In order that people may be happy in their work....

Ruskin wrote thus: "In order that people may be happy in their work, these three things are needed: They must be fit for it. They must not do too much of it. And they must have a sense of success in it."

After a series of events over the last year, my level of conviction in these words has grown. Every one in their youth is told that work is worship. But, never told that quality matters as much as quantity, if not more. Organizational growth and sustainability is directly tied to the happiness and intellectual engagement of all the pieces within it. The scale and variety of systemic problems varies from one organization to another. Intuition would lead us to say that organizational size does play a major role here. What are the common problems ailing any organization over a certain period??

First one that instantly pops up in any discussion is a lack of information flow. "But, I was never told of it" problem that everyone has experienced. Communication gap is now a part of everyday lexicon. Yet it is perhaps the most frequent problem noticed. Information flow is not a unidirectional flow. It has to go in both ways. The grass roots need to be perfectly aware of what the top hierarchy is planning and formulating. After all, they are the ones who will implement the process. Meanwhile, the upwards flow is important as it gives the top an exact idea of the concerns, grievances and challenges that the the bottom might have. Otherwise, there is always the danger of a shipwreck if the captain does not know that an iceberg is on the horizon...

The other problem that is very frequently observed is that of lack of precise planning. "Things changed and this came up" attitude arises out of this. Planning is very important as far as actual execution is concerned. Number of problems anticipated during planning phase makes it that much more easier during execution. Which brings me to an interesting question. Who should be the players during the planning phase? Every person who will play a role in the execution needs to be involved. Planning cannot be compartmentalized. You cannot have one set plan and another execute. The two sets have to intersect at some point. The finest aerospace engineers cannot design the most advanced and useful planes without actual inputs from the guys who will eventually fly them...

Another problem which happens often is "sit on it" attitude. Everyone knows there is a problem. But instead of doing something about it, they sit on it. Let it be. This does not help anyone. This problem is sometimes exacerbated because of the refusal to accept the fact that the problem exists. Both the management and grass roots are guilty of this on various levels. Simply acknowledging the fact and then letting it lie is even worse than refusal to acknowledge it in the first place. A small hole can bring down the great dam....

The last great problem that I intend to discuss today is that of "this is how it has always been" attitude. Legacy when right needs to be carried forward. There is no shame when one has to dump wrong legacy. This is the greatest vice that affects every work culture. That one which can remove itself from the clutches of this problem thrives and ensures growth. Work culture is something that is inherent and local to every organization. It can be adapted to suit the needs of the organization. However, letting the organization adapt to the work culture is the wrong way. People who are so much a part of the work culture are the ones who will prevent any change to it. This is where youth can play a fantastic role. It knows no bounds. It is willing to take risks and inject that very much needed dynamism. However, there is always the risk of frustration among youth when things do not move in the desired way....

Youth is one of the most important driving factors behind any organizational growth and sustainability. Young blood brings in the force and spirit required for uplifting the organization from any stagnancy and decline. It takes time. But during that period, youth matures and understands the exact amount of torque needed to change the direction in which the organization is headed for. It is very much possible that prevalent work culture and organizational framework are so rigid that molding any change is that much more difficult. In fact, there is the chance that the system resists change. Though the change is for the better. Sometimes knowingly. Sometimes unknowingly. Reasons vary...

Going back to Ruskin's words. Every organization needs to find its requirements. These may evolve. However, the basic understanding would remain the same. Both the grass roots and the top hierarchy need to find a perfect balance. Job roles and their scopes need to be defined. Precise planning and the flexibility to change legacy make the work interesting. Motivates the cadre to get involved even more. Success drives success. An engaging work environment fosters a sense of reponsibility and ownership. Drives the grass roots to assume situational leadership. This is beneficial to the organization on the whole in the long run. Cultivate the garden within...

Ending this piece with something to think about. Is work culture an incremental phenomenon?? Or is it something that is driven by natural selection?? What sort of relationship exists between change and work culture??

I speak of garlic, you reply about onions...

