Sex and Drugs

I love Dr. House. His idiosyncratic, abusive, narcissistic, annoying, intrusive mind with the wrinkled limping, disheveled body is the sweet poison that I have quite enjoyed for all of the eight seasons. And I must add, I have envied his hot steaming lustful relationship with the thong wearing, cleavage showing Lisa Cuddy. Like many-many relationships of younger women with much older men, he has taught me about important life lessons, those about hallucinations, distrust, pranks, pity and depressions but mostly about Vicodin- the pain relieving, mind-altering white pill that can take away all troubles. 

I have watched many popular medical dramas including E.R and Grey’s Anatomy. But nothing held my attention beyond the first few episodes.  Perhaps it was the clutter breaking absence of ‘white coats’ that Dr. House resolutely refused to wear. Or the lack of saccharine dipped drama with the cloyingly agreeable heroines that removed one from the heart of the medical mystery to be unraveled. Or the brilliance pitted against the chaos of his own mind. All of it made Dr. House very watchable. But mostly, I was in it for the detective and his  obsession with his mystery. The fact that Dr. House was pitifully miserable heightened the drama. No props were required.  The struggles with addiction of the vacant soul in its wretched existence has given a woeful depth that begs empathy. After every episode, I went back for more, feeling sorry for the brilliant doctor who never got his due. And the chemistry with the sexy-sharp-boss who made him beg, was explosive.

For me, Dr. House played Sherlock Holmes- in a hospital. Intuitive, perceptive, impulsive and enthusiastic. With a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, the mystery entrapped the minds of the viewer more than anything. And as the story unraveled, similar to the Sherlock Holmes series, the solutions became more and more improbable and the story even more intriguing. 

Sherlock Holmes’ chemistry with Watson favoured Sherlock in the right light and Watson always played the loyal foundation to display Sherlock. Dr. House had a confidant and friend too. The unassuming character of Dr. Wilson was used for heightening the personality of House.

And then there is the matter of Vicodin, the temporary but potent escape from the impossible realities. While Heroin and Opium was Sherlock’s drug of choice one can understand House could get his hands on Vicodin much more easily. He was in a hospital after all. 

Mysteries laced with narcotics of self loathing, sex and action have been a staple of many for escape and entertainment. The reality, without any high-tension drama; without lives hanging in the balance; without nation-saving and police chasing; without thong-wearing sirens and eccentric geniuses- can be simply described as normal. And normal has been so Boring! Dr. House series has finished. And I need some Vicodin!

The Mischief Makers

I have only one dream for my school-going kid. That at least once before school finishes he is taken to the head mistress’s office for some mischief he made. Anything would do- talking and disturbing the class, teasing friends in the hall, chemical explosions in chemistry lab, bunking classes. Absolutely Anything!

I know this might sound rather odd to you but my circumstances have been odd from the very beginning. Let me explain. You see, those of you who know me would recon that I can be quite naughty and have sometimes tested how far the limits can be stretched and rules can be bent. But my son was born with the internal ‘correct-conduct’ compass. And ever since I found that, I have invested all my energies into breaking this internal compass and encouraging him to have some fun! He, like many others, have found my efforts juvenile. My mother has questioned my parenting style. She has often indicated that I might be behaving like a spoilt sibling rather than a mom. His teachers have found my attempts to encourage more fun endearing but misguided. Most of my friends are shocked and appalled. They have mentioned that my behaviour is nothing short of suicidal. But no amount of mockery by friends, preachings by elders and patronising corrections by his tutors has changed my mind! I stand steadfast and determined to make my kid -‘a naughty kid’!

