The Misfit

The misfit 

Was it seventh floor? Or was it the eighth? Well, it must be in the reminder SMS they had sent him. He flicked open his phone. It is so awesome to feel in control of everything now a days, he thought. Clearing emails on the go, fetching a cab, checking out photos of old flames on Facebook and thinking how they might have looked next to him… well, that is if they had given him a chance. It gives a strange satisfaction that some really got a worse deal. 

Midlife quirks. It is quirky, isn’t it? He shook his head, he was getting late for the appointment. It was at a private eye clinic at an expensive hospital. He lifted his gaze from the iPhone and looked around. The large lobby, stylish reception, serving staff in immaculate suits walking around and smiling with generosity. He sighed. In just an hour he would be footing a hefty bill which would include paying for this luxury. But then, it also meant he was a ‘fit’ in such a setting now. This has been some distance to cover in life. Quite some distance. 

As he started walking towards the lift, he gaze caught a serving staff who seemed to be suffering from some disability. He didn’t know what it was, but something seemed amiss. The woman seemed out of place in a glitzy place like this. Why would someone subject herself to be pitied upon? Well, it didn’t feel like a politically correct thought… he walked on. 

He stepped into the expensive clinic and it all seemed to go like perfect clockwork. Impressive, isn’t it? Well, he was paying for it through his nose. But hey, one doesn’t always get a good service when you pay big bucks! With one minor twist to the happy tale, they decided to dilate his pupils. Well, that was tough. He couldn’t see much of what was near him. But it was all done and it was time to go home. 

Stepping out of the lift into the glitzy lobby, he put his iPhone to use again. Now to open a ride-hailing app to get a cab home. Not bad, the app announced soon with a welcome beep that he had secured a cab! But hey, what was the car plate number? He tried to focus, took off the glasses. But boy, it all seemed just one blurred jumble! If he couldn’t see it, how would he identify the cab? Well, it didn’t feel much of being in control, did it. He needed someone to help him read it. As he looked around, everyone seemed busy. 

Well, except the woman who seemed so out of place. She was free and she was closest to where he was. It was only reading a few numbers, how hard could it be? Reluctantly, he beckoned her over and requested her to read the taxi number. She tried to look into the app and struggled to read. But she was trying. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth towards her. She was not just doing a job despite some handicap, she was, using corporate jargon, “striving” to be customer centric. 

“2298”, she said. And hesitated. Peered again into the phone. And then she looked up at him with a puzzled face. The screen had gone blank. It really didn’t care people were trying so hard to read it, for the iPhone it was idle for too long! He thrust his thumb and it lit up again. “2293”, she finally concluded. Looking at him, she tried to give what was a blurred smile. That would have generated some pity in him just an hour ago, 

Presently, he couldn’t help but feel a small inkling of what could be a remote gratitude. He grinned at her, not quite sure what to say. Without giving him as much as a curt nod, she walked away. He couldn’t help but think, what would ‘achievement’ mean for her? What was it like to be like her, without much hope of a hefty bonus. May be a few friends or maybe not. Could she be married? As a matter of fact, would she ever find love? Who cared for her on the worldly matters? These didn’t seem comfortable thoughts. And yet, he couldn’t feel pity on her. She had just helped him do what he couldn’t do for all his efforts to focus and squint his eyes. She was certainly not like even the most junior execs in her office with some hope of a brighter future. Yet, she seemed like a person on her own. A person not in any race, but living life and evidently being useful to at least him. The phone rang, his driver was here. Time to step out in the hot sun and boy, having to keep his eyes half closed due to the sun glare. Did he feel much older than he had felt when he started the day? 

Chander's diary (a novel)

Chander leaned closer to her and looked at her face, there were vivid shades of grey… of memories which were clearly wearing away, a confusing fear of what was to come about, a telling strain as if trying too hard to take in all that she was seeing, and yet a distinct color of affection which made her face so warm. He couldn’t help but put his arms around her in a close embrace, as if he was trying to hold on to what she had, to not let it weather away any further, and, he told himself, in a selfish pursuit to hold himself closer to an era long gone by, to draw himself near to moments which seemed so distant in time, and yet so close to his heart.

Time, it is such an amazing thing, he thought. In the journey of life, it changes dimensions at different points in the wide spectrum of a lifetime. It is so linear in the beginning… school to college to a job, half-pants to jeans, girlfriends to a wife, a bike to a small car to a big car… it just all progresses so linearly, as if all time had was a single line, albeit with a rich curve here and there. And looking at her grandmother now he realized how linear it was as you approached the opposite other spectrum of life, increasingly one had less to look forward to, and more to hold on to. It all reversed, memories traveling back in time, and fading away as the line of time grew longer. And yet, in the middle of the expanse of one’s life, time seemed to assume multiple dimensions. It stretches on behind and beyond, it exists in multiple eras at the same time, he reminded himself, much as 8am in London and 4pm in Singapore at the same time.