I speak of garlic, you reply about onions. What is this? It is the easiest way of avoiding unpleasant things. Happens everyday. Think about it. Sometimes you do it. Many times you are at the receiving end. It is now a very integral part of conversation. But, it is not so easy. You need to be one real good chef to know your onions from garlic. And more so, when to use what and how much...

The right quantity of onions and garlic adds taste. You know that. Why do I speak of garlic? And why do you come back to me with onions? The more sophisticated ones will put a nice touch to it. They will call it a communication gap. The more smart ones will completely be in agreement. As long as the food is good, they dont care. To the more happy go lucky ones sort, they are just playing along. Garlic first, then onions. Or vice versa. These procedural nuances are simply too cumbersome for them. All they are interested is the opportunity to cook something. Whats the most interesting thing in all of this? Both the sides think what they are saying is more relevant. Such talks happen between every guy in love with a gal. Mostly, as an escape from the regular banter. Happens after marriage with more serious overtones. Happens between two friends too. Happens at workplaces. And it is very amusing when it happens there. But, do you ever point out to your boss that an onion is not a garlic? Nopes. And realpolitik says you should not. Happens as a norm in politics. Is a classic feature of red tape. But, this kinda talk is not all that bad at all times. Sometimes, it is the perfect ice breaker. In fact, it would not be wrong to call this onion-garlic talk the mistress of diplomacy...

Machiavelli and Chanakya are I am certain proud of it. Everyone likes it when they are in a corner. But no one likes it when they have someone cornered. Garlics have pods. And onions have layers. The first is said to be good for the heart. Second for the eyes !! And between them they spice up your mind and life...

To say...or not to say...

Everyday there is a moment when you wish you had said something to someone. Everyday there is a moment when you wish you had not said something to someone. What is more difficult? To regret not saying something. Or to regret having said something. Let us take a moment here...Hmmm. Ok. Moving on. As I sit today looking outside the window, I can clearly see somethings. Some moments actually. When I should have said something that I never did. And some moments which I wish to forget for having said something that I should never have. A spoken word and a shot arrow never come back..Well, true. Thats all I can say. But, the word never spoken and the arrow never shot also never come out again. What am I saying? Yes, I am saying that both situations are painful. If you say something that you should never have, you realize it pretty soon. And it is not fun. Now, assume you never said something. Well, you know...years down the line..It hurts real bad...

How I wish I could have changed somethings? Changed the script...But, did any movie ever get to change the script after its release?? No. So it is in life. But, sometimes there are second chances. And you have to be one lucky guy or gal to get that second shot...Really really lucky. How wonderful it would be if we knew what is the right moment and timing to say or not say something!! Neither late nor early. Just in time. How nice it would be to not feel awful after many years about that hasty tongue slip? How nice it would be to not feel miserable after many years about that glued tongue? Haaa. Everything is not so easy. A few things that I have learnt painfully yet thankfully over the last few years. I have to say it. Then I have to say it. I will not get another chance. Next is never to say a mean word to anyone. Only one reason. I wont like it myself after a few minutes. If I like something or some quality or some aspect of someone, I have to tell him or her. A good word never goes waste. A small word of appreciation is always welcome. No one wants to be seen doing a thankless job. If someone is wrong, let know. Invariably, not letting know hurts oneself in the long run. I have the right to grumble. So does the other party. As long as the grumbling is genuine and in the best interests of one and all.

Looking back. I think I should definitely have said atleast one thing at one point of time to someone. And I should definitely never have said so many things at some point of time to so many. To say or not to say. Was the question. The right answer still eludes me....

More than just a game...

The gentleman's game. Yes. It has always been called so. Cricket is more than just a game. It evokes passion. From the early days of colonial pastime to a genuine modern entertainment spectacle, cricket has come a long way. But something about it has not changed. And that is this. It is more of a talking sport than a playing one. You dont need to play it to know its nuances. Its intricacies. Every person among the millions outside the boundary lines is as knowledgeable as the few inside it. Or so it is supposed to be. From the chawls of Mumbai to the beaches of the Caribbean, from the meadows of Old England to the clubs in Sydney, everyone loves to talk about it. Yes, everyone loves more to talk about it than play it. Scarcely, nay impossible would it be to find another game as this....

