Layoffs and salary cuts triggered by the worst economic downturn in the past 80 years has launched many entrepreneurs across the world. India is no different.
Many of my relatives, friends and acquaintances have become the sole founders, co-founders and jobholders in many such ventures. At the end of everyday you collect more business cards of CEOs and Directors than managers.
It feels good though to see people of my realm talking business. Some have become quick learners and have already generated revenues; some are in the process of making many, while most are simply undecided on what they are working on.
What ever may be the stage of their development in the journey of entrepreneurship, it echoes a spirit that is crucial for building a successful and resourceful India.
Last Saturday morning I had brunch with a younger sister who’s the chief executive of a branding firm, and is yet to make the fist dollar.
Yet what she thinks startled me. She has her third year operations plan and profitability ratios well calculated. She also has plan B, C and D ready incase plan A fails.
This is a girl who was piggy-tailed few years ago and was unable calculate the price of her dolls. Now she watches business channels and writes on increasing operating profits before you get venture funding.
The same evening I met Om, an agricultural graduate from Rewa in Madhya Pradesh. He had just got a loan approved for his proposed warehouse project.
In college he didn’t have enough money to go home in vacation, now he is preparing himself to create 50 million rupees enterprise to help his village farmers store perishable farm output.
Om was fired from an oilseed processing unit eight months ago, while the young girl couldn’t find a job after she was back from sabbatical.
But both of them unfazed. This time you can smell it. It’s in the air. The confidence, the audacity and the honesty to go beyond hurdles and create value; value not for self but for a generation. There comes your new leader.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Casualities of War
Last week I slept late mostly, preoccupied with finishing my newest oil-on-canvas creation. A still life painting of an eastern Indian village girl, trying to depict some of the lost innocence we have in an average Indian village life.
This blog is not about the painting, but a film I got to see late in the night that shocked and questioned me from inside. Brian De Palma film casualities of war had such an effect on me.
The war drama about the Vietnam War, starring Michael J. Fox and Sean Penn and filmed two decades ago was so real and fresh and intriguing in the present day clash of civilizations, ethnicities and religions across the world.
I’m not trying to be preachy about things like war and peace, but want to speak out about how I was touched.
The drama unfolds with a US patrolling team deep inside Vietnam fighting an exhaustive gorilla war with Viet Cong squads. Sergeant Tony Meserve (Sean Penn), who heads the patrol, kidnaps a teen aged woman from a village, considered an ally to Viet Cong.
The drama unfolds with a US patrolling team deep inside Vietnam fighting an exhaustive gorilla war with Viet Cong squads. Sergeant Tony Meserve (Sean Penn), who heads the patrol, kidnaps a teen aged woman from a village, considered an ally to Viet Cong.
Meserve and other three in the team treat the girl as a sex slave and beating and raping her repeatedly. One member of the squad Private First Class Max Eriksson (Michael J. Fox) resisted the crime, but in vain.
Than Thi Oanh (Thuy Thu Le), the Vietnamese woman grew ill and developed a persistent cough. When the squad was Onah was constantly coughing exposing them to the risk of getting caught.
Than Thi Oanh (Thuy Thu Le), the Vietnamese woman grew ill and developed a persistent cough. When the squad was Onah was constantly coughing exposing them to the risk of getting caught.
As things grew worse and fear of being spotted by patrolling helicopters carrying a rape victim, Tony Meserve and three other killed her initially by stabbing and then pumping bullets intro her body. She falls off and dies finally. Erikson watches helplessly.
Deepely hurt emotionally Erikson refuses to let the secret die. He reports of the incident to seniors and was not taken seriously. Eventually, following an attempt on Eriksson's life by the squad, the four men who raped and killed Onah were court martialed.
In the final scene Erikson wakes up from a nightmare he was having of the incident only to find himself on a Metro train in San Francisco. He suddenly saw a Vietnamese-American student (also played by Thuy Thu Le) who resembles the kidnapped girl.
Deepely hurt emotionally Erikson refuses to let the secret die. He reports of the incident to seniors and was not taken seriously. Eventually, following an attempt on Eriksson's life by the squad, the four men who raped and killed Onah were court martialed.
In the final scene Erikson wakes up from a nightmare he was having of the incident only to find himself on a Metro train in San Francisco. He suddenly saw a Vietnamese-American student (also played by Thuy Thu Le) who resembles the kidnapped girl.
She leaves the train fearing Erikson’s constant watch, and forgot to take her scarf. Erikon runs behind her and returned the scarf, while she noticed something is troubling him, and guesses that she reminds him of someone.
The movie ended here hinting Erikson feeling better and coming over his guilt of not helping the victim girl to survive.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
My 26/11 survivor's account
Never have I used any of my professional write-ups in personal space. But this has to do with a survivor’s story, one that has to be told clearly, objectively and needed scrupulous editing. Sourcing the story as was first published on Dec 10.
