Posts

The power of silence

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Years ago, a friend of mine committed a professional blunder. There was a printing mistake in a piece of collateral involving the corridors of power. The mistake was such that it rendered the whole project useless. Worse, some of the printed material had been distributed. Which meant that along with wasted money, we were now dealing with a reputational blemish.  Since the stakes were high, the matter escalated in no time. The department head was summoned to task. A fearless and frank professional, this person was widely respected for her sharp acumen and transparent dealings. And as is the case with calmly confident people like her, she was a perceived threat to several insecure co-workers. The latter, therefore, jumped at this opportunity to magnify this mistake and make it bigger than it was.  The news was as much a shock to her as it was to the stakeholders. She had, of course, signed the final bill and given the final go-ahead. She had assigned the work to one of her reliable coll

Happy 40th to my sibling teacher

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  He doesn't look 40, does he? A couple of years ago, I picked up a renowned book by Mark Manson, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. I realized after going through the first few pages, that the book didn’t really offer anything new to me, courtesy my sibling teacher, my brother. What the book tried to teach in logic and words, my brother had taught me all along through practical demonstration. Almost all the good habits I have internalized so far, are owed to him. On his 40 th , it’s about time I pay my gratitude in ink. Let’s start with my first life lesson: Abandon labels In the 80s, even with limited access to TV for children of my generation, Bollywood faces were household names. Among them was the lesser known singer and widely popular actor-comedian, Tuntun. In those days, Tuntun was synonymous with overweight bubbly women. As the heaviest among three siblings, never mind that I was just five, brother chose to christen me Tuntun. It didn’t take any ceremony for the na

गोल गुम्बद और गुफ्तगू

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  कॉलेज के दिनों की तरह दोनों गोल गुम्बद के सामने बेंच पर बैठे थे। जब भी मिलते , यहीं मिलते। एक तरफ मेथोडिस्ट चर्च और दूसरी तरफ मुग़लई गुम्बद उन्हें अलग अलग टाइम ज़ोन में एक साथ होने का आभास देता । दोनों दिल्ली वासी न होकर भी दिल्ली में ही पले बढ़े थे। इस शहर में इतिहास छितराया हुआ है , वो कहती। बस क्रम जानने की देर है , कहानी आप ही बन जाएगी। बरसों बाद वापस उसी गुलमोहर के नीचे बैठने में एक अजीब सा सुकून है , नहीं ? वो गुलमोहर के आधे पीले आधे हरे पत्तों में जाने क्या ढूंढती हुई बोली। सुकून तुझसे फिर से मिलने में है यू फूल , उसने उसका सर थपथपाते हुए बोला। जैसे वो कोई बच्ची हो। पूरी दुनिया में एक यही लड़की है जिसने मुझे ये सिखाया है कि मैं प्यार कैसे करता हूँ , उसने मन ही मन सोचा। बच्ची हंसी। आँखों की क्रो लाइन्स उभर आईं। दिल्ली के जाड़ों में उसका उज्जवल चेहरा और ठंढ से लाल पड़े गाल जैसे और बेबाक हो उठे थे। कुछ ही बरस में ब