Spark - October 2012 Issue by Spark Editor

Spark Word.World.Wisdom October 2012

Vol 3 Issue 10 44pages

Featured Writers this month 

Preeti Shenoy



Raksha Bharadia



Swapan Seth



Varun Agarwal

Inspiration Fiction | Poetry | Non-fiction | Photography | The Lounge 1

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

05 October 2012

Vol 3 Issue 10| October 2012

Dear Reader, We are happy to present the October 2012 issue of Spark based on the theme, ‘Inspiration’. Inspiring thoughts have taken the form of short stories, poetry, non-fiction and photography in this edition. We also catch up with three bestselling authors who inspire not just through their words but also through their lives. Meet Preeti Shenoy, author of ‘34 Bubble Gums & Candies’, ‘Life is What you Make It’, & ‘Tea for Two & a Piece of Cake’, Swapan Seth, author of ’This is All I have to Say’ and Varun Agarwal, author of ‘How I Braved Anu Aunty & Co-founded a Million Dollar Company’. We also feature an interview with Raksha Bharadia, co-author of the very inspiring and popular Indian Chicken Soup for the Soul series. All this plus your favourite non-fiction segment, The Lounge, lined up for you this month. Enjoy the issue and have a great month! We will see you again with yet another interesting theme. - Editors

Contributors Anupama Krishnakumar Gauri Trivedi Jessu John Kishor V R Maheswaran Sathiamoorthy Parth Pandya Preeti Madhusudhan Smruti Patil Vinay Krishnan Viswanathan Subramanian Zack Mandell

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Writers of the Month Preeti Shenoy Raksha Bharadia Swapan Seth

Spark October 2012 © Spark 2012

Varun Agarwal

Individual contributions © Author

Concept, Editing & Design

CC licensed pictures attribution available at www.sparkthemagazine.com

Anupama Krishnakumar

Published by Viswanathan

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Vani Viswanathan

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Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Inside this Issue FICTION A Blue Day by Preeti Madhusudhan The Mystery Reader by Parth Pandya Limitless Inspiration by Kishor V R Byte-sized Inspiration by Anupama Krishnakumar NON-FICTION The Spark by Gauri Trivedi POETRY Sometimes When It is Hard by Smruti Patil Eyes that Speak by Vinay Krishnan WRITERS OF THE MONTH SPECIAL FEATURE | Inspiring through Words and More by Anupama Krishnakumar Featuring Preeti Shenoy, Swapan Seth, Varun Agarwal INTERVIEW | Of Inspiring Stories and Human Life : An Interview with Raksha Bharadia THE LOUNGE THE MUSIC CAFÉ| Taking Music For a Walk by Jessu John THE INNER JOURNEY| Does the World Really Exist? by Viswanathan Subramanian STORYBOARD | Directors Who Started Small by Zack Mandell SLICE OF LIFE | Is Your Problem Bigger than Mine? by Smruti Patil PHOTOGRAPHY | When Pictures Inspire by Maheswaran Sathiamoorthy

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Fiction A Blue Day by Preeti Madhusudhan Sometimes the muse for a life-changing decision could be a stranger and the inspiring impression that he or she leaves in one’s mind. Preeti Madhusudhan writes a story about Prahalad, an architect who in the midst of a fulfilling personal and professional life, leaves home in search of a more fulfilling life. On the way, he meets the person who changes his life. Read on. That was the third time Prahalad stood behind that woman that day. They had queued up at the immigration counter at Shanghai now after the various counters at Chicago and San Francisco. Prahalad never had to gawk at women. His good looks made sure that he was the one who was gawked at. He lived with a ravishing woman and was very satisfied with their living arrangement. He was an architect and she was a painter. They met through a client and to both their surprise, clicked at the first meeting. They swiftly moved through the various stages of courtship and were currently living together. She was a Greek woman and was all that was Mediterranean and voluptuous. He often said that she made him sense full, ripe olives at the mere thought of her. Neither of them wanted to marry, and so they shocked their friends and acquaintances by having a child together. Olivia (yes, because her mom reminded him of olives) took her mother’s name and took her father’s Indian eyes. She was

an easy child and really, there was nothing to complain about. Life was probably too easy for Prahalad’s taste. He got any project he coveted. Clients couldn’t resist him; some hired him and then bought a plot near the lakes for him to create something for them. He was by no means the most-talented or successful architect around but he certainly wasn’t struggling to get there. Amidst all this success and happiness though, Prahalad was beginning to grow aware of this tiny, nagging worm of a thought. A thought that wriggled and demanded to break free every waking hour – one that infested his dreams. A thought that he needed a challenge to shake off the ennui that was becoming his life. He had acquired a fancy for photography from a roommate long past and forgotten. Having learnt the basics from him, he pondered over it whenever time permitted. He had always taken pictures of his work on his own and had made his own portfolio. He had felt then that an 4

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

architect understood the crevices, folds and sanctity of his creation better than anyone else. He had over the years acquired various cameras and lenses and maintained a rucksack of equipment. While filing his recent design for his portfolio he realised that he had over a dozen photographs of a similar element from a dozen other projects. His hands shook as he turned the pages and the dozen pictures seemed to laugh at him and fill up the entire portfolio and room.

berland suede boots underneath his flowing ochre robes and the Indian guy with his leather jacket and black leather shoes and gold from every available appendage make more sense than she does. The monk obviously thinks downtown Chicago and San Francisco are as just as difficult to navigate as the confounded Himalayas and the Indian guy is modelling himself after the out -of-fashion Italian mafia. But what is she?” he mused.