Every household that is glued to this game knows what I am talking about. The old timers still go by the cut of Bradman and the drives of Sobers. The 70s generation has the swagger of Richards etched in their memories. They still fondly talk about the great fast bowlers of those times. The pace and accuracy of Holding, Lillee and Marshall came naturally to people's discussions. For me and most of the 90s baby boomers, the most remarkable players would be Sachin, Lara and Warne. Decades from now, I and my friends am sure will continue to talk about the consistency of Sachin, the pure artistry of Lara and the magic of Warne. Yes, there have been scandals. There has been talk of corruption. Agreed, there is now an overdose of commercialism. Some say there is no art nor grace left in the game. It is now more like a mechanical science. Has its mix of management theories. Something that can be perfected by repetition. But, amidst all this, cricket talk still retains its innocence and charm. Be it between fathers and sons or even between two friends. Behind every fervent plea from a cricket tired wife or girlfriend is still that curiosity to know the latest score....

How I miss my cricket talk with some of my friends? I know some of them are very passionate. Every win of their favorite team is like a personal win for them. Every century scored by their favorite batsman is simply adding to their treasure trove. Every milestone that their favorite bowler reached is memorized by them. I miss the talk. There would be times when everyone else would make lighthearted fun of that one guy whose larger than life player failed or his deeply adored team lost. There would even be times when one of us would feel vindicated at having made a prediction that just came true...."See, I told you na" kinda moment. The gleam in the eyes when the team won. The downcast faces when the team lost. Cricket is not just any sport. It is something that every cricket lover takes pride in. And his or her heart has something to say about it. And there is every effort made to appear well informed about the game. Everyone offers their two cents advice before the game. During the game. And indeed after the game. But it is more than that. There is criticism and praise. There is emotion filled chirpiness. The game's uncertainties add to the thrill. Everyone just basks in the joy of the spectacle of this beautiful game...

Give us a bat and a ball. And we will play for a few hours. But take us to see a game of bat and ball. And we will talk about it for the next few days. And even remember that lovely game after many years....

To see a world in a grain of sand...

I went for a walk today. And I went over those lines again. A grain of sand and a wildflower. Somehow it appealed to me in an unfathomable way. I come back. And sit on the stairs outside my doorstep. And I look up at the sky. It is a quiet evening. A few rain drops just kiss the summer soil. There is a mild feeling to the air. And it is good. I can see the whole place full of flowers. Like a newly married bride. Decked up to please and charm. It brings a smile on my face. A faint breeze begins to blow. I still wonder. I pick up a pebble and throw it at a shrub close by. I pick another. And I am about to throw it as well. I stop. And look at it. Look at it closely. It has a few lines on it. I pick up another one. It has those lines too. I try to come up with some meaning for those lines. And I am not able to. I throw that pebble as well. It just bounces off the grass. And disappears into the vast green before me. Then I look at my palm. And there are lines too. I am still. I get down the stairs and look at other pebbles there. I go to a violet colored flower and examine closely. It has some lines too. And then I again look at my palm. I get inside. Lie down on my bed. And I close my eyes...

Havent written anything in a week or so. Why? Because these few lines of William Blake have stirred me. And I was not able to decide on them. In a grain of sand. In a wild flower. The vastness of the world and the heavens. All that is there to it. Can it be done? And how? Realization. Perhaps the only word that captures the essence of these lines. And yet, leaves out as much for the spirit to remain in awe and wonder...The oneness of all. The emptiness of the world. And its abundance at the same time. May be we should see beyond the obvious. In a busy life. We have no time to look around. Something that is always before our eyes. But we never appreciate every aspect of it...

And I open my eyes. And some of it makes sense now. All the lines mean something. Some lines mean the same. Some lines dont. The stones. The flower. And my palm. The lines intersect at some points. And move in parallel at others. They are thin at some nooks. And have tributaries at other edges. Each line alones make sense. And all lines together do even more. I have the pebble and the flower by my side. And every other second, my gaze is drawn towards them. More towards those lines on them. These lines have some strange quality that now draws me towards them. I put both my hands together as if reading a book. And the lines on both palms connect. Seamlessly. And there lies the answer to my week long dilemma...