Then, last month we planned an out-station family trip. He was going to miss school for two days. It wasn’t a big deal but he insisted that I speak to his Music teacher. He had been selected for the school choir recently. It was natural that he wanted to inform before missing classes. So one day after school I walked up to the music room at school, with my son trailing me. The music teacher looked slightly alarmed to see me. I wasn’t sure why! Nor did I care. I told him that my son would be taking a two day leave and would not attend practice. The teacher looked at me, then behind me, at my son and  with a mischievous grin said, “ Shall I tell her?” This sounded interesting. I was intrigued. The five year old craving a secret was awakened inside me. I spontaneously said, “What what? Tell me. But the teacher turned out to be more mature than I was. He said, Nothing Ma’am. It’s fine that Aby would miss two classes. He is doing very well.

So, disappointed to be denied a juicy scoop, I left. When we returned home, I asked my son, “What was your teacher talking about?” He finally spilled the beans. He said,“ Today in the music room we were all practicing. My friend and I were sitting. We started playing a game of ‘Tic-Tac-Toe’. We played and played for quite a while. Then I turned around and saw, Music Sir was making our video on his phone. My friend and I were shocked. But I looked at my Sir and immediately told my friend, It’s all your fault!” 

I burst out laughing. I was super happy. And all I could say was ‘Good Going!’. 

You see, there is a logic to my madness. Fun is an important part of personality. To find initiative and courage to do things motivated entirely by ‘joy’ instills the pursuit of happiness. Children today are so busy with academics, competitive in sports, racing for better grades that there has been little time for fun. If we don’t let them taste joy today, they might not seek happiness tomorrow. But thats not all. 

Play and Mischief is a creative process! It is a process of seeing the same elephant but with a different perspective. Once, in my son’s class the Hindi teacher was teaching simple words. She wrote ‘banana’ which means ‘to make’ in Hindi. One of the boys shouted “Banana- ma’am Minions”-(from the movie ‘Despicable Me’ in which Minions loved Bananas- the fruit). The whole class burst out laughing. The lesson stopped. The teacher frowned. He was told to stand outside for the remainder of the class. 

You might think of this as a disruptive incident or if you are in a gracious mood, ‘a naughty kid’. But the boy thought laterally and connected a sound of a Hindi word with something he watched and enjoyed over the previous weekend. If he would've made such a connection in a Science class, drawing from his knowledge of Math, perhaps he would have received praise. But the point remains, he got creative and had some fun! 

It eases social connect and builds character. Fun and play strengthen our emotional quotient. It encourages experimentation, trust, friendship, loyalty and commitment. We all know the crazy things we did and trusted our friends to never tell. 

And hence, my son’s fun-time is no joking matter. I stay devoted to his mischief making. And I encourage you to do the same!

The Overachievers

So we thought that with the dawn of new age global schools, extended days, after-school classes, we could kill two birds with one stone. For progressive moms like me, this was all good news and then some more. I could pursue my job, passions and endless list of chores while ensuring that my kids were on a round-the-clock regimen of learning, exploring and growing. 

Don’t get me wrong. Like so many others in my generation, the one thing I always am short on is time. I am smart and open to consider all and any ideas that short-cuts the ‘means’ and still achieve the ‘ends’. So YES to the pre-fermented dosa mix, online grocery shopping and annual subscriptions. And when my kids became part of the school choir or when they returned with medals for winning swimming competitions, I knew that the after-school music classes and extended-day swimming practice was paying off. They were developing skills and receiving accolades. I was proud, as I should be. 

I had found the right balance. I grew in my career while my kids were already turning into independent rollers. Every week night we would return exhausted with the toils of the day, with bags full of our stuff and plonk ourselves into the nearest comforting couch just to let the muscles relax, mind collect the lessons of the day. I knew that in a decade or so, when my kids would be in college or more, this grind would give them a big leap and it would be all worth it.

