Unseen colours of life

Two years ago I survived an attack on my life at Leopold Cafe. Within a span of three days I discovered the finest people in my life and an angel. Saw humanity, friendship and hope in action. It changed my whole perspective of life. I realised life is indeed beautiful if you want it to be. There is nothing in your control except your own mind. You can travel in a jam-packed train while immersed in beautiful thoughts or fight with the pushy co-passenger.

You may enjoy the small cutting chai with absolute strangers in the hackneyed by-lanes of Parel and may not like the finest liquor in the unreal atmosphere of an expensive Lower Parel restaurant. It’s all about the state of your mind. Life is kaleidoscopic with beauty lurking at every other corner. You just need to have the time and interest to observe it. Life is not fast as many say. It gives you time to understand yourself and others. It is we who run away from the wisdom and openness for what even we don’t know.

We think we compete with the world, with others. We struggle day and night for little niceties of life. The truth is we miss millions of niceties every other moment by putting ourselves under an undue pressure psychology. We must respect time and the power of the unknown, because we don’t have any control over them. But our mind is our own. Our thought process is our own. Our dreams are our own. People who love us are our own. And there is no perfect day or way to start life in the best way.

The very next moment is the best moment of ours.

After two years of the 26/11 attacks I feel wealthier for I have real friends and I can own millions of little good things in life just by smiling, writing, painting talking and listening to others.

Following is a quote I have always tried to remember after 26/11.
“We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets." - Marilyn Monroe

Let's pray for very innocent human being who have lost their lives and every angel who has tried to keep hopes of humanity alive across the world. Amen....

(*PICTURE: I made this acrylic-on-canvas work named "The Sorrow of Mumbai" in September 2009.
I want to portray the pain and grief of this mega-city accompanied by tranquility indicating hope and stability. The work was presented to the organisation I was working with and is presently at the Reuters News Room in Mumbai)

The Lonely White Horse

The Lonely White Horse, my latest acrylic-on-canvas work is a portrayal of the peaceful Indian security personnel. He may be from any section of the Indian security apparatus, always smiling, judicious with power and protector of the sovereignty of the large sub-continent. But almost complete absence of political leadership has converted him into a sitting duck. The enemy of the country like the blood thirsty red horse is engulfing him from all the sides – north, west, east, south - and even within the country. Salute to the bravery and spirit of such a white horse. But will he find a good leader who is as concerned about the country’s security and autonomy as him?
(Disclaimer: I have learnt my horse patterns from MF Hussain's horse paintings.)

'The Rosewood' restaurant on Varuna lake road

Neelima Bhat was a reluctant restaurateur, forced into the profession by the untimely demise of her husband. Thirty years after taking reins of ‘The Rosewood’, she still had not accepted the fact of her, a woman, managing an eatery. Married as early as 16, Neelima knew that her husband’s family owns one of the best restaurants in this small hill station, but managing it for rest of her life never crossed her mind. Bhats are among the most respected and wealthy families in the town and reside on the lake road, the exclusive address which had unobstructed view of the grand Varuna lake. Not even tourists had an easy way to this part of the Himalayan hill town. Everyone had a private balcony that overlooked flowing clouds that fell over Varuna changing colour every few hours.

The Bhats converted a part of their bungalow into ‘The Rosewood’, way back in 1920s. ‘The Rosewood’ remained the only comprehensive and easy access for the tourist to the lake view. No wonder it was never out of business whether it snows or rains, Neelima always had visitors. The Rosewood was styled in colonial architecture and always charmed the foreigners, babus from Delhi, writers and romantic urbanites who always looked for the last best symbols of the Raj on a Himalayan journey. And undoubtedly the lake view offered a lot more in addition.

Neelima was always charmed by the beauty of the lake when she came into “The Rosewood” nonchalantly in her late teens, on a quiet evening to have some romantic moments with her husband away from the gaze of the in-laws. Prakash, her husband would often show her the lonely moonlight dinner suite in the restaurant.

Even today, Neelima sits alone in the moonlight dinner suite on days of full moon remembering the beautiful moments she shared Prakash in the that corner. Ram Parwesh, the sixty year old manager and Prakash’s old friend managed everything such days and closed the moonlight suite from tourists.

Neelima’s young daughter is now back at home after spending six long years in a boarding school in Dehradoon. She wanted more of her mom and was not quite comfortable with her being in the restaurant all the day. Neelima also wanted to bridge the distance with her daughter by making surprise intermittent visits to the house during the day. But Nidhi, her daughter was not amused.

(The picture here is taken by Samrat Mukherjee, one of the best photographers of our time at Har-ki-Dhun in the Himalayas)

What went wrong: another life lost

As I reached office today, the colleague next to my cubicle informed me about the sad demise of an ex-colleague.

Shocked we remembered her. She was one of the sweet young women full of life and attitude. One who always puts a smile on her face, genial, helpful and gorgeous.

Her love for life was personified in her blog which was titled She loves life. What went so wrong that she let go the very life she was so passionate about. Prayers her soul rests in peace. Amen....

My Guru Gets Magsaysay

Last month one of my mentors got rewarded by the society. The great soul, I idolize for inspiring and bringing me into the world of social engineering, worked for long before being noticed by the society for consideration.
However, it’s another fact that he never wanted any attention for being good.

Deep Joshi, the founder of Professional Assistance for Development Action or PRADAN was considered for Ramon Magsaysay award for his pioneering work in rural development on August 3.

Joshi two decades ago founded PRADAN with the hope that technically qualified people will turn livelihood interventionist. Six years ago, when I first interacted with Joshi in the Kesla, a central Indian settlement surrounded by dense jungles of Satpura, a had a complete metamorphosis.

In a Gond tribal village nearby we discovered how people educated in Indian Institutes of Technologies and Managements have created livelihood opportunities from mushroom cultivation. The interesting thing the mushroom is flaked and sold as the popular Knorr-soup brand by fast-moving consumer goods major, Hindustan Unilever Ltd.

Joshi said, “This product and livelihood integration fits in and around this part of the country ..as a professional you can work different livelihood concept as per the location.”

Joshi was always shy of admitting that he did anything, instead he promoted the local team as the owners of the success. It worked well promoting innovation at more that 30 locations in India, where PRADAN worked.

In my early 20s and raring to do something for the country, I remembered each of his word, until I created a livelihood concept in South-Jharkhand. It was about introducing hybrid corn in about 30 villages.

This concept prevented a imminent large scale migration from the region to brick kilns in Uttar Pradesh, and added on an average an income of about 5,000 rupees or nearly $100. I still find this the most satisfying work in my life.
And I thank Deep and the villagers who believed in me for all of it.

Joshi, an alumnus of MIT and Harvard, saw the first to realize the potential in professionals working a village. However it’s true that every large organization has problem, PRADAN too has.
At the height of decentralization few people started becoming egotist, they chose to exploit the very people whom they were to help. But such minor instances will not take the idea of success as ‘PRADAN’ that Deep Joshi conceptualized.

Cheers Deep. Do inspire more people.

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.

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.