Five years...

 Five years…

        It’s been five years since I started writing into ‘A Teacher’s Diary’. On the eve of Independence Day of 2011 I uploaded my first article that was a debate ‘We understand the importance of freedom’. There was no target, plan nothing just I needed a platform of my own. I loved writing but had no space for publication and that was obvious. I already had written couple of articles. I approached a newspaper through an acquaintance. The editor responded well. He went through my article Teachers Day. He was in tears after reading it. He assured me of publication of article. I sent soft copy but it never appeared in that newspaper. To be honest there never was  conceit associated with my writing. I tried to console myself. But was dejected no doubt. Then I decided against sending my articles to any newspaper. I contemplated on starting the blog and ‘A Teacher’s Diary’ was born. 
    It was received well within a small circle of my students. I felt satisfied. I just wanted to write and share with my friends. Had no self-deceiving claims of being a very good writer not even today. My approach is simple learn from others, don’t copy and just write when you feel an urge. What surprised me was positive response of my students and I must mention passed out students. In a way they encouraged me. When I look back they definitely were very generous in appreciating the ideas in articles and ignoring the style that needed refinement. I did improve over this period. 
     It’s so strange sometimes you feel that the article is nice one but then not many find it that way. When you are not so sure about the article it gets good reception. In a way not being sure about the article is good for it keeps you away from unnecessary self-importance which otherwise can easily destroy whatever creativity you have. My first reader is my better half who has no other choice but to bore the brunt of my creativity. Others have the option of not logging on to blog. There are readers and visitors. Some are generous enough to like the link without even reading the article. They give thumps up on facebook out of their affection for me. Good writer or not so good for them I as a person is important and that makes me humble. 
         With 55 plus articles on blog I must say I have been through writing close to 200 pages of a book. Just wanted next page to be better than the previous one. When readers, though few, want more articles from me my resolve strengthens. Writing an article is an experience in creativity and an opportunity to express and yes to improve.
         It’s been five years I started this blog. Let me admit when I started this blog the rejection provided an opportunity but I was desperately in search of creative engagement for I was going through a negative phase as a teacher. I was very low on motivation, my teaching quality was affected at least I felt that way. I was alert to understand that if I fail to find a creative engagement I will not sustain as a teacher. My job will continue but I will miss my journey to be a good teacher. There were reasons why I found myself bottom low on motivation and will share the story one day on this blog. 
        ‘A Teacher’s Diary’ gradually pulled me out of negativity. Giving me life time experience that if you are low in motivation, seeking inspiration to be positive creative engagement is the best solution. This is an opportunity for me to thank all those who read my articles, appreciate and encourage me to be better. For an insignificant writer like me the count of page visits, though does not count much in reality puts a smile on my face.

  Thank you.
   

Talent alone is not enough

Talent alone is not enough

      

              Talent alone is not enough unless you work hard and you put in the effort on a daily basis...       Cristiano Ronaldo

        One fine morning I found Cristiano Ronaldo on the white board of my daughter’s study room with his quote “Talent alone is not enough unless you work hard and you put in the effort on a daily basis.” A nice quote with a sense of reality in it. She now studying in 12^th preparing for the examination she needed this realistic as well as motivational sentence probably more than anybody else. This sentence has two overtones. The realistic one is for those who are considered as talented. They are in a way gifted people but unless they put in hard work consistently they are unlikely to give justice to their talent. There are as many examples as one can remember of once talented people receding in oblivion silently. We find many talented people in all kind of fields starting exceedingly well, making a mark in the beginning but missing in the darkness after that brief stint. Is it destiny? May be but did they write it? And that’s the question. Talent is not enough unless you work hard consistently.

       What attracts me more is the second overtone hidden in the sentence. That is even if you are not talented as per society’s conventional thinking you still can succeed if you work hard consistently, on daily basis. The reason why I find this not so explicit or what I find implicit connotation is that only few people are gifted. They are in minority. Most belong to an average, somewhat less than gifted one. I find this meaningful to most of us who can anytime work hard on daily basis and do wonders. I think hard work is easier if done for a day but doing it every day with dedication and discipline is a real challenge. This is where most fail and live a life of anger and frustration arising out of success that eluded them. Destiny if you believe has a role to play but that you were not destined to work hard is a self deception. In study or sports or any field nobody has ever been able to invent a substitute for hard work. And it pays. So we find Sachin Tendulkar working hard in the nets even after having 50 hundreds under his belt. Lata Mangeshkar  working on her classical singing even when she was unchallenged melody queen of music.