On one of the rare occasion, when we took a holiday, we went to Pune for a wedding. I dreaded it. You see, we did not have any guests- with good reasons- we did not have much time to receive guests. But worse still, the outstation wedding parties include living at close quarters with so many of your family and friends, sharing bathrooms, getting dressed without the privacy and indulging with people you would some times avoid. Any how, we were there and we were in for the ride. Everyone we met was very warm and generous. they were interested to know what and how we had been doing. The food was delicious and we were stuffed beyond the happy-point. My kids, 10 and 12 were bored though as there were not many in their age group. In the evening more family arrived and with them arrived kids. I was happy to see that my kids would have some company. they hung out together that evening. At bed time I enquired about their new friends. Both were nonchalant. “ They just go to school and don’t do anything else”. We have no common interest. Nisha is learning to swim now. Mom, she is 11!, mentioned my 10 year old son in shock and disgust. And do you know whats more, they go to park to play cricket and swings and some such other silly thing in the evening. 

I was quite surprised at this review. I had seen the kids all evening. They were polite and curious. Both were calm and considerate. In fact I had seen their mom forbid ice-cream after dinner. Well everyone was having it, inspite of it being nippy. They wanted to have a scoop. Their big eyes did not hide their appetite. But they had not argued and seen the wisdom in their mom’s decision. I let it pass thinking that the children would click on their own and I should not fix whats not broken.

The next day was 'Sangeet' ( a pre-wedding dinner party) and my daughter, 12, wanted to wear a beautiful lehnga (Indian long embellished skirt). I preferred she wore it for the wedding dinner. Atlas thats how I had planned the wardrobe. What began as a simple choice of dress among only 5 dresses quickly escalated to a big war about looks, hairpins, dresses and matching sandles. I was furious. The screaming match was reaching a crescendo when I finally gave an ultimatum and expected obedience. What I got instead was disbelief. Finally she said, I have to be the best looking or I am not going! I let her do what ever she wanted. I felt defeated. The other kids were is simple and comfortable dresses. With enough room to run around it and play.  

I realised that in my race to make them super-men I have perhaps robbed them of childhood. I longed the dependence that children have on their moms; and the priceless joy moms get by fixing little things for their kids. Instead I am converting them into snobish tyrants who are disrespectful to everyone, who believe it is 'their way' or 'the highway'. How would they succeed with these ethics. Did I forget the class of family value and ethics and manners. Did I forget the session on sharing and team work. I guess these softer winning qualities were always my job that I have forgotten.

Perhaps I would need to reinvent the winning model. And time to remember that my kids are not trophies. They are my future and they need to make me proud by their conduct before impressing anyone else by their achievements.

Tough Love

My son and I did not share a word on our way to the school. He had turned off the radio, much to my chagrin and had immersed himself into his book. I felt the uncontrollable itch to make conversation but knew it will be received with disapproval and disappointment. The car stopped and he bookmarked his book with a pen, tucked it under his arm, pulled his almost empty worn out school bag from behind and walked off. I shouted, “Good Luck” but he did not turn around and I would never know if he heard me at all.  

As the bell stuck 8, students were pouring in, some with books and note books under their arms hurrying off to the classes, others in deep discussions about dates and names and chemical formulae with their peers. These were the same bunch I saw every morning and afternoon while dropping my son to school. They were always a  cheery-chirpy group, with boys in ever new hairstyles and girls in ever shrinking skirts, chit-chatting without a worry, strolling towards their respective classes. 

But today was different. The chit-chatting was meaningful. The stride was purposeful and the books that lay un attended to in the bag were out and open. It was the first day of exams and the effort to learn was ernest. Or perhaps, just the desire for respectable marks was sincere. We would never know. One could lead to the other!

The gentle chill was in the breeze and on the tenth day of November, the winds in the school had changed to serious and business. When exam finished, there was a quite and serious discussion among friends about the paper and the solutions. But soon, every one left. 

My son had still not come out when I found one of his friends. I feigned composure. (Inside I was impatient to know how my son’s exam went, check the paper, calculate the expected marks based on his answer, compare his with other kids and approximate his rank. But I did to act of this impulse). How was the paper, Raj? Oh, hello Aunty. It was okey. Not too easy. 

Really! Why do your teachers give such tough questions? I said.

Shrugging his shoulders, Raj thought it best to elaborate. It was lengthy. 