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
(From "Auguries of Innocence" By Blake)

Everything is connected. But, I see everything only in parts. Every part is brilliant on its own. But their presence together is even more so. The world too is connected through me. My ideals. My thoughts. My conscience. My faith. My karma. And each dictates if I am able to see everything. And if my soul can feel everything. In my palm. In those lines. I see some meaning now. That same meaning I see in the pebbles. And the flowers. The world is infinite. The heavens too. But so are the lines on the pebbles..the flowers and my palm. All I need to do is open my hands..and look beyond the lines. I am my world. And it is what I make of it....

Written in sand and...carved in stone....

They lived near the beach. He loved her so much. So did she. They were a simple couple. Deeply in love. Everyday she would bid him adieu at dawn. Watch as he would walk out of that door. Take his little boat. He would pat their dog and go away. He would load all that he needed into the boat. Same ritual every morning. Look back at the house from where his beloved would wave to him. She had seen him do this for the last seven years. Yet, it all seemed different and new each day. She would see him disappear at the horizon. Anxious. And those eyes moist. But, she knew he had to go. And there was a pride in her eyes that her man was out to conquer the sea. And she would eagerly await his return.

He was a fisherman. She looked after the house. Together they lived a life that was at peace. Their small world had its share of happiness and worries. When she would have nothing to do, she would collect shells on the beach. She liked to play the flute. Always the same song. But, he loved it. He never said it. His eyes did. Today, she sat under the palm tree. The sun was high. The hammock shook slowly as if inviting the wind to play with it even more. The dog barked and went away behind the ball that she threw away. She knew that he was content with his life. As long as he had some bread and fish for the night, he was not worried. But her mind would not agree. She felt that there had to be more to their life. She had seen the other day another man sell pearls. He would make more money if even he did the same, she thought. Today, she would tell him what she thought.

He returned. Small fish shook wildly in his boat. He did next what he would do everyday. Took them out. Cleaned them. And sorted them out. Went to the dealer to sell them. Came back with his days earnings. He saw her. He knew she had something to say to him. After a moment of silence, she told him about selling pearls. As usual, he resisted change. His life had been like that always. But, then she had come into his life seven years ago. They had no children. He knew that made her sad. Everyday he would try to keep her happy. Bring her some wild flowers or some beautiful conch. But, today he knew that she had made up her mind. Nothing he would tell would reason with her. Finally, he accepted her wish. From the next day, he would look for pearls and other sea gems.

Two months went by. He was not doing well in his new work. Some days he would find some gem. Other days he would return with some exotic shell or a large conch. But, it would not be enough for a living. He was frustrated. She was unhappy with him. Things came to a standstill one day. She told him that his heart had never been in it. And that is why the sea would not give him his share of pearls. He tried to reason with her. But nothing would seem fair to her tonight. They argued about it for several hours. She was upset. And he was heartbroken too. She pushed the door away. And ran outside. And she looked up at the sky. It was a sight to behold. The blue waters glimmered under the light of the full moon. The waves came slowly to the shore as if to tell it that even they think that this night is magical. The stars looked down upon these lovers. Plankton shone gloriously. The palm trees swayed as if moving to a tune played by the sky. There were no clouds. It was a clear sky. She picked up a shell. And with it wrote in sand these words...

"O mighty sea...O lovely sands..O beautiful moon..O all ye eternal stars..You know how I feel tonight. I feel my life is incomplete because of him. He is here and still he is not. I do not want to see him anymore. He does not love me. I hate him."

The sun rose. She had not spoken to him later that night. He came out. Did what he would do every day. Went to the palm tree. Collected his stuff and put it in the boat. Patted the dog. And took his boat to the shore. He looked back if she would wave to him. She did not. She was still upset. But he knew that in her heart she still loved him. He turned back. He looked towards the sun. Looked up towards the sky. Heaved a sigh. He could see the birds flying without care. The waters were still. So, he set out. She went back inside their house. And tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. But, something inside told her. It was not to be...

