THE GRAVEYARD

Many years ago, I used to regularly go for long walks in the morning.  I used to do this for almost 9 months in a year and during monsoon, took a break and started again by mid-December.  This was my routine for many years.  I used to walk through many residential colonies and in the route were many cinema studios, which had a glorious past, but at that period, were shut, abandoned with wild growth of plants and trees.

 

My dad had built our house in a farmland that literally had no roads or electricity at the time of construction.  The colony developed as we grew up and we celebrated every first in the locality.  The first tar-road, the first milk booth, the first bus route, the first phone, the first television in the neighbourhood, the first bank, the first clinic, the first medical store, the first fancy store etc.  The list is endless.

 

I don’t remember the year.  May be, it was some time in the early 2000’s.  On one December morning, when the roads were dry and there was no indication of rain, I resumed my morning walk.  Everyday, I took a different route and it was always a circle route.  On that day, while I was nearing my house after I walked for almost 3 kms, in the vacant land of an erstwhile studio, amidst the wild growth, I saw many tombs.  Not only that, I also saw a huge gate and a faded hoarding indicating that it’s a crematorium maintained by Chennai Corporation.  I was shocked.  For a while, I thought I was dreaming.  But then, I was walking.  Generally, in all my dreams, I am mostly lying down or at the most, sitting.  Also, the sun was shining bright and people around were already busy with their works.  While I celebrated every first in the locality, I could not celebrate this.  Tears started rolling down my cheeks.  I imagined my own death and funeral.  I always feel sad for my pallbearers, as I am very heavy and feel guilty that I would be a heavy burden on their shoulders. Then I imagined funeral of other known persons.  “Lousy thoughts”.  I cursed myself and entered home and rushed to have a shower.  I didn’t discuss with anyone at home.  I took a break again for my morning walks and when I resumed it after a week, I had a shock again when the graveyard vanished completely.  The whole experience was surreal.  This time I decided to speak to my family about this and when I did, my sister informed that it was a set built for a film shooting and shut my mouth.  I could never imagine that possibility.  It was looking so real.  The board was rusted and the paint faded with traces of ash and having all details like ward number etc.  There was no way I could find the film for which this setting was built and who that great art-director was.  Ever since, every time I see a graveyard scene in films, I try to observe whether it has any resemblance of the one I had seen.  Unfortunately, I could not.

 

But why am I recollecting this episode?

 

Recently, our office shifted to a remote locality and the landmark is a graveyard.  We have to walk past the graveyard to reach our office.  Many of my colleagues are disturbed about this. But I have evolved.  I experience no emotions.  Even when its dark and I have to walk alone, I am not scared too.  With regard to the odour everyone is complaining about, whether it’s a bird’s flesh or animal’s or a human’s, its all the same for me.  I just close my nose. 

 

P.S.  The setting of the graveyard was built exactly in the same piece of land in which Jain’s West Minister that was in news recently is built.

 

 

endarO mahAnuBhAvulU andarikI vandanamulu

I am writing a blog after two years and so decided, it has to be a positive one.

The caption is borrowed from the first line of a Tyagaraja Pancharatna kruti. It means “my salutations to the great men”

In our day-to-day lives, we often get hurt because of the behaviour of people around us.  We are constantly criticized, ridiculed, excluded, marginalised, bullied, manipulated and exploited.  All these, many a time result in bitterness.  But there are also some people, who by their gestures or simple deeds, not only make us feel happy momentarily, but the happiness is etched in our memory for the rest of our lives.  I am going to share four such stories.