Amidst the multiple deadlines that he had to meet, he abruptly stopped the very next morning and in the firm grip of this restlessness that was eating him, packed the first things that he could lay hands on from his neatly organised wardrobe. He would never be able to tell if he dumped his camera rucksack in by accident or choice.

He noticed as they changed at San Francisco that she travelled light and had practically nothing, save what was obviously a huge duffel bag of camera equipment, for, he saw her fish out a lens and dive in again to choose between two cameras, to take pictures at the SFO airport. Suddenly, something snapped inside him and as though a veil was removed, things made sense. The monk acquiesced with a divine smile as though he reckoned what it was that suddenly enlightened Prahalad. He had been nodding and genially smiling since god knows when but was more genial and nodded more vigorously now. Prahalad knew what it was that he had to do to complicate his simple and confoundedly easy life. He had to abandon everything he had systematically built and roam the seven seas as a pirate! No, that is the ending to a different story. This Prahalad had to abandon his perfect life and become a vagabond-photographer and see how much of it he can take.

He texted a short farewell to his companion, contractors and clients from the security check point at the International terminal at Chicago just before switching his phone off. That was when he saw her the first time. Was it the way she had dressed? She wore grey slacks over similar coloured suede flats, a murky olive-green top and a thin dull-brown unbuttoned cardigan that hung till mid-thigh. Through a palette of uniformly dull colours she had achieved a studied effect of elegance. But it was her hair that added an element of shock to this elegance. It was thick, black peppered with grey, and long, coiled into a gigantic bun at the top of her head. Prahalad spent the entire first leg of the journey obsessively trying to replace that dark bun with a lighter coloured crew cut. “It just doesn’t fit,” he muttered to himself and it made him uneasy. “There, that Tibetan monk with his rugged Tim-

Now, as Prahalad stood behind her for the third time, he noticed subtle things about her that completed his mental picture of her. Her smell, the little golden hair on her forearms, the faint wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and the crow’s feet at the edge of her eyes, her clean but 5

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

unpolished nails, the absence of any kind of jewellery or makeup on her person. Asides all this observation and enlightenment, he couldn’t muster up the courage to address her. “What if she spoke and I don’t like how she sounds? What if she says that she is a regular VicePresident of a large faceless corporation? What if she is just a housewife with very poor taste that is carrying her husband’s equipment for him?” he thought and decided against talking to her.

that his life wasn’t easy or perfect. Olivia and her mother had long back abandoned any thoughts of ever seeing him; his architectural practice had been sliced and adopted by others, he was never sure of his financial standing and he had no definite place to call home. He stretched his arms with a satisfied grin as he waited for his flight to Osaka at the Shanghai airport. And then he saw. Was that? Surely it wasn’t? Oh but it was her! He almost jumped up and “whoopee”ed. He would recognise that coil of hair anywhere. Shedding the inhibition he had had ten years back, he instantly went up to her and introduced himself to a surprisingly serene woman. “See! That’s what caught my attention then. No suspicion in her eyes, no artificial anger at being accosted by a stranger. Just a serene countenance,” he found himself thinking, and realised that he was admiring her even more, close in person. Patiently waiting till the end of his narration, she gave an ever so shy smile that broadened into laughter as she talked. She said, “I am flattered by your story.But you see, I was in the same place that you were. Being a photographer was beginning to get on my nerves. The endless wait for the right light, the perfect scale of reference and the most dramatic or natural perspective was beginning to be too much for me. I was beginning to get sick of the ego boost that an artistic job provides. I was just going

As Prahalad roamed the seven seas, not as a pirate but a vagabond-photographer, he often thought of her, her coiled hair, her nonchalance as she changed the camera lens, the swift flow of her loose cardigan, her fleshy nose and her obvious dispassion to hide it. As he patiently and sometimes impatiently filed, stored and entered his pictures to contests, magazines, e-portals and the National Geographic, he remained anonymous, never claiming any of his work. He specialised in architectural photography and fascinated by scale, always composed even the nature shots to bring out the element of scale in the subject with reference to its surrounding. As he struggled with failing or blinding lights, craned his neck to get a sense of perception and scale of the subject, he silently cursed and soothed his nerves with her thoughts. It has been ten years now. He could safely say 6

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back to quit it when you saw me.” Prahalad was shocked and suddenly he wasn’t so sure of her elegance and serenity anymore. He felt she sounded coarse and looked ridiculous. I mean who coiled up their hair like that?

namely him. The jaundiced yellow filter, under which he had perceived her that day ten years ago, was now over exposed to a harsh white glare. The aperture was wide open. She had composed a glaringly real, unflinching image that exposed all the lines, furrows and blemishes “So what is it that you do now? “he asked. in the plot. The subject felt like a shrivelled ba“Oh I am a cashier at the local grocer’s. I have nana peel under the unforgiving heat of the sun. been for the last ten years. Steady income, no Well, the only heartening fact was that he couldimagination, menial, grey and as unexciting as n’t complain of ennui now. And as he picked up anything can get. I am more at peace now. I do his camera-case, after bidding her goodbye, the tai-chi, I live in a rat-hole and feel free like a thought that she did look ridiculous with her lark.” hair coiled up like a turban, crossed Prahalad’s He felt like a composition inside his lens now. mind effortlessly. As effortlessly as he had been The shutter speed was set to the lowest limit to inspired by this woman ten years ago. capture in slow motion all the incredibly intense action that was going on around the subject,

Preeti Madhusudhan is a freelance architect/ interior designer living in Sydney with her husband and six-year-old son. She is passionate about books and is an ardent admirer of P.G.Wodehouse. She inherited her love for books and storytelling from her father, a Tamil writer. Preeti is trying to publish her maiden novella in English.