         I find this sentence inspirational though most people might find it portraying hard reality. If you feel that you are not a gifted one, that is just a feeling or your assessment of yourself. Come on start working hard, you still can defy your destiny. Ronaldo puts hard work ahead of talent. And yes there is an interesting tag associated with it. Almost same sentence I must have repeated to her many times. She is in 12^th and we are concerned about her studies so she is always under the shower of advice. Work hard, talent is not enough… the list is long enough but anyone can guess it easily. When I read the sentence on the board my first reaction was that ohhh it’s same as what I have been telling her. In our education system this 12^th has gained such an importance that all concerned from students to parents are under stress. It has almost become notorious.  One interesting observation is that apart from few exceptions the definitions of ‘studying properly’ of parents and of wards differ significantly. There are areas of overlap but that space is small and larger areas don’t converge. And we find parents and ward out of tune regarding studies.   

        Parents are concerned and child is facing volley of questions. She also is administered doses of advice. It often irritates her. The story I think is repeated in many homes. Most of us know that we should let her study according to her perception. We also know that 12^th is important but it’s not everything but the concern for the future of child and yes expectations overpower common sense. The sentences like talent is not enough… are part of the volley of advice which she is forced to face. When I saw the sentence on board I initially was glad that she took the advice seriously but then I realized that it was Ronaldo not me whose advice she was ready to follow. Same thing I was telling her for almost a year but it never found a way to whiteboard, it appeared on board as quote of Ronaldo. I was fast in drawing conclusion that it was our habit that unless advice comes from a celebrity it was not hindered to. We care not for what is said but we are always interested in who said it.

         Is it the glamour that is associated with celebrity that blinds us? We are attracted to who is saying, who is doing and not what is said, and what is done. How often mundane activities of so called celebrities find undue focus in media just because we are interested in it. Stupid actions, ridiculous remarks, worth ignoring, become news items. Once addicted to it we lose aptitude of focusing on the thought and personalities dominate. Due to this approach celebrities failed to attract me to become their follower. I appreciate the talent but glamour fails to blind me. I consider them as humans and not super humans. In this light when I saw Ronaldo’s sentence on board I did feel slightly hurt but I forgot.

        After couple of days it suddenly appeared in mind again. I was sitting quietly pondering over some issues regarding pressure on students. I also remembered that it slightly upset me. Was she wrong? I was in a different frame of mind. The initial reaction was gone, I was now responding. Considering her wrong was self deception. When Ronaldo says it  he has years of hard work behind it. He is successful, he is talented but he is clear in his ideas that he reached there through sheer hard work. At that level he must have seen players with terrific talent not performing to the expectations. He underlines hard work after living a life like that. His endorsement comes not as celebrity but as a player who though immensely talented was never short of hard work. She was not wrong.

        What you say is important no doubt but you also have to live that thought. As a teacher I am never short of ideas and advises given to students. The incident has given me a different perspective of ‘who said it?’ I find advises given to others reflecting personal philosophy of life are often difficult to live in personal life. But when given as a well wisher and with honesty of purpose they still remain one’s philosophy of life. Living life like that is always a challenge.

      One fine morning on the same whiteboard was written

                      On the bigger canvas of life ‘today’ is just a dot…

                                                                                                   Parag Dhankar 

        Challenge for me now is to live life like that…

       

Gibran’s Blessed City

The Blessed City

      In my youth I was told that in a certain city every one lived according to the Scriptures. And I said, "I will seek that city and the blessedness thereof." And it was far. And I made great provision for my journey. And after forty days I beheld the city and on the forty-first day I entered into it.