Two decades ago, I went on a tour with my then colleagues to South Canara.  The trip was arranged on a shoestring budget and we stayed in a guesthouse in Udupi and travelled to nearby places.  The guesthouse had only lodging facility. However, there was a caretaker, who for an additional cost, provided hot water for drinking and bathing and coffee.  Though I wasn’t an early bird then, during my stay there, I woke up early.  I had to share the room with three other persons and since I hate wet bathrooms and toilets, I got up early.  There was two to two and half hours’ time for our breakfast and so I preferred to have coffee.  There was no room service too and we had to go to the caretaker’s room to get it.  I was so uninhibited, I went to a stranger’s room all alone, when it was still dark outside and everyone else asleep. The caretaker’s room was dimly lit and had no furniture except a wooden bench, probably that was his cot and a kerosene stove on which he made coffee and a built-in oven for boiling water, in a corner of the room.  (Its very common in Karnataka to build a concrete firewood oven with a metal pot fixed inside permanently).  He offered the bench for me to sit while he made coffee for me.  He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s and was absolutely simple.  He just wore a dhoti (a lengthy piece of white cloth tied around the waist).  Even in those cold mornings, he didn’t wear a shirt.  In fact, throughout my stay there, I didn’t see him wear one.  The coffee he made was very aromatic and tasty.  Everyday, as I sipped my coffee, we chatted.  That’s hilarious because, I tried talking to him in broken Kannada and he in broken Telugu.  On the day we checked out, we vacated our rooms and waited with our luggage in the open area outside the guesthouse.  The caretaker came there looking for someone. He did not know to express what he was looking for.  When someone asked him, he said, “that madam” and spotted me.  Only then I realised, he was looking for me. As I wondered why he was looking for me, he signalled a lady standing at a distance to come.  I went near them and then he introduced me to the lady as the patient he was referring to.  I was surprised at the introduction. He introduced the other lady as a Physician. She probably was a practitioner of alternative medicine and was famous for treating diabetes.  Since I don’t add sugar to my coffee, he assumed me to be a diabetic and wanted her to offer me medicine.  That doctor told me that the caretaker was very sad that at a young age, I was a diabetic.  I thanked both the caretaker and the lady for their concern and explained that I don’t add sugar to my coffee because I don’t like the taste and that I am not a diabetic.

                                             ****

The next person I am going to discuss was my colleague G.  I have discussed him in a few other blogs too.  He was an office assistant and though very creative, not very consistent and so not very dependable.  Everyone had some complaint or the other against him.  But I never had any issues with him. We got along well. But I had issues with another person who was a manager, but not in the team I was.  He was close to power. He too wanted to become powerful in office and probably thought I was a threat and so bullied me a lot. I was young and a little naïve and I struggled to handle him.  His behaviour was very unprofessional and on days our directors were not in office, he ordered the A/C to be switched off.  (There were no fans or ventilation in office) After many rounds of discussions and requests with him and he failed to help, I took this to the notice of our directors, who advised him not to indulge in such silly behaviour.  Offended by this, he got a wooden door fixed over the switch board of the A/C, locked it and took the key with him and on days he wasn’t in office, we had to work in a room at a temperature of 35 degrees without any ventilation.  Around this time, a major conference of physicians was happening near our office and the organization I was working for was sponsoring a major activity in the event.  All directors and senior managers were away participating in the event and many colleagues were busy at our stall organized at the venue.  We were all advised to visit the stall and so I too went there but was very sad with the behaviour of the troublesome colleague on that day. His behaviour was very humiliating and I wanted to resign citing his harassment as the reason.  I have a very deceptive appearance and people generally cannot know even if I am sick or sad.  But this G, who was helping my colleagues at the stall, identified my sadness.  Though the stall was crowded, he came close to me and whispered “what’s wrong madam? I have never seen you like this before”.  Tears rolled on my cheeks (which is very unusual.  I am very rarely emotional) and I murmured, “I just want to leave this office.  Its no longer the place I loved so much.”  He did not say anything to console.  He took a fresh, tiny towel from a cover and handed over to me and said, “the guy in the next counter gifted” with tears in his eyes too.  I immediately started smiling forgetting all the pain.  Sometimes, all we need is an empathising soul around us.  I still have the mini towel he gifted me that day.