Also in this issue: An interview with Raksha Bharadia, Co-author of 12 titles of the very inspiring Indian Chicken Soup series. A special feature on authors who inspire through not just words but also their lives. We are proud to feature bestselling authors, Preeti Shenoy, Swapan Seth and Varun Agarwal. All lined up for you in this issue. Don’t miss them!

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Poetry Sometimes When It is Hard by Smruti Patil

When a person puts hardships behind and smiles and embraces life with its challenges for the sake of his or her loved ones, the person becomes a flame of inspiration, says Smruti Patil, through a poem.

Sometimes you feel like breaking down,

Because you know, There are others around you who need your strength.

Sometimes you feel like shouting your heart out, But you try hard to control your outpouring, Because you know, Behind you are those who need your support.

Sometimes you feel like breaking that heavy chain of duties, But you try hard to give your best like always, Because you know, You have to be the leader of the gang.

Sometimes you feel like confessing your love But you try hard to hide your feelings,

Sometimes When It is Hard

But you try hard to stop those tears from falling,

Because you know, 8

Sparkâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;October 2012 | Inspiration

She is your best friend’s beloved.

But you try hard to face the mob, Because you know, You have to fulfill your dear ones’ precious dreams.

Sometimes you feel like staying aloof, But you try hard to mingle with the group, Because you know, Your people expect you to be around.

Sometimes you feel like abandoning it all, But you don’t give up, Because you know, You are happy when those with you are happy.

Sometimes When It is Hard

Sometimes you feel like running away from the mad crowd,

Each time you decide to hold on for a while, You strive hard, and smile and embrace life, And because you do so, You become a flame of inspiration, glowing bright!

Smruti Patil works as an Integration Consultant and lives in California, U.S.

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Special Feature Inspiring through Words and More by Anupama Krishnakumar

(L to R) :Swapan Seth, Preeti Shenoy and Varun Agarwal

Words. They make you laugh. They make you cry. They make you reflect. They make you aware. Words – they are so powerful. So powerful that when strung together to form sentences simple or profound, but honest, they hold within their confines the magic to inspire. Inspire you to beat the odds, inspire you to better your perspective of life, inspire you to ride above challenges and emerge successful, inspire you to make the best of this gift called life, inspire you to follow your heart. And to be able to use the magic of the written word to inspire people is indeed an immensely beautiful gift. In recent times, thanks to the fast-growing Indian publishing scene that has welcomed talented writers with open arms, inspirational words have taken very interesting forms. What is also worth noting is that the authors, on the personal front,

are as inspiring as the books they write. Getting Inspired and Inspiring Others Preeti Shenoy is the author of three national bestsellers, all of which have inspired thousands of her readers. Her first book, ‘34 Bubble Gums and Candies’ (Sristhi Publishers, 2008) is a compilation of her blog posts sharing experiences from her own life while her second book, ‘Life is What You Make It’ (Sristhi Publishers, 2011) and third book, ‘Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake’, (Random House India, 2012) are works of fiction that have been inspired by real people. Preeti’s writings revolve a lot around life and its beauty, the challenges and the aspect of facing them. The hallmark of Preeti’s works is the simple language and the fact that it is straight from the heart. “Life is What You Make It was a story that I felt

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

was very inspirational and had to be told,” says Preeti about her second book, which revolves around a young woman called Ankita who has bipolar disorder. “The book is based on a true story and when I first heard the story, it moved me so much that I decided it had to be written and shared with the world. The real life Ankita is a very inspirational person,” shares Preeti. Her third book, ‘Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake’, is an inspiring story of Nisha, who doesn’t let a broken marriage affect her life and moves on to find success and love. In this book too, the characters are inspired by real people. Explains Preeti, “Nisha’s character draws heavily from the people I know in real life. Akash’s character too is based on someone I know and so is Mrs.B. Tanya is loosely modelled on any child that age.”

but a whole lot of readers who have related deeply to the book. Swapan admits that the book, which was not really planned, had him feeling relieved when he completed it. “I felt like I had flung an albatross off my neck. I was done with what I had to say to my sons or to anyone about the things I strongly believed about,” he shares. He also thinks finishing the book made him more responsible as a person. On the contrary, Varun Agarwal, entrepreneur, and the author of the bestselling book, ‘How I Braved Anu Aunty and Co-founded a Million Dollar Company’ (Rupa Publications, 2012) says that writing the book hasn’t changed him in any way and in fact, Varun thinks that he has not written “a great piece of literature”. The first section of the book, even before the story begins is titled, ‘Dude. This Guy can’t write for shit.’ where Varun shares that he is a storyteller and not a writer. The book talks about how Varun, an engineer with plans to become an entrepreneur, much to the dismay of his mother and her friend, the formidable Anu aunty, braves obstacles including Anu aunty’s measures to steer him ‘back on track’, and ultimately sets up his own company. Written in simple English, the book’s success lies in the fact that it is laced with humour, is whacky, honest and is again a work inspired from one’s own life.

Inspiration for ad-man Swapan Seth’s book also came from his own life. Swapan is the chairman of the ad company ‘Equus Red Cell’ and the author of the book, ‘This is All I have to Say’ (Roli Books, 2011). This book is life’s lessons presented in a very different, not to mention, highly captivating format – lyrical, crisp, well-categorised, to the point, nicely designed, inspiring and driving home the point very beautifully. Swapan began writing his thoughts on what he learnt from his life as a gift for his elder son’s birthday and what emerged at the end of it Touching Readers’ Lives was a book that was meant not just for his sons While Varun doesn’t think he has written “a 11

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

great piece of literature,” what makes him happy is that the book has inspired its readers. “I am really happy that students are reading my book and are getting inspired to do something on their own, and that’s something I never expected. When people write to me that I have managed to bring out a small change in their lives, I feel that’s a great achievement rather than the book doing well or me writing the book,” he explains.

them and how I have touched their lives,” says Preeti. Swapan shares that he received some really unexpected reactions to his book and in fact, some of them were humbling. “Someone read out chapters from the book to his dying father. Another father, upon losing his young son, distributed copies to his deceased son’s friends. I think at some level the book resonated far more than I had expected it to,” he states.