I knew I am not getting anything more from his so changed my line of enquiry. Where is Aby? Oh, he finished half an hour early. I don't know, he was talking to some guys around the atrium. 

Thank you, Raj. I decided to wait. When My son finally came, I had a battery of questions ready for him. In the 7 minutes I had waited on him after my conversation with Raj, I had imagined all scenarios of why my son would finish a 'lengthy' paper half an hour early.But I tried to play cool, with absolutely no success. His first words were, Mom, don’t be hyper! I swallowed. Ok ok just tell me, how did your paper go? Shutting his eyes, he said, I don't wanna talk about it. Im tiered. 

This had the obvious reaction. The same reaction when your kid says, don't worry I know what I'm doing!!

Anyway, there was nothing to be done. I drove home with a knot in stomach while my son decided to compensate the morning radio with very loud rock music. 

The after noon was predictable. We ate a snack and he finally came around to giving some nuggets of insight on the exam. It was fine. I did not know one answer very well. But I wrote what I knew. It was fine. 

I am sure he was being kind but any mom worth her salt will know fine is never (a) fine (answer)!!!

I decided this was the time to look forward. Whats done is done1 So for the second exam I was going to be my usual loving supportive mom creating an environment that is with out pressure and intrusion. After feeding my son 2 glasses of badam milk, massaging oil on his scalp, adjusting the air conditioner to a 'not too cold' and 'not to hot' temperature, asking him every half an hour if he needs anything, checking that he has enough pens and making sure that his school clothes are spotless, I felt I have done everything to prepare for the exam. I knew he would do well. 

So we went to school the next day in the morning to the sea of busybody scholars who were trying to squeeze in the last few grains of wisdom before the exam. In the afternoon, my son’s reply to my standard question of “how did the paper go” was the standard “fine”. This was disturbing but I decided to not have a showdown. He needed a balanced, happy and calm home. 

This went on and only the last two exams were left. For every exam my son had returned with the ‘fine’ rating while his friends had come out of the exam with big smiles on their faces and a bounce on their feet. They also mentioned that they were studying much harder. Some worked till 11 in the night and woke up before dawn to revise. My son was fast asleep before 10:30 and wouldn’t wake up early at all. It was worrisome. I had reached the end of my wits. That night I decided to call the mom of  my son’s best friend to check how he was doing. She said that he was not studying very hard, that he was waking up till late only because he was sleeping in  the day , that he had not prepared for the exams earlier etc. Surely she was lying, I thought. Anyway. The exams were over. The kids were happy. So were the moms. It truly felt like Independence day. A day of Freedom. 

Results were out soon. I was afraid but had braced myself for the worst- 'average marks'! My son, to my utter delight had scored very well and had seized the second position. I was proud. I looked  forward to meeting other moms to drop hints on how well he scored. 

When the original euphoria settled in and I bumped into the mom of the child who ranked first, I started thinking where I missed that my son came second instead of first. And after much deliberation I have realised that next time, I would feed him at least 2 tea spoons of Chawanprash. that would definitely do the trick. Now I look forward to the next exams and come first!

War of the Worlds: Machine against Woman

Yesterday, I was trying to change the wi-fi setting on my laptop and all the technical jargon, the machine was throwing at me was making me dizzy. Exhausted and afraid to err, I asked my husband for help. While he lazily pulled the laptop from my hands, he had this smug -superior look that men usually have while showing off their dexterity with gadgets, to us girls. I was already in a snippy mood (after struggling with the internet settings to no avail) and the smug expression didn’t help it at all. I lashed out, “Why, you just make fun of me, you never tell me how this works, it’s all so complicated. ….”. He was taken aback; but not enough to use his lessons on diplomacy that he has received through the 10 year long marriage. And he said, “I have told you how to do this so many times. You just don’t remember!”.

Looking up from the computer, eyes wide open in shock and horror at this unfounded, unsubstantiated charge, I said, “When have you told this before? I’ve never even seen this window earlier in my life.”