                                            ****

A couple of years ago, I attended an interview in an MNC.  The interview was held at their factory far away from Chennai, almost near the border of Andhra Pradesh. A cab was sent for my pick up early in the morning and my breakfast too arranged at the canteen in their office. The first round of interview was done in the  morning session and I and the other candidates were told that the next round would be in the afternoon, post lunch.  The HR coordinator who arranged the interview, led me and the other candidates to the dining hall again for lunch.  After lunch, when we were back at the meeting room for the next round of interview, he called me inside and politely told me that I wasn’t shortlisted for the next round and that I can take the cab he has arranged for me and leave immediately.  I was stunned.  Not for the rejection.  It wasn’t new to me.  But the sensitivity with which the HR coordinator handled it.  He could have very well told me about not getting selected before lunch.  But he ensured I had lunch, a vehicle arranged and then informed.  It took almost 3 hours for me to reach home and there were no eateries in the vicinity of that organization or in the route.  Throughout my return journey, I was very grateful for his behaviour.  It’s an unforgettable experience for me.  When thought of writing about this incident, I could not recollect the name of the organization and had to search on the internet for the same.  However, this gentleman’s name, face and his voice are still fresh in my memory.

                                            *****

 A couple of years ago, the organization that employed me, wasn’t paying salaries to its employees regularly.  There were also other issues and I left the organization.  They owe me six months’ salary.  While salary dues were paid to those who continued with the service and to those who served legal notices, salaries due to people like me are not paid. It was a group of companies and all organizations functioned under one roof.  There was no distinction between the employees of all the organizations and irrespective of the employer, all employees did work for all organizations. Though my appointment order was issued on the letterhead of a particular company, I received my salary from the accounts of other companies, mostly from one particular account.  That company is going for a liquidation and the court appointed liquidator is collecting details of creditors including ex-employees.  Though most of my ex-colleagues who are aware of this development are still in touch, none of them shared this information with me.  But one long-lost friend from the same organisation called me and informed and helped me to file a claim.  Though my claim was rejected, I am really moved at the gesture of the friend who reached out to me.  It was this incident, that made me write this blog.

If the placement service person who got me the job in that organization decides to write a similar blog, I am sure, I will feature in it, as many of the persons who he facilitated placement are fighting with him and claiming compensation. 

                                      ****

P.S. it's just a coincidence that all 4 persons discussed here are men

CORONA AND THE RETURN OF ORTHODOXY

I was in LKG when this happened.  I went to school in a rickshaw with my brother, two years my senior, along with a few other kids from our colony.  One evening, as we got down from the rickshaw, my mother ordered me and my brother to walk to the well, which was in one corner of our compound, away from our house.  She told us to keep away the books, notebooks, slate and other stationeries and carry the lunch bag with us.  My mother then drew buckets of cold water from the well and poured over us and the lunch boxes. The reason, there was a bereavement in the family of one of the kids who travelled with us in the rickshaw.  For the next ten days, after school, we soaked our clothes, had a bath and then entered home. 

Till date, all of us at home follow this religiously, whenever we attend funerals or visit someone for a condolence or even when we accidentally encounter someone bereaving.  It doesn’t stop here.  We mourn the death of any parenteral relative sharing the same surname for ten days. During this period, we don’t touch many things.  Whatever we touch or use, have to be either washed or discarded on the 11^th day and so we restrict our activities in such a way that there is no wastage.  During this period, we don’t touch the pooja room or the cupboard with idols, the pickles and processed food that would be carried forward, the refrigerator that has unaccounted food, the bureau with clothes, the beds, the curtains, the cushions etc.  Where space is available, a makeshift kitchen would be arranged and a simple meal cooked.  We have a family in the neighbourhood, who are as orthodox as our family is and every time there is a “bad news”, we take each other’s help to take out the essentials from the kitchen.  We sleep on the floor without pillows, beds and whatever we use during this period or accidentally touched, has to be washed thoroughly after 10 days.

Though my family is progressive in many aspects, when it comes to cooking and this activity, they prefer to remain orthodox.  Though I completely adhere to cooking and eating norms without any resistance, I hated this activity from the beginning for the following reasons;

           Most of the times, the relative was not known to us.                 

             As children, we were not allowed to go out and play with others or invite anyone home.

          The cleaning activity on the concluding day was very painful.

           After every mourning, my mother used to fall sick.

As a child, I wondered, why except the two families in our colony, no other family mourned the way we did.  I observed, the other houses were neat and tidy, the women presentable, receptive and had a lot of leisure. The reason, orthodoxy and multitasking are mutually exclusive. There is a lot of rigidity in the former. Also, there is no delegation or outsourcing of work involved and its very tough for the women.