In fact, Varun has received mails from people Varun cites an instance when a son gifted his 52 saying that they started their own company after -year-old father a copy of the book. The man, reading his book. “They needed a little push and who wanted to be a painter when he was young, they got the push from the book,” he shares. was forced to take up a government job. Says Preeti’s fans pour their adoration for her an excited Varun, “His son gave him the book through comments on her Facebook page and and he read it, and for the first time he took up her blog as well as through emails. “Honestly, I the paint brush in 25 years – so stuff like that am overwhelmed by the tonnes of mails I re- really inspires me a lot and makes me happy.” ceive which tell me how much I have inspired 12

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Preeti too has a similar story to share about one of her readers. During an event in Delhi, a fan waited for three hours to meet her and gift her a small statue of Ganesh encrusted with semiprecious stones. “It occupies a pride of place in my home now. People also send me cards they make expressing their love and admiration for me. I am really amazed at how much my words move people,” reveals Preeti.

ative director at 23 – India’s youngest! Quiz him on what actually was running in his mind when he had to repeat a year in school and when he took the decision to drop out of college, pat comes his reply, “When I had to repeat a year, there was a sense of humiliation which over time transformed into determination to prove myself all over again. When I dropped out of college, I just felt a certain sense of lightness. I have always distinguished education from learnLeading Inspiring Lives Too ing. So to that extent, I knew that I would never Beyond inspiring people through her words, stop learning. And I haven’t!” Preeti also is an admirable multi-tasker. She is 25-year-old Varun, after braving Anu aunty and certified in portraiture, does commissioned porother obstacles, is now an inspiring entrepreneur traits and makes personalised cards based on the managing not one, not two, but three companies quilling technique on request. She blogs regular– Alma Mater, that specialises in making school ly, each post different, captivating and not to and college merchandise for alumni; Reticular, a mention, inspiring, in a unique way. All this social media management firm, and Last Minute while also working on her books. So it isn’t surFilms, an Indie film production company. The prising that people throw the question, “How first few years are the most demanding for an do you manage you time so well?” so often at entrepreneur, as that’s when you really have to her that she decided to write it out as blog posts! put your company in the growth track. And From humble beginnings as a regular blogger, when you have to divide your time, work and Preeti’s ascent to becoming a popular author is attention between three initiatives, how manageindeed an inspiring journey – one that has inable is that? Varun seems unperturbed. “I got volved lot of hard work. “Becoming a pubreally good co-founders plus some good tracklished author and that too a successful one, is ing and support systems and I can actually mannot as easy a task as most people normally perage all the three at a time. I guess it is really ceive. There is a lot of back-breaking hard work about how you balance your time plus the fact involved. You need to breathe, dream and think that you have started it and you have taken it to about it,” she points out. wherever it is. It is not very tough to manage,” Swapan’s life is an equally inspiring one. Swapan he responds confidently. actually repeated a year in school (class 8), and Other Ways to Inspire then went on to do well in class 12 and secured a university rank as well. Not just that, he took The confident, young entrepreneur has also the bold decision of quitting college (He studied been giving motivational talks in colleges across at St. Xavier’s, Mumbai) to pursue his dream India. These talks focus on how he started his career in advertising. Well, he also became a cre- companies and are nothing technical. “It is more 13

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about life techniques rather than text bookish – “The simple thing that inspires me every sintechniques,” he says. Varun is also a part of the gle day is the pursuit of happiness.” INKtalks conference (the Indian version of And that’s exactly the inspirational nugget he TED) that will be held in Pune in October. has to offer. “I would just say one thing for life Swapan runs an interesting Facebook group – take the leap and then think, don’t think becalled Sethoscope where he shares all kinds of fore you leap. Sometimes you end up not doing information with people. “I just post a nugget a a lot of things because you think too much,” he day. It could about a nice book, a great wine, a suggests. Preeti shares some important things simple tip. People respond with their perspec- that she would tell anybody to live life like it tives. The group is more about informing people should be lived. “Chase your dreams—never by sharing information. Information is a critical give up on them. Laugh a lot. Tell the people weapon during these times when there is a pau- who are closest to you, how much they mean to city of time and scarcity of attention. I am just you. Cherish the time you spend with them. Life the ’curator of cool’ for them,” he explains. is so uncertain and so short. Stand by your words. Keep up your promises and do not let Preeti has done two TEDx talks recently. The people down. Be true to yourself and to others. first of her talks focused on the theme ‘Five LesLIVE! And don’t just exist!” she outlines. And sons for Growth’. “I thought sharing my life Swapan’s inspirational thought is the philosophy experiences or what I have learnt and how I of the U.S. Navy Seals. “The only easy day was have grown would be interesting,” she says. Her yesterday.” second talk focused on ‘Creativity and Daily Life’. Why did she choose it? “I chose it because Beyond the inspiring wisdom that their words most people believe that creativity is only lim- have presented for readers, it doesn’t take long ited to artists, writers and those in this field,” to realise that these are people who have come she reasons. from common backgrounds and have gone on to achieve big things, thereby making their lives And…some motivating thoughts as inspiring as their words. And that is inspiraEven as success and admiration accompany her, tion enough to realise the potential that lies Preeti continues to be inspired by one important within each one of us, waiting to be unleashed. person – her father. “He is my inspiration, my In the end, all it takes is the right spirit. idol, my mentor, friend, philosopher and guide. He continues to live on inside me,” she states. For Swapan, there are so many people around him who have inspired him, especially those as he puts it, “who have confronted adversity and won over it.” For Varun, the satisfaction that comes from doing what he wants to do is the greatest inspiration, like he beautifully sums it up

A Special Feature

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Fiction The Mystery Reader by Parth Pandya Mrs. Sarla Sharma is a die-hard fan of mystery novels. A lifetime of reading such books instills in her the spirit of a ‘detective’. And one fine day, she does get a chance to unleash her detective side. Parth Pandya writes a short story.