His grandmother led him onto a journey that stretched back in time and yet portrayed itself in such lucid details that it seemed here and real. And yet he reveled in the dreams for future that he often indulged in… the richness of life’s experiences that the future held out, the ripening smell of fulfillment in after-years that made today fragrant. And of course, the whole next generation of family around him that helped conjure up vibrant images of future so worth looking forward to, and at times, so real in being a reason to smile on a rainy day.

He looked back in his grandmother’s eyes, realizing she could use it more effectively to converse with him now than her failing voice. He held her closer and warm, and nodded, and almost on cue, she smiled along with him.

Is your marketing cap black?

I was talking to a finance director recently at a dinner and he asked me “so, which color of cap would you wear in these times Mr CMO?” Strange question. How does it matter? He elaborated “It may determine how your business fares in 2009”. Right, but hold on, how did a finance director turn more imaginative than a marketing guy?

My agency friends would be vehement in denying the logic of cutting down on advertising in tough times. Indeed, as one of my agency CEO friends recently argued, “What’s the point in talking ourselves into recession?” The underlying logic is that keeping wallet strings untied can keep the demand flowing. I think I noticed a news item recently on advertising giant Ogilvy planning to roll-out books to put-forth ways to get through tough times. So would it affect my budget behind advertising this year?

Yes and no. Tough times are good to get noticed and get good advertising “output” without the clutter of an all color ad on every other page. However, these are also times when the customer is putting you under a sharper scrutiny. He or she is looking for the offer you are making in a much more critical way. Why, didn’t you begin to notice the price boards at petrol stations more closely earlier this year when prices hit $147 a barrel, than you had ever done when fuel prices were below $50 a barrel (or now, when they are indeed below $34)? Need for gratification somehow turns more rational in these times. For one, I have started looking beyond the inside front cover when I buy books now a days.

Marketing to generate demand actually grows its value in these times. And it can be done in markedly different ways. Look at how Air Asia chief Tony Fernandes is cutting down on the fuels surcharges and ordering new aircrafts. While I see fewer Air Asia ads, Tony is making headlines in press and his argument that budget airlines should thrive especially during tough times actually makes sense, and Air Asia begins to emerge as a choice for those of us who may not have looked at it in a serious way.

I don’t imply all marketing has to be cold, hard, rational stuff in these times. But they have to “make sense” to the consumer. I guess in a value-cost dimension, value has to assume a greater part even if it is emotional. Tata Consultancy Services has just signed a sponsorship deal with Ferrari and it lifts the mood for many in the sports sponsorship industry. I would be damned if it makes terrific sense to TCS’ customers though, unless the company is able to demonstrate how its association with Ferrari demonstrates the best in IT consultancy it brings to the table.

Call it my red marketing cap giving way to a black one. Or call it a sharp move to “outcome-driven” marketing. I am putting a critique of the messages we are giving out as marketers to ensure they make better case for the consumer’s hard-earned, and in these times a lot more valued, penny. And indeed, ensure the highly valued penny of my own company is earning immediate and visible returns.

Sand...

I am back after a few months of silence. Well, the months have not been silent in themselves though... I have heard words which were almost never spoken, I have heard sounds which no one made efforts to create, I have sensed feelings which I perhaps never knew existed in such extreme contours.

They have been like sand in one's palm. Now that I think about it, an amazing creation of nature it is, sand is, at once a singular mass with commanding weight of its own, and at another moment split into plural fragments that vanish slowly yet steadily, much like moments from time's clenched fists. Akin it is to my feelings in last few weeks... sometimes sitting so heavy in my heart that it is difficult to breathe, and in another instant sliding away like a drop of dew from a petal... as if the petal was not its home through the beautiful night.

Looking back, it just seems too rich an experience to fret about, too intimate a feeling to wish away. Yet, I struggle with the meaning of it, I wish I could make a sense of it as I have on numerous other occasions, I yearn so tumultous a period could leave me with learnings I could immediately see. I don't hold much in my hands, not at the moment at least. And yet I feel all the grains of sand have not slipped off my palm just as yet... that I am richer having seen such an edginess of nature, that I have a greater repertoire of emotions, though I may never have consciously bargained for it.

I am glad I wrote as much and I am glad to be back to face myself. Let's take the story forward...

A boy who learnt swimming one summer..

My last flight from London to Singapore was spent reading a book written by an author I had never thought I would ever read. It was "Screw it, lets do it" by Richard Branson. I must confess I always thought this maverick CEO of Virgin Atlantic was a just another rich kid with a freedom to experiment with rich hobbies such as owning and selling Virgin Music, a hobby few of us can afford to have, and a hobby that won't necessarily make me any fond of the person.