        And lo! the whole company of the inhabitants had each but a single eye and but one hand. And I was astonished and said to myself, "Shall they of this so holy city have but one eye and one hand?" then I saw that they too were astonished, for they were marvelling greatly at my two hands and my two eyes. And as they were speaking together I inquired of them saying, "Is this indeed the Blessed City, where each man lives according to the Scriptures?" And they said, "Yes, this is that city." "And what," said I, "hath befallen you, and where are your right eyes and your right hands?" And all the people were moved. And they said, "Come thou and see."

      And they took me to the temple in the midst of the city. And in the temple I saw a heap of hands and eyes. All withered. Then said I, "Alas! What conqueror hath committed this cruelty upon you?" And there went a murmur amongst them. And one of their elders stood forth and said, "This doing is of ourselves. God hath made us conquerors over the evil that was in us."And he led me to a high altar, and all the people followed. And he showed me above the altar an inscription graven, and I read: "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee; for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that the whole body should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offends thee, cut it off and cast it from thee; for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell."

        Then I understood. And I turned about to all the people and cried, "Hath no man or woman among you two eyes or two hands?"

     And they answered me saying, "No, not one. There is none whole save such as are yet too young to read the Scripture and to understand its commandment."

      And when we had come out of the temple, I straightway left that Blessed City; for I was not too young, and I could read the scripture.

                                                                                 ...Khalil Gibran 

        This simple story by Khalil Gibran amuses me. What made him wrote this story, what was on his mind when he wrote this, it’s really difficult for me to guess. Probably it was dominance of religious dogma. In subtle way he tells us what he meant keeping scriptures beyond human interpretation. But I find in this story the immortal spirit of authority, political or religious, the authority or power that is genetically designed to try for its survival at any cost. What was written more than fifty years ago validates itself even today. The idea is simple and method is proven. Fear is the weapon and protection from it sought and surrender is the only way. You surrender for your safety, willingly. You surrender to the creed. If your right hand offends cut it off, if your right eye offends pluck it out else you are welcome to hell, you suffer. So make a little sacrifice to evade hell. Is it intimidation, it is for you to interpret, for me safety first.

         What difference will it make if I pluck out my right eye and cut right hand?  A small price for safe, better life. I still would be able to see and work even then and when everybody is like this only you feel safe in the crowd. The life then is peaceful, protected and you realize you are dwelling in blessed city. Fantastic way to tell how powers that be work with our psychology! If we interpret ‘right’ as truthful then eye is the vision and hand is the action. Cut right hand means lose your truthful action and pluck your right eye means loss of truthful vision. It’s a loss of correct vision and correct action. ‘Don’t see’ and ‘don’t do’, for you don’t really need this as you are dwelling in a blessed city. Or maybe if you want to live in blessed city you have to shed this burden of right hand and right eye.

         Not thinking in isolation the right hand and right eye, the combination is a moral principal. The action in accordance with conceived truth and vision along the path of truth is a moral way of living life, a truthful way to observe and act but what makes it so offensive to powers? The answer is simple those in power never like being questioned. Asking question means making powers accountable. No power structure is genetically inclined to be accountable that’s why we need democracy and rule of law to force it to be accountable to people. When authority is not operating in the interest of people, there will be questions raised from people who have right eye and challenge is then posed by ‘right hand’. But when right hand and right eye are willingly sacrificed questions and actions also perish. And when questions perish in democracy it operates as tyranny of elected crushed under it is a common man who in hope of safe heaven to live in sacrifices right hand and right eye.

         As decreed in the inscription on the altar in this story, "If thy right eye offends thee, pluck it out... And if thy right hand offends thee, cut it off...”. How can right hand or right eye offend?  If so called offending right eye and right hand are retained how would our whole body land in hell? They don’t offend but in the blessed city almost everybody except children who are too young to read and understand, sacrifice them. The children don’t question authority so no threat. They are innocent but those who can read and understand must be made to give up willingly right eye and right hand. So there will never be any question. The questions don’t come up from intellectually arid and surrendered mind.  The willingness emanates from fear.