Though I always expressed displeasure in adhering to this ritual, I never deviated.

After I started working, this became a little difficult for me to handle.

       I couldn’t attend any functions during that period.

             Couldn’t entertain any guests who wanted to visit home during that period

             Manage with just 2 or 3 sets of clothes for the entire mourning period.  

             Even for a minimalist  like  me, this is difficult.

      In mid 90’s, for two consecutive years, we had continuous mourning sessions.

      Recently, a relative created a group on WhatsApp and brought together hundreds of families (close to 8 to 9 generations). The moment I heard that, fearing we would be getting “bad news” frequently, I told my mother categorically that I will no longer mourn for relatives I have never met and would not follow any of the usual rituals.  She didn’t give me a reply.

      Last week, when I went out and returned home, I had to first go to the bathroom through the rear door, wash my clothes, bags, kerchief, mask etc., have a shower and then enter the house.

      My mother said “after the lock down is revoked and you start attending office, follow this every day. Period.

Har Ek Friend Zaroori Hota Hein-2

Recently, an old friend, who was my schoolmate with whom I reconnected on social media, posted two photographs on the occasion of her wedding anniversary. A recent one taken along with a VIP at her daughter's wedding, she and her husband performing rituals in expensive clothes and jewellery with a lot of floral decorations in the backdrop. Another photograph, taken outside a famous temple in Chennai (then Madras) with a group of young men, both she and her husband in simple and plain clothes, taken soon after their wedding. Those days, photography was strictly prohibited inside temples. The simple rose garlands were indicative of their wedding.

I remember that day very vividly. It was soon after I joined college. The friend in reference, though was a good student, had to drop out of school after 11th, as her father was bedridden and he needed round-the-clock support. She had lost her mother much earlier. On that day, just as I was entering the college, I saw her near the gate and greeted her. She asked me if I can help her meet some of her friends, who were also studying in the same college. She looked very tense. I told her I would inform them when I meet them in the language class, as they were from different departments. She then whispered, “I am getting married today. I want my friends to attend my wedding at the temple. You may also come. “ I was shocked. She was wearing a simple synthetic sari and all that she was holding was a folded plastic textile cover.

My parents and brothers were very strict. Discussing marriage, affairs, relationships, crushes etc., was a taboo. Doing anything independently too was unimaginable. With this kind of conditioning, I was very scared even to continue my conversation with her and I left.

That day, the first period was language.  Students from all departments, who had opted Telugu, assembled in Botany Department for the class. When the professor did a roll call, two girls from Economics and one from commerce were missing. Another girl from Economics told the professor that they might be late to class and requested that they are not marked absent. The college management was stricter than my family. The year before I joined college, a student while in class complained of headache and was not allowed to leave college. After college, she just managed to reach home and collapsed due to brain hemorrhage and died a few days later. The management was very strict and didn’t give Hall tickets for exams to those who took leave without approval and approval was rarely given. So these three friends entered our language class late. The professor not only refused to let them in, but also sent the girl who requested the professor not to mark absent, out. These three girls wanted to attend the wedding, but the security guy refused to let them leave the premises and they tried getting permission from the respective HODs and when they were denied permission, came to the class and the bride had to leave alone.

I then wondered why she had to do it! We were just out of school and very young to decide on our own. I have heard of stories of people eloping and then landing into trouble and suffer. I was not only pessimistic about that marriage, but also concerned about her. I kept enquiring about her till we finished college and subsequently lost touch even with the common friends.

I recently got connected to her through social media. She is now a successful entrepreneur, activist and an office bearer of a political party. Her children professionally qualified and settled.

When I saw both the photos on my phone, I felt happy and guilty, both at the same time. Happy because she is doing fine; guilty as I judged her and was pessimistic about her future. With my limited exposure and ignorance, I had concluded that her decision was wrong. When I saw her wedding photograph, I was very sad there was no lady or rather no one from her side, who attended the wedding. I immediately sent a message to her as to how happy I am seeing her now and what I thought of earlier. She too was happy that I was concerned then and happy now.

