying to tell me that she was sinking.

The whole of the morning Gulu sat glued to the floor in the verandah of our house. Only after the body was removed for the funeral ride to the crematorium, Gulu moved from that place.

After a couple of weeks, one morning we noticed that Gulu hadn't paid his nightly visit for dinner.

Soon we discovered that he was lying dead in the parking area. The guards said Gulu had no marks of injury. Presumably he died of poisoning. I was about to ask for the stray dog van to take the body away, when my daughter insisted that Gulu be given his final resting place in the garden. She is generally given to keeping her emotions to herself, but cares deeply about animals and life in general. All arrangements were made and Gulu was laid to rest at the southern boundary of the land on which stands the residence of the director, IMDR.

Gulu was a different dog. He communicated without the usual canine gestures. He lived life on his own terms. He had chosen places where he was at home. He was not given to noise, so he didn't make a nuisance anywhere. Even in the case of the guest lecture, once he realised the goings on he left quietly. He was with me when it mattered most and left this world quietly, soon after my mother's departure. I still wonder what kind of life Gulu led.

In India we are told to view human beings and animals with the same dignity and respect. Obviously it's the lack that brings on a dictum. But Gulu commands not only respect but something more - a salute.

Handling success

The other day I was talking to a friend and the talk turned to "doing well". A particular institute is doing well, that company did very well and this corporate leader is going great guns.
It doesn't require any great acumen to see that in 9 out of 10 cases, success is a result of a combination of factors - efforts and conditions. Truly exceptional success comes with superlative efforts in the most adverse conditions. My friend made a very perceptive comment: in her experience, the situation and the self created a third dimension which led to a qualitatively different outcome. You might call it an 'inspired' performance, something beyond oneself and so not easy to replicate.

The wise handle success by acknowledging the role of favourable conditions in their success. They also acknowledge the role of other support factors which enabled their tremendous efforts. They don't attribute success only to their efforts, nor do they claim false modesty about their efforts. I always recall what Mr Azim Premji said about his success - yes he did everything he could and..AND there was also the role of luck.

Those who hanker after are likely to make a monster out of their success. You know how? First they attribute it entirely to their efforts. Next, they want to keep it going and never, repeat never fail again. If they did, their image would be shattered. How could they fail? So they become insecure and surround themselves with sycophants. That helps suppress every bit of bad news. The myth making is on. Those who don't join in become outcasts. The whole organization becomes an edifice of sycophancy.

It's also important to know the what of success. Indian economy is doing well with its current growth rate. What exactly is doing well? Production of goods and services and their consumption are rising. Is that helping us solve our problems better? Is it helping foreign investment and the well-to-do sections? Are we making headway in achieving social justice and stable governance alongside growth? It's so easy for us to get blinded by a partial understanding of our situation. No, don't stop celebrating, but after the celebration, let us sit down and think a little bit more.