           Fear is a time tested lethal weapon. Fear of survival, of self interest, of safety all make us weak. We then resort to frantic search for an entity that will safeguard our interest. The search takes us to the corridors of power. Also when the corridors of power feel insecure they manufacture an environment seemingly unsafe, insecure for the target people. The manufacturing tool can be cast, religion, language ... anything that leaves us emotionally vulnerable. Corridors of power then wait for the people to come. The advice is simple, safety comes at a cost and cost is meagre... right hand and right eye. Just shed that burden and dwell in blessed city. Those seeking safety and self interest live safely in blessed city. But the safety is as defined, designed, dictated and provided by the power. The dwellers are either unaware of nature of this safety or are left without an option of exploring its nature for right eye and right hand are already sacrificed. Corridors of power relish. Those dissenting non dwellers of blessed city may term this safety as surrender.     

             When I think of this story in the context of India, since independence till date we have never been short of energy in developing our country into a blessed city. We love being followers. We like worshipping personalities. We were warned by the makers of our constitution regarding personality cults and dangers to democracy but we have been relentless in our attempts to build blessed cities. Fortunately we have our constitution holding our country and a solid foundation of freedom struggle. In the past and even today we have in majority the followers and those who are bent on opposing the powers and personalities, rest are in minority. Just have a look at facebook pages there are those who worship or a battery of those who hate those in power. The objectivity is a sacrifice done happily. Appreciation for good and criticism when merited flows from objectivity otherwise we only witness either praise for all or hatred for everything. All energy is lost in encounters of praise and hatred.                                 

            It is a mistake to think that this brilliant story of Khalil Gibran is applicable to political or religious powers only. Where you find power structure built on fears and phobias you see the blessed city. In India we have no scarcity of such grounds for building blessed cities. Those in minority who want to retain the constantly attacked thread of objectivity often land in a region flanked on both sides by the blessed cities that are constantly at war.

             But the land in between is the plateau of democracy.   

                   

  

                                           

Being Wise

Being Wise

The Wise King 

       Once there ruled in the distant city of Wirani a king who was both mighty and wise. And he was feared for his might and loved for his wisdom. Now, in the heart of that city was a well, whose water was cool and crystalline, from which all the inhabitants drank, even the king and his courtiers; for there was no other well.

         One night when all were asleep, a witch entered the city, and poured seven drops of strange liquid into the well, and said, "From this hour he who drinks this water shall become mad." Next morning all the inhabitants, save the king and his lord chamberlain, drank from the well and became mad, even as the witch had foretold.

         And during that day the people in the narrow streets and in the market places did naught but whisper to one another, "The king is mad. Our king and his lord chamberlain have lost their reason. Surely we cannot be ruled by a mad king. We must dethrone him."

        That evening the king ordered a golden goblet to be filled from the well. And when it was brought to him he drank deeply, and gave it to his lord chamberlain to drink.

         And there was great rejoicing in that distant city of Wirani, because its king and its lord chamberlain had regained their reason. ... Khalil Gibran

        It was 7.30 pm I was at a big square at Nagpur waiting for green. It was a long wait. Suddenly a bike rider by my side zoomed in top gear, crossed the square and disappeared. Before I realized anything two more followed him in seconds. I waited for almost a minute and changed gears only when it was green. There was no traffic police around probably this prompted those young bikers to jump the signal. Couple of days passed by I was at a square at Nagpur waiting for the green. It was around noon and traffic was not so dense, not many vehicles there, a holiday might be the reason. Two three bikers swiftly jumped the signal. I was tempted to follow them. I tried to but my body did not follow my heart it fortunately followed my mind. Though there was an urge to move my bike stayed in neutral. I was little uncomfortable as I could not muster up enough courage to follow them. There was no police there so I would easily have gone my way. But simply I could not.

        A same city, not my own, I was at a different square and different timing but similar situation. Scarce traffic was tempting the riders to jump the signal. Soon two bikers in front of me moved in spite of red. I desperately wanted to follow but just couldn’t. The one behind me stared honking to push me. My heart was eager but mind was not willing. One more biker behind me honked. I finally made up my mind and moved. It was still red but I didn’t stop. The bikers behind me followed. We crossed the square in the desired direction. I started thinking about what happened. A simple incident, though it took few lines to express it took seconds to happen. A thought came to my mind that twice before that day I did not jump the signal. I resisted the urge but third time I did it. Invited by bikers in front and pushed by bikers behind I did break the jinx.