Still lazily working on the problem and with little, if any attention to my dismay, he said “ Yes I have. You’re just never interested.”

I was stunned- flabbergasted. Being called inattentive and incapable of grasping how to trouble-shoot internet problems was humiliating. But what was worse was the off handed, causal manner in which the accusation was made. It left no room for explanations, no opportunity for defense and no place to hide.

A deep stab of pain pierced my heart.  The pain of betrayal from my lover! He didn’t want to empower me. He wanted me to Be empowered All by myself. A single tear rolled down my cheek. At first, it was a tear of anger. Anger at him for not understanding that I don’t understand this gadget and all its moods. Anger that, as a lover he is too slow (and casual) at coming to the rescue of his damsel in distress from this ‘artificial intelligence’.

Then it was a tear of insult and inadequacy. I thought, perhaps these problems with the Internet are too basic for the 21^st century mankind. Am I a decaying relic that is simply obsolete? Then I thought of all the years when I took care of my family, dedicated my time and energy to their growth. I’m not a relic, I’m the Lifeline! And so finally it was a tear of vengeance! I wasn’t going to let this slide! This was time for revenge. It was time when the doctor tastes his own medicine. I didn’t say anything further. The remainder of day passed uneventfully.

The next day started as a regular day but for one thing. There was no coffee. My husband got around to asking for a cup. I asked him to switch on the coffee maker and make two cups. I hadn’t had my morning cup too. I guess he was surprised, but chose to say nothing. Then he and coffee maker spent an incredibly long time together. After a lot of turning the knobs, opening the lid, spilling the water, reading of fine print, came two lukewarm cups of wishy-washy brown liquid. I took the cup from him with an expression of disappointment. He said, “It hasn’t come out right. These machines are so complicated”. I kept a straight face but inside I was beaming”. The day moved at a hectic pace. That evening I was just winding up the routine household chores when I said to him, “I’ve loaded the washing machine. Just put it on the wash cycle before coming to bed. Oh, and remember to add the fabric softener”. So I heard him in the laundry room, looking through the bottles of bleach and washing liquid. Then I heard him click a few knobs and switch a few buttons. But the machine did not start. You see, my washing machine is quite extensively used and lately the door needs an extra nudge, a hard push, to lock in and start the washing cycle. He didn’t know that. So he stood there wondering what he has not done right. From the bedroom, I was visualizing his confusion. Finally exasperated he came to announce that the machine is not working and that I need to come and check. Without looking up from my book, in fact sliding further down in my bed I said, “I’ve told you so many times how it works. Why can’t you do such a simple thing for me. Leave it, I’ll do it later”. I could sense his defeat first from the machine that wouldn’t budge, then from the wife who would also not budge. He chose to say nothing. 

The next day was a Sunday. It was a bright and sunny day and we were all enjoying an easy morning. After breakfast, as always I decided to go for my weekly grocery shopping. Lunch was roast chicken with lots of fresh vegetables and home baked bread. I dressed the chicken and put it in the oven. In the other room Sid was sitting on the couch and reading the papers. I told him that I’m leaving for the market and would be back in a couple of hours, that the lunch was in the oven and that he needed to switch the oven on at 220degrees for 40 minutes on the convection setting after 45 minutes. And after it’s cooked for 40 minutes he needs to turn the chicken and set the timer for another 20 minutes. Even before he could react to the bomb I had just dropped on his lap, I turned and fled. After all, when you throw a grenade at someone, you don’t stand around to see. (and in case you are wondering, I’ve not learnt this from my military training. Instead this is a ‘Burn Notice’ lesson handed down by Michael Weston).

On my way to the market I imagined, with guilty relish, what he would do. This, I was looking forward to!