Having used the same title I used for a blog earlier,   I want to update about it. (https://pcharusree.blogspot.com/2011/12/har-ek-friend-zaroori-hota-hai.html?m=1)

I have got in touch with three of the four friends I discussed in that blog. While “S” apologised to me, I apologised to “C”. Remarkably, both “S” and “C” could not recollect much about that happened during our school days. Though “D” didn’t discuss anything about the past, I guess she would have read the blog. In fact, the first thing she asked when I got reconnected was if I am writing blogs and that she had read a couple of them. I am eager to reconnect with “V”.

I am sure there are going to be many more sequels to this blog, as I keep making new friends and distance myself from some and there is a lot of content that can be shared.

YE DUNIYA AGAR MIL BHI JAYE TO KYA HAI?

Ye mahalon ye takhton ye tajon ki duniya
Ye insan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
Ye daulat ke bhuke rawazon ki duniya
Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaye to kya hain?

I have been humming this song for the last one week.  No. I am not depressed. No one has cheated me.

I just imagined my great-grandfather coming alive and every time I imagine, this song comes to my mind.

My great-grandfather who was a scholar and an accomplished musician, died several decades before I was born. 

While my mother discusses all her relatives; close and distant, live and dead, my dad hardly spoke about any of his relatives.  He didn’t like visiting the painful past.  From what little he had discussed, we have learnt that after my great-grandfather was widowed, he had issues with his son and daughter-in-law and they sent him out of the house he had built.    He had some three or four daughters including my grandmother.  But those days, people believed that living with a married daughter’s family was sinful and avoided it completely.  The daughters too were not empowered to invite their old father home.  All the sons-in-law were struggling to make ends meet, fighting unemployment, successive crop failure and inflation. My great-grandfather was a non-conformist and his unorthodox lifestyle wasn’t approved by his relatives including my grandfather. So, he moved to another town and lived all by himself.

My dad, his brother and a cousin visited their grandfather during vacations. My dad said that his grandfather had a great sense of humour and was very passionate. He taught music and dance for a living during the fag end of his life. He cooked his own meal with occasional support from his students’ families.  During one of the vacations, he gave his grandsons money to buy tickets for a film show.  The teens happily left and returned home late night after the show.  The door was not bolted from inside and their grandfather was found dead inside the house. That night after a meal, my great-grandfather died happily in his sleep.  He lived life on his own terms and led an independent life till the last day of his life.

The next morning, my dad and his cousin travelled to the town where their uncle (great-grandfather’s son) lived to pass on the information.  Their uncle reluctantly attended the funeral and performed last rites, but had not intimated any of his siblings or relatives about the post funeral ceremonies.  (Invitations are not extended for death ceremonies and only intimation is sent) My dad wasn’t sure if those ceremonies were performed or not.  He discussed this information twice or thrice with me very briefly and with sadness.

Over a period of time, the entire clan migrated in a phased manner to different parts, looking for greener pastures, away from familiar surroundings, poverty and complex relationships.

Coming to the present scene, why am I suddenly thinking of this great-grandfather who died long ago? Because, he is in news.   

I just imagined, how my great-grandfather would have reacted, if he had come to know that his descendants are excited about his popularity now and even before I realize, I start singing this song from Pyasa. 

P.S. I am not revealing my great-grandfather’s name and why he is suddenly popular, as my dad never liked dropping names.

Poramboku Productions

Poramboku Productions

Production No.1

Producer Pothuraju samarpinchu Tarasasankam, Telugu Chitram.

Everybody ready, lights on, ready, shoot

Vinandoyi verri mohaallaara vinandi;

Kaani rojulu vachchi, kallu moosuku poyi, poramboku sannasula saavasam chesi, Madrasulo Production Officu pettinaanu. 

Directorlu, actorlu, dance masterlu, sangeeta darsakulu, production panivaaralu okatigaa cheri, naa talakaya nunnaga goriginaru, tadari tarinari naa naanna torri naanna. Jaihind babu Jahindu. Pongadalu Pokundalu.

I grew up listening to a Telugu Parody skit on 78 rpm record from my Dad’s collection, the beginning and the conclusion of which is given above.