            A win may be of my heart over my mind. Really … surprising… I broke the rule. Twice I couldn’t but finally I did it. All I needed was a motivation and a sense that I too have followers and yes no police. No traffic as such four five persons were easily breaking the rule. I had little hesitation but I followed them, though in the wrong direction. I was part of the crowd, not alone, I had no fears, I had company rather I was one of them.

      It took time for me to realize it was that dormant small element of the wise king in me that ultimately followed the crowd.   In the brilliant story of Khalil Gibran the mighty king drinks from the well to survive as king for he realizes that if he doesn’t he would lose crown. What an assessment of psychology of leadership who believes only in survival. A small element of wise king resides in all of us. It unknowingly comes to fore in different manifestations. In our own life, necessities are frequently guided by comparisons. Often our needs, our coveted life styles are mere derivatives of comparisons. We rarely decide purely on the basis of what we want, what kind of life style we love?  We just want to follow somebody else to be in vogue. If everybody possesses it then it becomes mandatory for me to have it. Only few can resist the pressure of being different. If only we resist the madness of comparisons and possessions our life would be less stressful. How often we follow society just because everybody around is doing it else we might be labeled mad.  

           In the story the mighty king had only two choices either to drink from the well and be like everybody or allow his crown to be threatened. He wisely chooses madness to survive. When the crowd is emotionally charged up and when individuals lose intellectual identity anybody appealing wisdom is labeled mad. Those who surrender independent thinking to crowd start judging the wisdom of others in the reflection of their own madness, the obvious result is the casualty of wise men. What we see today as character of most of the leaderships that it prefers to follow what crowd wants and not what is good for society. We see leaders who retain power at the cost of their own thinking of what is good for people. Why blame them people want Wise Kings to rule. The fear of losing power itself is understandable. When gaining or retaining power remains the sole objective, becoming one with the madness of crowd turns into wisdom. 

        Societies, communities survive on the elements of similarity. When vested interests are closely linked to rigid rules of unity, the voice of dissent chokes. For members then the choice is to surrender intellectual independence or get label of madness and the Leaders also are left with two choices follow the community or get dethroned. When society is vulnerable to emotional appeals of survival, of safeguarding its interests challenging the rule of law becomes a tool to establish leadership. And then even a hint of possibility of new emerging leadership tempts the established leaders to drink from the well to be part of the crowd. The voice of dissent becomes madness, the refusal to follow crowd disqualifies you for leadership. All along it then is easy to manipulate and command people on their emotional vulnerability. Wise people led by Wise Kings.

         History is replete with individuals and leaders drinking from the well. But the choice of drinking from the well is always personal. When the King drinks from the well he finds equivalent in Gibran’s Wise King but can never become the great King whose legend survives for generations. In our own experience we know in the violent madness of homicide and revenge the man preaching peace and humanity receives bullets.

That happened after our independence... continued in the past and present is no different.
If we seek equivalent in people of Wirani, Wise Kings are sure to rise.
Choice is ours.

But often we wanted Wise Kings and Wise Kings…needed us

And that’s the tragedy… 

Candle and Light

          I was in a queue waiting for my turn. The slow movement of queue and my position made it clear that it would take longer than was expected. I had little choice but to play with my mobile. I opened facebook, started  scrolling down. At one post I found vitriolic comments written abusing a community and response equally disgusting. I immediately shifted to my timeline. It is always pleasing for here I meet my well wishers, my friends, mostly my students. I find likes and lovely comments to my profile picture, birthday wishes, and comments on links of my blog and many more. Just going through it is a kind of reunion for me. It reminds me of quote of Khalil Gibran which I like very much, “Remembrance is a form of meeting”.  Every student there finds place in my heart for the simple reason that every like or nice comment is a pleasing reminder that students-teacher relationship is surviving test of time.