An hour later I received a call from him. Obviously, he had been working at the oven for some time and failing. When I picked up the call, a battary of questions and complaints came rushing down. “Only the bottom rods are heating. It’s making some clanking sound, There is steam in the oven. Do I need to be worried. Was the tempature in farenheit or celcius…” He went on. I had mentally switched off. Then I said, “ Sid, I’ve told this to you so many times. You just don’t listen. It’s not rocket science.  All you need to do is switch it on. How hard can it be! I’ll look at it when I come home.” I’m sure that the next couple of hours must have been full of struggle, frustration, and panic. When I returned home, he said, “You could explain how your oven works” . I chose not to respond and went to check the chicken. It was burnt from the top and raw at the bottom.  Lunch really was looking like a dead bird. I smiled to my self. It was mission accomplished. Then I turned to him. Before I could say anything, he spoke,  “Rachna, I couldn’t make this lunch. But look, I’ve fixed your internet. And all the passwords that you need are written here. I’ve fixed the permanent settings on your comp. They are not going to change so you’re not going to have a problem anymore. I could only smile at my loving husband.

And then there was the matter of lunch. Of course, a girl always has a trick or two up her sleeve. I have bought the best, juiciest suasages, the freshest croissants and lemon tarts on my way home. It was soul food. The Sunday lunch was fulfilling as always and the war had ended.

Just a note of caution! The Internet connectivity problems in my life have gone. But not all computer problems have disappeared. Now! Can someone please tell me how to post this article on the internet…..

The Success Serum

Yuvraj Singh was in news last year. As an ace cricketer representing India, one finds him in news often. But this time it was for a different reason. He was diagnosed with cancer and he came out winning his battle for life. I have heard of similar miracles by other celebrities- In 2009, Lisa Ray- the international model and actor fought cancer looking pretty, Amitabh Bachchan, the reigning Bollywood superstar of the ‘70s went through a near fatal accident leading to huge financial losses only to bounce back as the superstar. There are others; like Sudha Chandran- the famous dancer who lost a leg, Mansoor Ali Pataudi- the cricketer who lost an eye; and many more who fought addictions, eating disorders, hopeless depressions or bottomless depths of rejection and failure.

While the list of success stories is long, that of failures-of those who couldn’t cope and faded into oblivion- is longer. Given that the challenges faced by both categories may be equally daunting, what led some to succeed while others to fail?

The circumstances and challenges might be different; strengths and motivations might vary but I have found that there is one common thread in all success stories be it of social activities or freedom fights; sportsmen or business tycoons; inventors or differently-abled artists.

Courage! They all had courage- to defy the common sense we commonly depend on, to defy the well-trodden path and explore uncharted terrain, to defy destiny and in the process, they moved mountains. These men and women dared to say (not only for the great actions that we know them for, but also for those that were never written about, the silly day to day struggles)-“Victory is the only acceptable outcome!”

So, to know if we’ll fair well when put through the unwinnable challenges, we have to ask some rather simple questions. Like, have we done something in our lives only because we believed in it? Have we pursued something that others thought was insanely tough… and succeeded? Have we taken a chance and won because success was the only option? And if my friend, the answer to these questions, is yes, then you are made of the metal called “TOUGH”.  

Delusions of Grandeur

Every mother has dreams for her child. And all mothers want their children to become someone important and successful when they grow up. I am no different. However, as a smart, practical woman, unlike many parents, I did not want to impose my preconceived notions on my child. Instead decided to list all of Aby’s strengths and then find professions that would match his natural talent and inherent aptitude. For that I decided to observe Aby and his interactions a little more carefully.

The one thing I already knew was that Aby really likes giving others a chance to do things.  It is his large heartedness to share the opportunities that he is blessed with. Like-he will let me pick up his toys and books after him. He will let the maid get him water, spoon, TV remote etc.  The driver is allowed to carry his school bag. The gardener is allowed to remove the picnic leftovers from the garden.  So, all in all, he is inclusive and allows for all people to participate, creating a sense of camaraderie (in this case, of serving Aby). Now some cynics might have a twisted pessimistic view but I think that this can be an invaluable management skill. We all know how poor-managers do not like to delegate due to their insecurities. Well, that’s not Aby. Given this important skill set of ‘delegation of responsibility’, the careers that came to my mind were business management and civil service. Nothing exciting, so I continued my observations.