The chime of the doorbell had all the portents of a satisfying morning coming home. Mrs. Sarla Sharma reached for her reading glasses that always sat delicately on the bridge of her nose, threatening to fall off, but never showing the temerity to do so, in absolute fear of the owner. She moved her enormous mass with extreme nimbleness towards the door. The degradation of her body had done nothing to the youthfulness of her mind. She imagined a debonair man waiting on the other side of the door, hair slickly set and parted just at the right spot, a sharp face to complement the tautness of his muscles and a complete sense of control emanating from his being. She opened the door and let her aspirations die before the door was ajar enough for the person to come through. In walked the rapidly fading body of a bald, bespectacled man, climbing into the house with the level of excitement befitting a funeral. Mrs. Sharma did not even acknowledge her husband of 27 years as he

ambled into the house with vegetables from the market. Her only interest in his arrival was in a brown paper bag he had nestled among the vegetables. She knew that the latest issue of the ‘True Detective’ was hiding in there. Mrs. Sharma had an appetite for mystery more voracious than her stomach’s want for spicy food. She had spent the better part of her life reading crime and spy novels. Her world was filled with books from Agatha Christie to Ian Fleming, Frederick Forsyth to Robert Ludlum, Arthur Conan Doyle to John Le Carre’. She fell in love with the concept of the detective, the spy. The idea of a person who didn’t really need to leap through tall buildings, but be a superhero on account of his wits and energy, appealed to her. She imagined them to be people with a sixth sense that could see what others could not, dissect a situation in ways that others could not and solve problems that the rest would be baffled with. Mrs. Sharma never had a doubt in her

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

mind. If there was one thing that she would complex. It would have been a regular Tuesday, have liked to be in her life, it would be a detec- but for the odd changes that Mrs. Sharma was tive. noticing this morning. The truck that came about for picking up the trash from the building The residents of ‘Flower Bloom’ apartments seemed oddly different. Why had he come with would never have suspected that an amateur three helpers? They seemed like new faces. Mrs. detective had been busy honing her skills with Sharma tried to call out to the watchman, but he them over the years. Mrs. Sharma’s eye was had abandoned his post and gone away. Was it transfixed on everyone. Sauron would have been deliberate or was it a diversion? Mrs. Sharma proud. She did everything a good detective stomped about in her flat wondering what she would: hide in plain sight, notice the minutest of could do next. Whom could she alert? She saw details, have a nose for trouble even as it is in the trash-men walking towards the other wing. the initial stages of brewing. She could always What would I do if I were in their place, she tell that Mr. and Mrs. Doshi had had a rough thought. Who’d be most vulnerable? Her night by the time and style with which Mr. thoughts went to the ground floor inhabitants, Doshi stomped into the building compound in the Mehras. the morning. She could predict that Mr. Kamdar would not be likely to win the general secretary Mrs. Sharma knew by habit that Mr and Mrs. elections for the building by the hush that would Mehra would be heading out of the door for fall into the group of the B wing members, every their morning walk. The walk, as commanded by time he walked into them in the evenings. She their location in Mumbai, involved a twentycould tell by the hushed closing of the door on minute drive to the jogger’s park. She knew her floor late in the night that the young girl though that their house was never left unattendVani, who lived by herself, had another visitor ed. Their maid servant Kamala was always prewho had stayed on to do a business she was em- sent this hour of the morning, getting their barrassed to let her fellow residents know about. breakfast ready early, as her rich masters reYes, Mrs. Sharma was a good detective alright. turned from their daily attempts to reduce their All her years of being inspired by the detectives corpulent selves. That frail lady wouldn’t survive who leapt out of the pages of books and novels against three wellshe read had trained her competently. built men. It was a Tuesday morning like any other. In the city, the dogs took over the role of the morning bird to wake up people. Mrs. Sharma ambled her way to the window to take in this noise and begin her morning observations. The regular Joes walked into the parlour. There was the newspaper-wallah, the milkman, the morning help in all quarters walking into the apartment

Mrs. Sharma took a deep breath and tried to compute her next move. Ringing the police would be moot. Should she shout and alert the residents?

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Not sure if that’d work so early in the morning with most people still in bed. She decided that confronting them would be the thing to do. She shook her husband up and asked him to come down with her to the compound. On the way down, she took a quick peek – it was already happening. A big television set was being hauled out and out followed a huge sofa. Could the jewelry be any far behind? She raced down to the compound and decided to create a ruckus. This may be a city where no one cares about the other but surely a crisis would wake everyone up. “Thieves,” she shouted. “Stop these thieves.” The men with the television froze. People slowly started peeking out of the window with perplexed expressions. By now, Mrs. Sharma had wound up into a fury. Hercule Poirot wouldn’t have had a patch on her. She had gone one step ahead – she had solved a crime even before it had completed. A smugness that came from a lifetime of detective experience come true spread over her face. But that victory smile was broken in an instant by a face that peeped out from behind the men.

