Socratified....
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Creation.
Decide on a meticulously piercing and virtuous rendition technique like the Sufi Qawaali. Handpick a select set of iterative soulful swaras from a pious carnatic raga like Aberi. Blend some aesthetic heartbeat in the form of high-pitched tabla for the sake of rhythm. Add a bit of gentle, measured and audible rain drops in the background along with a gush of zephyr. Paint it all in a dense bluish surrounding. Make the drenched trees listen in adoringly. Therefore, the power of Creation. Of Love. Of Life.
Pa-Sa-Ni-Sa-Ni-Ga-Re-Sa-Ni-Dha-Pa-Ma-Ga-Pa-Ma-Ga-Ma-Re....
- posted by Badri @ 5/06/2007 07:25:00 PM 0 comments
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Sleepless in Scottsdale...
Foreword: Lifting my article from elsewhere and publishing here on demand - not advertising at this point though just to get a quantitative feel of it's worthlessness...
As anticipated, it turned out to be a memorable, exciting, abnormal and hungry two year stint in Scottsdale. It struck me hard during this period in the desert that there's just a thin & transient line between being a vegetarian & being a herbivore. I had to endure and consume so much of greenery (also referred to as 'Subs' in most parts of America) that Chlorophyll often clogged my eyes. Either that or I felt like a Russian in the midst of a revolution with plenty of stale bread, torn paper napkins and missing tables. On top of this, I was burdened with a good amount of inferiority complex, for I had to choose the type of stale bread that I would want to chew. I repeatedly asked for 'modern' bread and 'milk' bread but was refused even an empty tray until I could fluently pronounce French adjectives like 'croissant'.
And then, I returned to Gachibowli* with horns over my head instead of a halo. The inevitable followed - With a very high degree of voluntary assistance from the radiant Hyderabad sun, I couldn't miss the Food court* in all it's grandeur. It stood like a mighty ship some Furlongs away from a deserted, starved and determined sailor. It represented eternity, amidst an ephemeral and restless human crowd rushing towards its polished granite steps. I slowly felt my legs, heart, appetite & wallet walking in its direction. Despite repeated Bulletin board* criticisms about quality and monotony, I was determined to tour around the vast expanse of cooked food. I gave myself a well-deserved opportunity to make a prudent decision on what I wanted to gobble down.
As I stepped in, Food court reminded me of the Titanic - exquisitely maintained glass doors, fresh paint that brought along bright colors and tight odors, high-decibel speakers that were tailor-made for Irish party music, hosts & hospitality services at the front door and plenty of suffocation that goes hand-in-hand with a crowded pub-like environment. Initial routines were strikingly effortless – I asked for a twenty-five rupee coupon instead of a ‘single cheese burger with extra-pickle & no meat, medium French Fries & two packets of hot sauce and a large diet-coke with no ice’. I was promptly returned seventy-five rupees instead of standard questions like ‘I’m sorry, come again?’, ‘for here or to go?’ or ‘wanna pay by cash or card?’. I was still under the impression that things were going right….
It didn’t take time to realize that chaos thrives in such environs. With utter disbelief, I stared at the queue for ‘South Indian food’ that not only brought back haunting memories of the Russian revolution, but also an image of Oliver Twist this time around. And also, some relevant questions started popping up in my mind (why wouldn’t Oliver Twist ask for more health food?). At this very point in time, a fellow employee whom I shook hands with 4 years back walked upto to me (with his ubiquitous identity card safely perched in his front pocket for a change) and asked with a condescending smile if I remembered him. If I had such a memory, I would win blind chess in Ukraine!
Of course, the conversation ended soon and I did get my turn to pick the platter. What followed was intense Euclidian geometry. There was this small surface area split into 5 unequal portions where 3 octagonal cups of fluid had to be placed along with Roti, Plain Rice, Friend Rice, Curry, Papad & Desert (which come in all shapes and sizes, thereby preventing best-practices). Each one of the cups made it a point to compete for a long and enduring session with my bright neck-tie. Just when I thought I was doing o.k, another employee appeared from nowhere to disturb the eco-system around me-my line- my plate-my necktie, took a napkin out of turn and left with a triumphant look on his face. He made me feel good for a minute, for I was getting invisible even without dedicated sessions at the Foothills gym* and that kept me going….
And going and going until at last I fount a solitary seat towards the west (A place that could seat a four-year old with a cup of strawberry ice-cream in her hand – not one that could seat someone like me and my plate that weighed almost as much as I did). Yet, I squeezed in and sat down. The food went in relatively smoothly, unlike the music. I thought I heard Irish party music when I stepped in but now it resembled a haunting Stanley Kubrick background theme. It actually was Rafi but he was tired & melancholic after singing the same song, day in and day out, from dawn till dusk, for the same hungry audience.
When I was done with grub, as a good citizen of this world, I had to dispose of my leftovers (which happened to be just a used paper-napkin) and now, the queue was more competitive. Long lines, meticulous people scratching away the last bit of aluminum left in their plates, sleepy people who threw cups in the spoons tub and spoons in the plates tub and so many other kinds of people who did so many other things. I lasted this line as well and then went to wash my hands. It was Russian revolution for a final time with automatic taps – haves who washed and left (working taps) and have-nots who watched and leapt (dodging taps).Finally, it was time for drinking water. All of Rome stood by the water cooler thereby causing mayhem. Just managed to get my share and gulped it down in a jiffy like there’s no tomorrow, just in time to be pushed out by the next in line.