REUTERS WITNESS - Back from the dead in Mumbai
Wed Dec 10, 2008 5:03pm IST
By Sourav Mishra
MUMBAI (Reuters) - It’s not often that you get to read your own name in the obituaries. Three days after armed militants went on the rampage in Mumbai, newspapers and TV channels included my name in the list of more than 170 people who lost their lives in the carnage.
They were wrong -- obviously.
But I had a tough time fending off phone calls from anxious relatives, friends and colleagues who thought I had succumbed to my injuries.
Yes, I am alive and well. And painfully aware that my first trip to the Leopold Café might have been my last.
I was there on that unforgettable Wednesday night, deep in conversation with two French acquaintances -- Kate, a filmmaker, and her friend Clementine.
As we drank beer and tucked into prawns and chicken tikka, we talked of Kate's debut Hindi film -- a comedy about a girl in Paris who wants to marry a man with a moustache.
An hour later, as Clementine suggested we order more beer, a diner at a nearby table caught my eye. I remember thinking he looked uncannily similar to actor Johnny Depp in the 'Pirates of the Caribbean' series.
The next instant, his table was smashed and the diner was flung aside. I heard what seemed like a blast and something hit me hard on my back. I panicked and ran out through the nearest door.
Out on the road, I touched the wound and found it was bleeding profusely. I could hardly move my right hand. I shouted for help but no one paid any heed. Tried to move ahead but couldn't and fell down.
As I lay there, I felt someone grab hold of me and help me to my feet. The Good Samaritan hurried me towards a nearby cinema where we clambered into a taxi and rushed to the hospital.
I could still hear the gunfire in the street and my companion told me there was some sort of gang war going on.
The doctors at the hospital were reluctant to admit me but the stranger beside me begged them to take me in. As I removed my shirt and pressed against the wound, a copper-coated bullet fell out.
The woman treating me smiled and uttered the three words I'd been waiting to hear - "You will survive".
The 60-hour siege of Mumbai continued and not everyone was as lucky as I was. More people were brought in as the minutes ticked by.
The man next to me had two bullets lodged in his stomach and was writhing in pain. A weeping mother clutched her dead child. Two policemen were dead and another was battling for his life.
"Only Allah can save us now," whispered someone on my right, a man who had been shot in the chest.
As I began to come to terms with our ordeal, I turned to the man who had rushed me to hospital and asked his name. Turns out Kishore owns a small shop near the Leopold Café. He had already informed my friends, dialling a number that I had mumbled earlier.
My bureau chief in Mumbai, Charlotte, was among the first to find me at the hospital, weaving her way through a row of dead bodies before she spotted me and heaved a sigh of relief.
My ribs hurt and I was feeling breathless but I wasn't badly hurt.
I was alive. I was safe.
Later, as local politicians made a beeline to the hospitals, I was glad to see none of the staff or the victims paid them much heed. The old man at the X-ray machine shouted at one of the leaders, asking his supporters not to obstruct hospital staff.
I was moved to a private hospital on Thursday morning where I was told a rib fracture had prevented the bullet from puncturing my lungs. I underwent surgery to prevent spreading the infection.
And what of my companions at the Café?
I felt like a coward when I thought of Kate and Clementine. I had left them behind. It's hard being a hero when you are busy trying to save your own life.
I learnt that Clementine had been shot in the arm but it wasn't serious and both my friends flew to France soon after.
This week, I got an email from Kate. She says she'll back in India soon.
REUTERS WITNESS - Back from the dead in Mumbai
Wed Dec 10, 2008 5:03pm IST
By Sourav Mishra
MUMBAI (Reuters) - It’s not often that you get to read your own name in the obituaries. Three days after armed militants went on the rampage in Mumbai, newspapers and TV channels included my name in the list of more than 170 people who lost their lives in the carnage.
They were wrong -- obviously.
But I had a tough time fending off phone calls from anxious relatives, friends and colleagues who thought I had succumbed to my injuries.
Yes, I am alive and well. And painfully aware that my first trip to the Leopold Café might have been my last.
I was there on that unforgettable Wednesday night, deep in conversation with two French acquaintances -- Kate, a filmmaker, and her friend Clementine.
As we drank beer and tucked into prawns and chicken tikka, we talked of Kate's debut Hindi film -- a comedy about a girl in Paris who wants to marry a man with a moustache.
An hour later, as Clementine suggested we order more beer, a diner at a nearby table caught my eye. I remember thinking he looked uncannily similar to actor Johnny Depp in the 'Pirates of the Caribbean' series.
The next instant, his table was smashed and the diner was flung aside. I heard what seemed like a blast and something hit me hard on my back. I panicked and ran out through the nearest door.