Vijay Prakash clarified softly, “Aunty, they are not thieves. They are moving my furniture. We are shifting out of here.” Embarrassed, Mrs. Sharma looked around for the truck. Surely, it was the trash truck, wasn’t it? Was her mind playing tricks with her? Her knight in shining armour, her husband, walked in with the explanation. He placed her spectacles in her hand. Maybe the detective in her wasn’t ready for primetime yet. The faces in the window retreated back to their morning routines, a day enriched by a story to tell. Mr and Mrs. Mehra returned a few grams lighter, taking care to avoid the moving van on their way in. Mrs. Sharma returned to her flat and picked up her copy of ‘True Detective’. Fiction, she thought, was less confusing.

Parth Pandya is a passionate Tendulkar fan, diligent minion of the ‘evil empire’, persistent writer at http://parthp.blogspot.com, self-confessed Hindi movie geek, avid quizzer, awesome husband (for lack of a humbler adjective) and a thrilled father of two. He grew up in Mumbai and spent the last eleven years really growing up in the U.S. and is always looking to brighten up his day through good coffee and great puns.

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Non-fiction The Spark by Gauri Trivedi Sources of inspiration are many. Gauri too is inspired by certain things that she sees around her. What is it that keeps the spark alive for her? Read on.

Often, I marvel at the uniqueness of a sequence as repetitive as the day and night. Announcing itself every crack of the dawn, a day begins somewhere in the world. As the seconds unfold from noon to dusk, it ends subtly with an orange-ish glow. The sun then proceeds to hide, a precursor enough for darkness to intervene.

the years pass by, tacit and hollow, never utilized for what they were meant. Just like the surrounding air, floating around but utterly futile, if never inhaled.

That special something can be anything under the sun. It can be one of those â&#x20AC;&#x153;Yes, I can!â&#x20AC;? books sitting high on the bookshelf. It can also Unsurprisingly, it feels like there is no respite be a person you revere and look up to or even from the tedium that sets in. The encase of an imaginary muse! Consciously or not, there is dreariness though, is a mirage created by mott- a catalyst which keeps the spark alive. led vision. The day is not as mundane as it apTo me though, inspiration is less personal. Let pears to be. In reality, one day follows another me explain. and yet, every day is a brand new day with offerThe spaces around me are ubiquitously filled ings and challenges of its own. with ordinary people. But as I look closer, snipThere is a special something that wakes us up, pets of brilliance emerge, confounding me, leavmakes us embrace each day as it comes. I being me content. lieve that the zest for life, the desire to live, is fueled by the inspirations we seek. If we have Like the renowned chef who willingly shares his nothing to look forward to, we would no longer bestselling recipe with a friend. Not a thought or be alive. Sure, we would be breathing and tack- deliberation over the non-profitability of such ling the nuisances that come along the way each an act, never an ounce of distrust on the recipiday but mere breathing is not living, just as ent of the delicacy. death is not disappearance. We stop living when 18

Sparkâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;October 2012 | Inspiration

Or the clerk at the counter of a superstore, who returns a wallet left behind by a hurried customer. Not a moment of regret on the honest conduct. Never worried about the minimum wages earned at the end of an arduous month.

Like the mother who loves blindly and still sees through the lies of her child. When fingers are pointed on a misdeed, she does not rush to defend. She refuses to shield the culprit from the penalty that his consequences will bear. Like every mother’s instinct, she craves from inside Like the traveler in a train, weary and beat, ofto protect, but deep within her heart she fers his seat to an elder in need without being acknowledges the truth from the wrong. asked. Just half way through his journey, he knows he has a long way to go and yet there is To me, inspiration comes unearthed in minute no doubt on the impulse to help. forms like these, barely visible, effortlessly ignored. I believe it is that very ‘ordinariness’ Or the settled native who welcomes home a fararound that makes the world a better place, mooff acquaintance eager to blend. Not because tivates me, and makes me feel good about life, she needs any more friends, but because in the for it outshines rare magnitude by a million reluctant smile and the guarded stance of the times. new-in-town, she sees herself from a decade back.

Marceau R

Gauri Trivedi is a former business law professional who makes the law at home these days. A mom to two lovely daughters, her days are filled with constant learning and non-stop fun. All of her “mommy time” goes into writing and finds itself on her blog page s h tt p:/ / me ssy h o me love ly kid s .b lo gs p ot .co m/ and h tt p:/ / pastaandparatha.blogspot.com/ and if she is not writing she is definitely reading something!

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Interview Of Inspiring Stories and Human Life An Interview with Raksha Bharadia by Anupama Krishnakumar In a freewheeling chat with Anupama Krishnakumar, Raksha Bharadia, co-author of 12 titles of the Indian Chicken Soup for the Soul series, talks about the experience of putting together the various titles, the stories that moved her, and how this opportunity changed her as a person. The stories in the series are meant to ‘open the heart and rekindle the spirit’. Find out what the person behind many titles in this series in India has to say on inspiration and human life.