I also made the most profound discovery last week when I went for a Parent-Teacher Meet. The month before had been full of disturbances and difficulties – an out of town wedding, shifting of house, Aby’s illness – leading to occasions when the homework was incomplete and the preparation for the tests was less than required and on an overall level his performance was less than ‘great’. But I love my child and refuse to see any imperfection. Hence I went full of ammunition to gun down any ‘concerns’ of his faltering performance in class. In preparation (or shall we call ‘over-preparation’), I had made my own list of ‘concerns’ on teaching style, curriculum, extra curricular, mess-food; even school timings. The meeting started on a cordial ‘praise the pupil’ note while I was anxiously waiting for the ‘concern’ cue. After fifteen minutes of discussion I realized that the ‘Concern note’ will not come. I was surprised. Almost disappointed at not being able to use my ‘prepared’ counter arguments. I decided to double check and asked the gentle question: what in your opinion are the areas of improvement? The teacher said, “Aby is doing very well in studies, his behavior and manners are immaculate, he is respectful to me and his other tutors. He even finishes up his food at lunch-time. God bless this child.” I was shell-shocked. I came back home in a dizzy but there was an important lesson to be learnt. No matter how poor his performance, Aby definitely has the guile and charisma that he would make others feel good about themselves and in turn shower praise onto him. Only one word came to my mind: Politician. I dismissed it quickly.

In my search for Aby’s other skills, I recalled something I have known for a while now. Aby has a natural talent for presenting coherent graphic descriptions of facts and ideas. A couple of years back, when asked by his teacher why he was late, he said: “I was coming to the school when the alien ship captured me to take me to their planet. So along the way I fought them, stole a shuttle and escaped. I went to the galaxy police for help. They suggested I take the bus to earth, which I took! But by then I had missed my school bus so I walked my way to school. That is why maybe I’m a little late!” Now, imagination, if not lying, is a critical asset. As we move from the information age to the creative age the world needs people with ideas. Filmmaking, writing, advertising are all professions that could open their doors to him. I was staring to get excited but was I closing the door of opportunities too early?

On further exploration, I observed that Aby’s most captivating strength is that of not being trapped in the competitiveness of today’s world. He would rather give the weaker souls a chance to taste success rather than hog all the limelight. He would start last in every race so that other ‘not so fast runners’ could win, he would do careless mistakes in the Maths test so that those taking after school Abacus tuitions can feel rewarded, he would refuse to study the maps so that those less traveled can feel at ease around him. Although some cynics might say he is plain and simple lazy, I think he is a giving soul who is sensitive to other’s caliber and sense of well-being.

So I now had all of Aby’s key qualities to start my final analysis. He is inherently lazy, non-competitive, does not believe in hard work (or work, at all), makes others do his work but at the same time he is very bright, imaginative, likes sharing and giving, , good at communications; with a talent of charming everyone round and making others feel good about themselves. And I thought what possible profession could hone these talents. Well if he was good with literature, or Maths, Design or Dance it would have been easier to find a suitable career choice.  And then suddenly, almost like a bulb lighting up in the mind, it struck me: Godman! Yes, you read correctly! Godman. He should be a Godman.  Now Godmen always have a way with words and after visiting them, inspite of unbeatable problems and un-survivable circumstances you feel secure and relieved. And they always make you do things- especially for themselves. And most importantly it’s a life of comfort and unspeakable riches.

Every time I look at Aby now, I imagine him in plain but graceful saffron clothing, sitting on a podium giving Updesh and Gyan to thousands- no, millions of people in a huge marbled gallery. People holding on to each of his spoken words and showering Rose petals at him while his bankers work overtime to find the best investments for the quadrupling income.  And in all of my visions I see myself wrapped in the lap of luxury and grandeur!