Out on the road, I touched the wound and found it was bleeding profusely. I could hardly move my right hand. I shouted for help but no one paid any heed. Tried to move ahead but couldn't and fell down.
As I lay there, I felt someone grab hold of me and help me to my feet. The Good Samaritan hurried me towards a nearby cinema where we clambered into a taxi and rushed to the hospital.
I could still hear the gunfire in the street and my companion told me there was some sort of gang war going on.
The doctors at the hospital were reluctant to admit me but the stranger beside me begged them to take me in. As I removed my shirt and pressed against the wound, a copper-coated bullet fell out.
The woman treating me smiled and uttered the three words I'd been waiting to hear - "You will survive".
The 60-hour siege of Mumbai continued and not everyone was as lucky as I was. More people were brought in as the minutes ticked by.
The man next to me had two bullets lodged in his stomach and was writhing in pain. A weeping mother clutched her dead child. Two policemen were dead and another was battling for his life.
"Only Allah can save us now," whispered someone on my right, a man who had been shot in the chest.
As I began to come to terms with our ordeal, I turned to the man who had rushed me to hospital and asked his name. Turns out Kishore owns a small shop near the Leopold Café. He had already informed my friends, dialling a number that I had mumbled earlier.
My bureau chief in Mumbai, Charlotte, was among the first to find me at the hospital, weaving her way through a row of dead bodies before she spotted me and heaved a sigh of relief.
My ribs hurt and I was feeling breathless but I wasn't badly hurt.
I was alive. I was safe.
Later, as local politicians made a beeline to the hospitals, I was glad to see none of the staff or the victims paid them much heed. The old man at the X-ray machine shouted at one of the leaders, asking his supporters not to obstruct hospital staff.
I was moved to a private hospital on Thursday morning where I was told a rib fracture had prevented the bullet from puncturing my lungs. I underwent surgery to prevent spreading the infection.
And what of my companions at the Café?
I felt like a coward when I thought of Kate and Clementine. I had left them behind. It's hard being a hero when you are busy trying to save your own life.
I learnt that Clementine had been shot in the arm but it wasn't serious and both my friends flew to France soon after.
This week, I got an email from Kate. She says she'll back in India soon.
Beyond the karmic wheel of life
It has been about nine months, since I have not blogged. There were two reasons. One obvious – being shot at on the 26th of November last year – made me feel real enough to not write what I think.
The other not so obvious – workload – which made me find an excuse for not dabbling in words after draining my brain for nine hours in the office.
At a deeper level the consciousness of surviving November 26 made me introspective, though in a positive way. I had more thoughts about life and its goodness, above the myopic vision of mundane daily routine.
Past few months have also been equally or even tougher for my well-wishers and friends with people battling dreaded diseases, accidents and relationship disasters.
But they all were brave, have fought and are fighting. I just followed them and tried to be part of the game of survival. There was/ is a belief that we will recover and the power-above-us will let us add better things to the world.
I had so much to say, share but I chose to remain silent, pray and think inside.
I also had a refuge in my work, as a journalist, which gives me an opportunity to meet different people from all walks of life and finding survivors everywhere.
They say being in Mumbai and that too if you work in the financial markets, doesn’t give much time to preoccupy one with self.
The tick-tock of an average Mumbai clock, the dig-dig of the local train wheels and the green-red of the ever blinking financial instruments put you into track, in tandem with their speed.
It makes you believe you are moving with your karmic wheel, so easy to feel good.
Nevertheless, I have finally decided to write more often to release at least part of my pent-up thoughts.
The other not so obvious – workload – which made me find an excuse for not dabbling in words after draining my brain for nine hours in the office.
At a deeper level the consciousness of surviving November 26 made me introspective, though in a positive way. I had more thoughts about life and its goodness, above the myopic vision of mundane daily routine.
Past few months have also been equally or even tougher for my well-wishers and friends with people battling dreaded diseases, accidents and relationship disasters.
But they all were brave, have fought and are fighting. I just followed them and tried to be part of the game of survival. There was/ is a belief that we will recover and the power-above-us will let us add better things to the world.
I had so much to say, share but I chose to remain silent, pray and think inside.
I also had a refuge in my work, as a journalist, which gives me an opportunity to meet different people from all walks of life and finding survivors everywhere.
They say being in Mumbai and that too if you work in the financial markets, doesn’t give much time to preoccupy one with self.
The tick-tock of an average Mumbai clock, the dig-dig of the local train wheels and the green-red of the ever blinking financial instruments put you into track, in tandem with their speed.
It makes you believe you are moving with your karmic wheel, so easy to feel good.
Nevertheless, I have finally decided to write more often to release at least part of my pent-up thoughts.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)