Raksha Bharadia is the co-author of 12 titles in the Indian Chicken Soup for the Soul series including Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul, Teenage Soul and Romantic Soul. She has also authored ‘Me: A Handbook for Life’ and ‘Roots and Wings: A Handbook for Parents’ both published by Rupa. Her first novel, ‘All and Nothing’ was published in 2011. Raksha has also contributed many articles for Times of India, Femina and Gurlz. Her website is http:// rakshabharadia.in

Raksha Bharadia 20

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

How did the opportunity to work on the I remember one particular story that came to me Chicken Soup for the Soul series come to as a submission for one of the Chicken Soup for you? What made you decide to take it up? the Soul titles. It was about this lady who had lost her mother. She had written that she had so The publishing house Westland, which is doing many things to tell her mother but she will never the Chicken Soup for the Soul series in India, be able to do it. After reading this story, I reread my debut book, ‘Me : A Handbook for member I started crying and I called up this Life’ and they felt that I would be able to do a friend of mine and we made up. So there deficompilation of the Chicken Soup for the Soul nitely have been many, many instances like this edition. Even in my book ‘Me’, I dealt with real when I was compiling the titles from the stories life situations where one found a way out from I received. The little things that I think are big in challenges by thinking differently, among other my life, the little inconveniences, the little grievthings. So the publishing house approached me ances we have against people – I was able to see with the offer. them in a broader light and I also realised that I decided to take it up because I am always fasci- those are things that other people are struggling nated with human interest stories. What makes a with as well. person give up when another one does not? So Personally, I also came to a very big realisation Chicken Soup for the Soul was something that through the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. was exactly right up my alley. I like dealing with While compiling these 12 titles (1200 stories), I real life situations and people and those little, must have gone through a total of 8000 to tiny victories which actually have a long term 10000 stories or roughly 500 to 600 stories per effect. So it was exactly my kind of work. title to pick the ones that were finally featured. You have worked on 12 different chicken In reading the stories that came in, what I unsoup titles. What did the experience teach derstood is that as people we may be different you personally? Do you believe it trans- but the issues, in the end, are fundamental to formed you? In what ways? everyone and that we all behave in a typical There were many little things that happened. manner—there is only a difference in the deBut there is one particular incident that stands gree. This could be seen in the way humans reout. I had a very close friend and we were going act differently—the jealousy we experience, the through a bad patch. This friend of mine and I grief we go through when someone close to us had been thick friends for seven to eight years passes away or the way we take time to get over and because of one silly incident, we stopped the hurt meted out by someone. talking to each other. We humans tend to get stuck to those little things that we will not let go. It was a matter of ego, a matter of ‘I am not going to do it’ and waiting to see who is going to make the first phone call. At that point of time,

It may sound very simple when I say this but when I got my database of 10000 stories, it made me think that I am not alone in feeling what I feel.

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

what I feel. In a way Chicken Soup for the Soul stories are also stories of confession. So when you see people making confessions, you realise that we all have our grey areas and we also do a great job of hiding it. Also, I think it is not necessary to denounce every grey in your fibre. It is alright. Which was the title that was closest to your heart? Why? I love all of them but the title which I thought was very exciting and interesting was the Chicken Soup for the Indian Armed Forces Soul. To get the initial permission from the Airforce, the Army and the Navy was a very lengthy process and when I got it, I was very happy about it. Then I stayed in Delhi and interviewed the personnel from the army and I got the stories up. That to me was an extremely interesting experience because I met a wide variety of people from commandos to engineers to co-pilots. It was so interesting to know a world that I didn’t have much exposure to, and also to get the emotional aspect – like for instance, getting answers to questions like when they were failing, how did they stretch themselves to do a little more, what was the attrition rate, how did the people fall out and so on. This title was a lot of fun to work on and also something that taught me many things. I am sure a few stories from the ones you edited would have stuck to you. Could you tell us about one or two of them?

Among the many stories, here is one I remember. It was written by a girl and it was about how on her wedding day she got a letter from her grandma. The story was in the form of a letter, and talked about how the writer’s grandpa disappeared for a year from the grandma’s life and then came back. He was actually suffering from some terminal disease and the story talked about how he did everything he wanted to do in that one year. It was a very beautifully written letter of love, longing, and in which you will eventually appreciate how the grandma understood the need of her husband to do all the things he wanted to do because he wouldn’t be able to do them anymore. In the letter, the grandma had also written that this is how she expected the writer to look at her married life. I get goose-bumps when I think of it even now. There are many ways in which we know love, other than the passion aspect – love could be about giving, sacrificing and many more but here what I got is that love is also about understanding – when you truly understand the person you love, you will not judge that person. I think when you truly understand where the other person is coming from – it is very freeing in any relationship – whether it is a man-woman relationship or friendship or the relationship between a mother and a child. So I could make sense of this concept of understanding because of this story. It is also a beautiful story of how the grandpa did what he wanted to do and how he remembered his wife throughout.

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Another story which I remember is this very simple, cute little story – it was brought to me by an NGO which works on the rehabilitation of women on the streets who take up to alcoholism. This story was about one such lady and her kid. The NGO also happened to be taking care of the kid and one day, the writer of the story took the kid to the hospital to visit his mother. There was a beautiful part in this story. When the writer went to pick up the kid to take him to the hospital, he asked her many concerned questions about his mother, and also picked up fruits for her. But when he saw his mother, he realised that she was still drinking and being difficult and so he didn’t give her the fruits and came away. The writer realised that the son was showing his displeasure for what his mother did, in his own way. I was very touched by this story because we tend to think that these marginalised people, the people we see on the streets, may not have a normal mother-child relationship or a husbandwife relationship. But what the story pointed out to me was that emotions are very universal.

and that is something I find very interesting. Lastly, a few words of inspiration for our readers? I remember this interview I did with renowned filmmaker Mrinal Sen when I was working on my parenting book. At the end of the conversation, I asked him for two lines of inspiration for my readers. In reply, he told me, “Tell your readers that however sure you are of your talent in one field you cannot help but see your mediocrity in others.” All of us have this tendency to beat ourselves for everything we are not good at. I think while you may be exceptionally good in one field, it is extremely important to accept your mediocrity in others, both in yourself and in other people. The moment you accept this –accept mediocrity in your own self and allow mediocrity in others – you will find it to be a turning point in any relationship.