After this memorable experience, I managed to walk out to the open air, as the mild monsoon and a gentle breeze decided to give me a well-deserved smile. With renewed exuberance, I went back to my desk and dozed in peace. As the wise say, some habits are eternal….
* A bit contextual..
- posted by Badri @ 7/07/2005 06:52:00 AM 3 comments
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Pure Joy
Bapuji walks briskly followed meticulously by a thousand other khadi-clad men gasping for breath. A dark-skinned old man shows his toothless bliss without the slightest inhibition. Green fields converse intensely with the scorching hot sun. A bespectacled young guy runs to catch the leftovers of a crowded metropolitan bus. Kalam shakes hands with thrilled prep-school kids looking right into the camera. Sachin flashes a backfoot drive watched by a euphoric saffron crowd in the background. A man with white turban wipes lassi stains off his beard with a swipe of his strong left wrist. A couple in loud ethnic wear touch the feet of an old woman seated in a wired chair. A short lad in loose khaki shorts waves at a passing-by train. A middle-aged banker adjusts his tie before entering his workplace.Kapil strolls down with a big grin to hold the World Cup for the first time. A group of teen-aged girls dance to the tunes emanating from a sharp sitar. A spruce young man writes integral calculus on the black-board, watched by a class of young boys in dark-green sweaters. A thousand colours light up the smoggy Diwali sky. A lonely peacock walks in the dense forest in its complete manifestations. A bearded old man takes a dip in chill water as dawn takes a peep at him. Vishy Anand returns to an Indian airport and is photographed with the fresh red tilak that sits on his forehead. Steam gently flows out from a Silver glass of hot coffee placed on a polished wooden table. Amitabh stares at people on the streets from an old magazine in the stall. Zakir Hussain caresses the Tabla as his hair sways mildly in thin breeze. A bright yellow kite and its green tail fight nothingness on the red evening terrace. The World Trade Centre in Mumbai stands tall and majestic as it waits for the future. There's a small jerk and I open my eyes. Chaurasia opens his eyes too; after accomplishing an outburst of Desh raag on his elegant brown flute....
- posted by Badri @ 11/06/2004 11:53:00 PM 7 comments
Wednesday, October 24, 2001
Porter's Five Forces and Prep-School Classes Environmental conditions made Scott Adams describe the moronic HR manager, the comical cubicle dweller and his pathetic monotony. It is indeed very rare that environmental conditions keep the lethal right side of the brain rolling. Through this fact emerges a critical question- How does a human derive value out of his environment? When exactly did i start deriving this much needed value of getting intrinsic powers to crush the HR manager? It must be roughly around the time i started analyzing my surroundings thoroughly. Surprisingly, i realized that i was into the deadly process of evaluation, a decade ago. I remember an interesting routine i had on pleasant sunday mornings. Our group of cute little kids would desperately want to try out cricket on a cricket ground. The difficulty of fulfilling this ambition can be recognised only by people who live in urban areas of India, a nation passionate about cricket. It is only natural that whenever there is a problem, there are various issues involved. Since my memory permits me to do so, i will dwell on some of them. Getting a pitch(to put in technical terms, a batting track) to play on was a problem.Sometimes we did manage to 'catch the pitch' before the competition did, we had to share it with the irrational rain god. We did manage to sort of patent our regular pitch, but strange guys occupied it sometimes and claimed ownership. Oblivious of probability issues involved, we used to buy the balls the previous evening. This purchase of balls involved matters of considerable seriousness. There was always a voting on the nature of the game, the type of balls to be used etc. The balls would tactically be sold off after the game to reduce our costs. There always were brand and material alternatives. There were some regular teams we always played against. 5A for example, was a class full of enthusiastic cricketers. But after all this, if cricket didn't happen, basketball did. At that point of time, we were unsuspecting kids. We realized later that around the same time, a force was emerging in a distant continent. Michael Porter was coming out with some of the most structured models and the deadliest of theories in one of the best educational institutions of the world, Harvard Business School. Corporate Strategy would no longer be the same again. The theoritician started creeping into research works and strategy books. Management students derived their understandings from his works; they still do. My guess is that sentimental analysts would have opined that Porter's five forces model was the next best thing that happened to mankind after the wheel. The model sure was faster than the wheel as it managed to penetrate all corners of the management world in very small time. Quality of analysis was so enhanced that business heads would remain ever indebted to Michael Porter for his effort for humanity. Now, as i do my management course in a premier management institute, i realize the beauty of the 5forces model. It studies the competitive forces in thorough detail and after applying it, identification of threats and opportunities is just a formality. The negatives and the positives that emerge create a new avenue of thought for the value creator. The major segments considered in the model are the competitive power of buyers, sellers, new entrants, substitutes in the existing active field of present competition.This structre helpsmanagement student to equip themselvess for the not-so-distant future when we will attempt a successful foray into the big bad corporate world. I am coming to the fag end of my formative years and i realize now that i am a mature individual. I have had lots of value addition over the years as i'm a voracious reader. i have gobbled up many strategic thoughts from Porter, Prahlad, Hamel, Ghoshal and most of the other musts for management students. But somehow, I vaguely remember that i had successfully applied the 5Forces model for my Sunday morning game of cricket when i was in class5. Scott Adams, its time for us to diversify from HR managers and concentrate on the HBR greats......
- posted by Badri @ 10/24/2001 08:53:00 AM 1 comments