But the reality, as I found from the pages that rushed past, was Richard Branson was born to a normal middle class family. What he inherited from his parents, especially his mom, was a strong sense of determination to win. Kid Branson, then 8 or 10 years old, went to his aunt's place one summer and his aunt offered him a rather interesting challenge - if Richard could learn swmming before going back home, he would earn 20 pounds sterling from his aunt. Richard tried and on the day the Bransons were ready to head back home, he still hadn't learnt how to float on his own. He was disheartened and sad.

But he still hadn't lost the hope to win, the burning desire to prove he could win, to tell his aunt he never gave up. On the way back in the car the kid saw a small pond and shouted to stop the car. The family stepped out of the car in amazement as the kid ran and threw himself in water. And behold, he was beginning to float on his own in the pond! They were still not home and hence the kid had won the bet. His aunt was happy to pass on the GBP 20 note to the young Branson.

Well, this story doesn't end here. Once while setting up his business Richard needed some cash and his dad didn't have that kind of money. He sent him to see his aunt though, and Richard's aunt lent him the required amount of money that ultimately led to the setting up of Virgin Music. Little did Richard know that his old aunt had put a mortgage on her home to arrange for the cash. Such was her faith in the determination of this young man.

Earning trust is tough, but earning this kind of faith from someone in your ability to win is remarkable. This guy somewhere inspires me in interesting ways.

I was playing badminton yesterday and losing a match 2-12. We had a formidable competition and I knew I couldn't win. But this story struck me and I decided to fight on. We lost 8-14, but I was glad we gave it a shot, we pulled ourselves together and said we won't go down without putting up a stiff challenge. More tomorrow, catch up!

Ignite a match stick before it can glow...

Don't you sometimes feel the urge to grab the spotlight? To be 'the one'? To be the disseminator of gyan (knowledge)?

Well, I do. Looking back, I realize I do have strong pangs of this urge.

And as it appears, I am not alone in thinking that way, in craving to be someone I am not, or am not as yet. Being famous is one of the top fantasies of mankind. It is an insight that inspired the marketers of Filmfare magazine to create that memorable ad campaign where a common man or woman in a moment of solitude suddenly picks up energy and acts as if the person is receiving the famous Filmfare award under spotlights.

While I couldn't bring myself to do that, thinking it to be a bit too superficial, I have hogged my own bit of imaginary importance. I have picked up spiritual nuggets from here and there, and theorized in less profound ways to make myself believe I know something about what mankind is all about, what the spirit soul and the super soul are all about. What, as Dr Kiran Seth - founder of Spic Macay says, 'paraa' and 'aparaa' vidya (material and spiritual knowledge) is all about. And I always thought it was beautiful, it was a well woven fabric.

But somewhere I couldn't conceal from myself a feeling of lack of depth, an inability to see and experience truth as it is. Lack of an internal glow that makes you feel satisfied from within.

And then I read Swami Vivekananda last week and realized, you can't make a match-stick glow unless you have enough substance that makes it ready, and until you have made it hit the rugged patch and created a spark. Once it has begun to glow, it would attract attention even in a dark, large forest. It would have enough flies flocking around it to share the warmth. Sri Ram Krishna Paramhans imparted this knowledge to him and Swami Vivekananda says in his book ‘My Master’, “I often tend to lose sight of this advice, how important it is to make one seek, acquire, and test the truth for oneself before beginning to disseminate the information to others”.

The challenge for all of us is to find that one idea, that original thought that would define our being in this world. As Vivekananda says, “even if a man locks himself up in a cave, comes up with a brilliant thought and dies, that thought would never die there. It would break through the stone walls of the cave and spread out. It would move on its own till it has reached the humanity and disseminated itself among men and women of substance”.

A thought never thought of, an idea never dreamt of, an original probe for the one within us. How often do we stop in our tracks to even wonder about it? Those who merely see that Asia stayed backward for hundreds of years while the West progressed, overlook the fact that the Orient had the courage and the determination to pursue an original thought that connected it to the one within. A determination that defied the basic instinct to hoard, to amass wealth, and to enjoy life as is apparent to human senses.
That courage to give up everything in the search of eternal truth was what defined human existence for the Orient. Little else, in many ways, mattered.

I am not sure about the ability to find the truth within, but this thought alone gives me the courage to hold on to my steps, to drill deeper, to find something before I progress to the next step... before I run on with life as I have been living it for the last 20-30 years. Is there anything else to be shared otherwise?

Let the world pass by, let the steps running past me sound distant… this is my life and possibly the only lifetime I know I have. Let me spend more time on the steps, the goals may be more inside me than in the world beyond. I need to ignite the spark that would make me glow from within… a glow that seldom arises, but ones awaken, that never dies.