Though the dictionary meaning of Poramboke is land belonging to Government, both in Telugu and Tamil, it is a euphemism for “useless person”. In this skit, a producer by name Pothuraju, commences production of a Telugu film titled “Tarasasankam” under the banner Poramboku Productions.  He goes through a lot of troubles and concludes by singing, “listen idiots; due to misfortune, ignorance and association with useless guys, I have commenced film production in Madras.  The directors, actors, choreographers, music directors and the production workers have together made me a pauper. 

This was probably recorded in the early or mid 50’s.  Though very hilarious, it actually depicts the struggles of a film producer.

Why am I suddenly recollecting this?

Recently, a young film producer committed suicide in Chennai. An actor committed suicide in Hyderabad a few days ago.  Recently a popular director was caught in idol smuggling.  Every now and then we find news alleging female actors’ involvement in prostitution.  The number of actors and actresses getting into evangelism is also on the increase.  Though every individual is entitled to their own path, I look at it more as an act of desperation. Whenever an actor or a technician dies, his family is literally on the streets, with absolutely no security for them.  All this is very disturbing.  

I was born and brought up in what is called Kollywood.  We had several studios close to our house.  Prasad, Arunachalam, Vijaya and Vauhini, Prakash, AVM, Bharani, Syamala, Majestic and Golden, to name a few. All of them vanished over a period of time.  Many of our neighbours were either direct employees of these studios or freelancers working for films.  I have seen from a close-up the struggles of those associated with film industry.  

My dad too briefly worked in films in various departments and at the first opportunity, left it for good.  He didn’t want any of his children to work in the industry. Unexpectedly, I worked for a Corporate that got into film production as a backward integration strategy and so I have firsthand knowledge of how that industry functions.

Our organization faced stumbling blocks at every step.  Every person or firm willing to produce a film in Chennai has to first become a member of the association of Film Producers.  Strangely, Corporate Entities are denied membership.  This is done to safeguard independent producers.  Companies that are interested in producing films have to necessarily get into a partnership with some individual who is already a member with the association and the film has to be produced and released under the joint banner. The exploitation starts from there.

Our office was stormed with prospective filmmakers every day.  During their first visit, they were enthusiastic and eager to narrate stories.  But we told them to submit synopses.  Most of them weren’t used to working professionally and were desperate to meet an official and narrate their stories.  They were fully confident that, if an appointment is given to them, they are sure to produce a milestone film. Handling them was very tough. Many threatened to commit suicide if appointment wasn’t given.  A guy frequented our office asking for returning of his script.  I didn’t know through whom he had given it to our COO.  My COO too couldn’t recollect anything about the script. The guy wept, threatened of lodging a complaint.  I asked him to describe the bound script and he mentioned, in the very first page, there would be a picture of Gandhi.  I kept looking for that script in our office and suddenly found a stick folder with just three pages, the first with a picture of Gandhi.  It was such a mediocre synopsis narrated so badly, I was very angry with him for making me search for it throughout our office. In another instance, a bound script submitted by a prospective filmmaker was lost in transit to Mumbai and he was not ready to believe, though the couriers have given an apology in writing.  It just could not be traced.  The guy was so agitated.  He not only wanted the cost of printing and binding the script, but wanted a lakh as compensation to rewrite as he claimed he didn’t have a backup of the same. He alleged that we were scheming to use his script without his approval.

Those who got a chance too were very unprofessional.  They didn’t know what a budget actually was.  The budgets were prepared very superficially and even before the shooting was over, the film exceeded the budget.  Added to this was huge wastage of resources, that didn’t add any value to the film.  In one of the films, there was a scene in which a wedding card is handed over.  I am not exaggerating.  They bought 10-15 varieties of cards in packs of hundreds. They were lying everywhere in the office and were later used as scribbling pads.  Similarly shots that were not required were shot and excluded too. Most of the bills were inflated and the teams didn’t like being questioned at all.  They felt they weren’t accountable to anyone, including the producer.  

The organization I was working for had incurred huge losses.  So did the other corporates, that entered the industry. So are the other independent producers.  They all suffer like the protagonist in the skit I quoted in the beginning.  