It was evening. She sat there staring at him. The dog was quiet too. The master was dead. The other fishermen had brought his lifeless body. There had been a storm in the sea later that day. The fisherman had been caught in that. And there he was now. At peace. His eyes looked upward. The heart would not beat anymore. His hands stretched outwards as if asking the sky to come to him. His boat lay there. Broken. And so was his body. She said nothing. Looked nowhere but at him. Slowly, those tears rolled down her eyes onto his hands. She thought of nothing else. He was gone.

A few days later. She was sittng under the palm tree. And she saw something. It had not been there before. A stone. And on it was written something. She read it. And she read it again. She cried. Her tears fell on the stone. And the stone turned there. Touched by this emotion. As if there were a soul in it. And that soul had just been touched by this. Affection. She ran back to that spot where she had written those words that night. That fateful night. When they had fought. If only she had known that it would be their last night together. She could not find those words. The sands had been washed away. And she cried. Wept more. She thanked the sea for having erased those words. She thanked the sands for being so kind as to have removed all those painful memories. Later that night. She sat on the shore again. The waters touched her feet. The stars looked down upon her. She could feel his presence. She knew he was looking over her. She would miss him. She loved him dearly. She was glad that she had written those terrible things in sand. And he had done so in stone. For that was how both of them really felt. Besides her lay that stone. On it were neatly carved these words...

"O mighty sea...O lovely sands..O beautiful moon..O all ye eternal stars..You know how I feel tonight. I feel my life is complete just because of her. She is not here and still she is. I do not want to see her sad again like this. I know she loves me. And I love her too."

She walks in beauty...

Her smile. Her charm. Her beauty. Always cheerful. Who is she? Not a moment goes by that I do not think of her. Is she for real? Everything about her is magic...

Her chosen color is lilac. Nothing pleases her more than daffodils. Loves to sway on Sinatra classics. Plays the violin. Opts the tango. Chemistry is her favorite science and Romance her preferred literature. Mercury always amazes her. Harry Potter and Elizabeth Bennet are her perennial favorites. Tennis is her pastime. Walks out to gaze at the Pyramids simply when they are spoken of. Thinks the Alpine slopes are the most beautiful on Earth. Looks celestial in that little black dress. And her eyes gleam even more with that pearl necklace around her tender neck. Just like her fashion model Audrey Hepburn. Has tears rolling down her eyes after watching Casablanca one more time. Would cuddle up after watching When Harry met Sally. January is her loveliest month. A new start and new hope she believes...

Thinks mermaids exist. Is as comfortable discussing elvish lore as she is talking about the latest ipod version out in the market. Awesome cook. Assumes every ingredient has its own place and time. And it must be done as in the book. Appreciates dal-rice as much as the finest French cuisine. Knows it is all in the mind. Feels a certain thrill when touching the innocent dewdrops on the softest of rose petals. Insists on walking barefoot everyday on the lush grass outside. Considers it her duty to trace a new shape out of the stars every night. Today, it might be a fish. Tomorrow may be a sail boat. Looks out of the window every time the canary sings...Adamant that it is calling out to her....

She is open and reserved at the same time. Depends on how you see it. Likes to dream. And yet has her feet solidly on the ground. The demeanor of a goat when it comes to family matters. She loves to read bedtime stories to tiny tots. Is fiercely independent. But, wants her man to be the perfect gentleman from the Victorian era when it comes to all matters pertaining to chivalry. Believes in devoting atleast one day of the week towards community service. Is a hawk when it comes to freedom of speech. Is a dove when it comes to human and nature rights. Honesty is for her the most sacred virtue....

Yes, everything about her is magic..When will I see her? When will I get to live my life with her? Now, she comes to me only in my thoughts. Her cherubic appearance. Her playful mirth. Her fingers move across my face..Beckon to come after her..I follow her..She asks me to come forth..I do..She runs across the meadows...I follow her...Her white gown is rustling as the wind blows. I try to keep my eyes on her. She waits..She looks at the beautiful lily by the lake.. Looks back at me. Knows that I am coming. The gaze as that of the most charming gazelle...And then she takes that lily and moves away. I call out to her. And chase her. But, she beats me...And then she vanishes at the horizon. And I am left back all alone. She leaves me with only one thing. Her smile......

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
(From "She walks in beauty" by Byron)