        Now a day’s everybody talks about professional approach and attitude. Student teacher relations cannot remain isolated from it. I don’t hold any grudge against professional approach but probably I belong to little old school of thought. I prefer emotional attachment than professional approach when it comes to my relations with students. I am a professional, my job is teaching and I am paid for it, a professional approach as simple as this and true but it doesn't put me in comfort zone. Being a teacher means not restricted to this, I always wanted to go beyond this. I have always strived for this, struggled as well in attaining this goal. Haven’t met with grand success but have done reasonably well. And yes I want to better my record. This is an area of emotional bonding, caring and feeling for their welfare. Not that I was immensely successful but the bonds that survived test of time keep my spirit high. When on the roller coaster ride of time machine physical changes are inevitable. Still when comes a comment on profile picture that no change sir all these years it’s so natural to be happy about but more than that what is satisfying is the survival of the old bond. If my profile picture becomes a bridge between the present and the past when we shared time the feeling is wonderful. This is the reason why every like matters for me. The hint of survival of emotional bonds, the sense of being still connected is reason enough to be happy.

            On my timeline I landed on a photograph, a farewell scene, I standing with Vikram, Shiraz, Amitava and Pankaj. It was a pleasing experience. To be honest I looked better for then I was 8-9 kg lesser and second my boys with me. Few days before I posted the photograph on my timeline I had a call from US. It was of Shiraz. We immediately melted into past. We were talking after many days. We haven’t met for years. But the time and distance had failed to affect the warmth. It was same. Common topics department, debaters club … all erupted one by one. We relived the past and shared the future. It was farewell time coincidently so I mentioned to him the photo with Vikram , Amitava and Pankaj. He informed me that they were same, the way I knew them. Yes changes there were but along periphery only, the core remained intact. Time failed to stir the depth. The boys around me, the farewell, all came back to me. It was refreshed in my memory, nice boys now turned gentlemen no longer around me but the photo gave me a sense of being connected. It also reminded me of the tradition of passing the candle. The Electronics Dept. had this tradition. It was started by seniors of that batch. At the end of the farewell all final year students light the candles and pass to juniors and they all put them in corridor of auditorium. It was wonderful.   

             As expected the photo immediately attracted attention and likes and comments came along. In the post I did mention that one of the changes that time had brought was that the candle passing was replaced by DJ and the senior-junior burn the dance floor not the candle. Along with some nostalgic comments immediately came the comment that the candle passing should not have stopped. The regret was endorsed by few more. It was understandable. The tradition had a uniqueness and emotional bearing. Ours was the only department with such tradition augmenting the pride the electronics students always had that innovative ideas in college often were initiated in their den. I was aware of this but had no clue whether it really was the case or just was part of usual inter-departmental competition and rivalry. Now at the end DJ explodes. All the students dance to the tune of music being played. The auditorium is filled with light flashes, deafening music and vibrating and shaking bodies. All just enjoy, sweat it out there. When the stop is enforced all come out body dipped in sweat and thirsty. That is it.   

           But that tradition was fantastic. At the end of the last speech by either student or a faculty everything would stop. Music, speeches all come to an end. The first candle would be lit and the other candles join the first. All the final year students would then be joined by juniors. Atmosphere would then be choked with emotions. Yes that overpowering feeling of leaving and passing the tradition of departmental pride could be seen in the candle light. Finally coming out and putting the candles in the corridor together. It was an end that offered beginning. I still believe that is the best way to end farewell as it strengthens the emotional bonds that develop in the college. Time will always play the role of separator but even a small remembrance can help us relive the golden days.

           The professional approach and attitude has replaced building relations. The first one is a razor sharp approach of give and take, a belief that everything comes at a cost which one must be ready to pay and get what is aspired. No place for emotions and relations apart from professional. True it may be in the corporate world but not at home. And in college also otherwise it turns into corporate world devoid of emotions.  It’s an old school of thought I probably belong to.

          Time and distance often play havoc in human relations. A photograph of Shiraz, Vikram,  Amitava and Pankaj holding candles and posing with me has frozen me in time with them. Whenever I watch it I feel the same attachment and warmth that I shared with my students.  It I hope will defy time and distance. Passing the candle was a small emotional act but its light survived for many years. Its warmth can still be experienced.
        Though it’s a candle in the wind it challenges the onslaught of time…

        And hence must be passed…