Just the way, farmers in India incur losses after feeding everyone, film producers too suffer after entertaining people.  After agriculture, in film industry, almost all the workers are freelancers.  There is no work guarantee.  Landless farmers in rural India get guaranteed work for 100 days under the MGNREGA.  There is no such support for the film industry.  They are all caught in a vicious cycle of poverty.

Though the studios have vanished in Kollywood, one can find many men assembled in tea shops in the vicinity and with weak bodies and a lot of enthusiasm and a dream of making it really big in the industry, discuss stories and eagerly waiting for miracles to happen.  

Will the situation change?

The Gift List

“I really wonder why people suddenly change after they get what they wanted. One day they are sweet and the next day they are not. One day they are there with you, the next day they are not. One day you are important to them, the next day you are worthless. One day they love you, the next day they don't care about you. That's how ironic people and things can be, pretty shits, pretty lies wrapped up in ribbons and the worst part is that kind of people still get what they want in life and we are left behind crying for them and wondering how they changed”.

The above message was posted by a friend on Facebook.

All of us at some stage of our life experience “used and thrown” feeling.

When I was young, Deepavali at home was very different.  Apart from new clothes and crackers, our house was filled with many sweet boxes (around 40-50,) various fancy gifts and greeting cards, received from my dad’s business associates.  My dad was then handling purchases for a large factory and these were given mostly by suppliers.  We didn’t have a refrigerator then and even if we had one, the space would have been insufficient to stock all the boxes.  My parents redistributed all the sweets without any delay to our neighbours and relatives and sometimes even to strangers passing by.  My mother was very skeptical to feed us food made outside and was very selective in serving them to us. The gifts included stationery items, wallets, key-chains, calendars, penholders, pocket knifes, diaries and occasionally some kitchenware.  My dad allowed us to use only if it was really required.  Though some of them he preserved for future use, many he redistributed.  We kids were more excited about the greeting cards he received.  I honestly feel manufacture of such beautiful cards is now suspended.  He received many cards during the season.  After acknowledging the greetings, my dad used to allow us to take them.  Between the three of us, we divided the cards.  Some designs were repeated, while some were unique.  There was a tough competition for the unique ones.  After taking those cards to school for a day or two for flaunting, we recycled those cards.  My brother made lovely models of cars with those beautiful cards. We drew designs and improvised the cards and mostly we used them to play “words building” (we cut them into tiny square pieces and wrote alphabets on one side).  All these activities gave us immense pleasure.

But suddenly, everything changed one day.  My Dad’s boss died and the agency was terminated.  This happened a few months before Deepavali and suddenly there were no sweets, no gifts and no cards.  We were so upset about it.  My Dad too would have been upset.  But he never expressed.  He had a different priority than worry about the gifts – to provide for the family.  We wondered how things can change like that!  The thought “were those people who visited us not our Dad’s true friends?” though not discussed openly was always there at the back of our minds, for a very long time.

When I started working, one of the assignments was to assist the Product Management Team.  Throughout the year, they organized what was called “Campaign” a sort of periodical marketing activity.  It involved short-listing of names of Physicians who prescribed our products regularly for distribution of gifts.  The prescription generation was constantly monitored and accordingly the gift list altered.  When the support ceased, the name was removed.  Lists were also prepared for forwarding gifts and greetings to the distributors.  This list was finalized based on the date of the latest invoice.  If no invoices were raised in the preceding few months, the names were removed.  It was as simple as that.  No emotions involved.  Absolutely scientific and mechanical.  My involvement in this activity influenced my perception about the sadness I had suppressed till then.  I wondered why I have been wasting my emotions on some activity like this! In fact, I realized that many people silently manage a mental list of people to whom they can extend gifts like, love, support and help.  When they feel the returns aren’t commensurate with their benevolence, they alter the list.  Of course, there are some who are very poor in such calculations and extend unconditional love and help.

Most of the relationships are formed based on a need and when the need ceases to exist, the relationship too ceases.  Not understanding this mechanism, we invest a lot of emotions on those commercial relationships (not necessarily business but personal ones that are treated thus) and feel disappointed.