You do many workshops as well. I know that you do some on parenting. Are there any workshops that you have done specifically to motivate/inspire people? I have been invited to talks where I have shared anecdotes that people have shared with me. They focus on unblocking the blocks. Apart from talks, I have also done workshops on this 23

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Fiction Limitless Inspiration by Kishor V R A motivational speaker talks about getting inspired from the world around us. A man who listens to this talk isn’t convinced. But inspiration does come to him in an unexpected way, eventually. Here is a work of fiction by Kishor V R.

The biggest hall in the city was packed to more than its capacity and some people were standing on the edge of the balcony as well. I have many memories associated with this hall. I used to visit this place to watch plays and performances since my childhood. Facing a crowd here, therefore, was a dream come true. The atmosphere was good because more than half of them who had come to be part of the ‘National Convention for the Youth’ event were around my age. I was the youngest among the speakers who were invited. The hall was filled with banners which read the name of the event and its sponsors. After the inauguration, I was the first one to be called upon to speak. I stood on the stage and scanned the crowd. I saw a man with the peace sign on his T-shirt in a corner. The interesting thing about him was that he came to most of my sessions.

ed speaking. “It’s great to be here. When in school, I remember facing the crowd for the first time during the annual day while acting in a play. The hall was air conditioned just like this one. Although it was cool, I was the only one sweating. But now it’s different. I love being here. On behalf of all who will speak here today, I thank you for coming. Thanks to the organizers of the ‘National Convention for the Youth’ who invited me here. They wanted me to speak about my achievements. I am a speaker by choice and also one of the youngest entrepreneurs in this city. People do ask me about my success. They ask me if they should start early like I did to be successful. They ask me if my education has anything to do with my success.”

“I am not successful because I have a good education. I am not successful because I started early. Anyone can be as successful as me. They I looked around in the hall. I saw expectant fac- just need to motivate themselves. I know some es looking back at me. I took a breath and start- people have a problem with motivation. 24

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They say ‘Oh you are so successful because you have people to motivate you and I don’t.’ ‘I don’t find inspiration in anything these days’. I tell them that even if they do, they’ll shut themselves off because they spend their time thinking about what others may think of them. Some of you know me through some local magazines, newspapers and radio. Some of you may not know me. But that’s ok. It doesn’t matter who I am. I will not talk about me. I will not talk about my businesses or my achievements. This session is about us. Let me not waste your time. Let me talk to you about inspiration. Well, what is inspiration? How do you get inspired? Or do you get inspired at all?” “Some of us say that inspiration is the process of arousal of one’s mind. It is also described as an intuition to push you to perform a task. This is a definition of inspiration isn’t it? When do you get an intuition to perform a task? When do you get motivated? It’s when your dad tells you that he’ll get you a new bike if you do well in school, isn’t it?”

tion in everything. I take inspiration from events and people I meet. I am fascinated with our planet ever since my childhood.” I hit the Enter key on the keyboard in front of me. The monitor, which was idle, came back to life. The projector beamed the image of the Earth taken from space on to the screen behind me. I moved a little so that the people could see the picture. “This is a famous picture called the ‘The Blue Marble’.” “Our planet was born 4.5 billion years ago. It was just a ball of fire then. It had harmful gases and it was too hot for anything. Besides it was spinning too fast. In due course of time it slowed down its spinning and the planet began to cool down. Earth also happens to be at a suitable distance from the sun to support life. Oxygen formed and water bodies came into existence which made this planet suitable for life to exist. The Earth was hit by asteroids, it went into ice age several times, and there were killer volcanoes and earthquakes which threatened to wipe out life. But it did not happen that way.”

The audience laughed. A few of them clapped. I let the audience settle down and then I continued. “You can take inspiration from all around you. All you need to do is keep your mind clear. Some of you know that I blog. I also write for publications. I need to stay inspired to write on a regular basis. I have met lot of writers and bloggers who complain of lack of inspiration. They expect me to motivate them to write more. I tell them you have unlimited sources of it.” “Let me tell you what inspires me.” Some people in the audience who weren’t paying attention became attentive. I continued. “I never had a single source of inspiration. I try to see inspira25

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

“The story of our planet is inspiring to me. Now let’s get back to this room. Think about all the life forms this planet has supported. They have their own survival stories, their own success stories. Now think which one is the most complex, creative and the most intelligent of all the living beings that inhabit the Earth? It is us humans. We have learnt to speak, read and write. We have created civilizations, social systems, and governments, isn’t it? We are the most successful of all the living beings this planet has. Have we not survived? There are millions of different organisms for just one human. We are rare beings. Isn’t this fact inspiring enough to live the life like you want to? Yet some people feel low. To tell you the truth you can inspire yourself. So, if you want to learn a craft, or a hobby or a skill all you should do is to be proactive and make that start. Things, be assured, will fall in place. With these few words I will end my talk. Thank you all for being such patient listeners. Let’s stay inspired.” After the session ended, I was surrounded by people who had questions for me. Some of them took my autograph. I saw the man with the peace sign T-shirt approach me. He looked frustrated. He did not introduce himself. “I have read your blog and I have attended your seminars too. Your words haven’t made any impact on me like everyone says it will. I was a writer. I also ran a business. I took some bad decisions and lost everything. I have not written since a long time. Now I have nothing. It’s all gone. My wife left me. My children want nothing to do with me. I don’t have anyone to motivate me. I spent the last few months drinking. I have quit drinking now. I thought you would talk about how to get motivated. I am disappointed you

did not do so,” said the man. “Sir, I am sorry you think that way,” I began. “I cannot tell you how to be motivated. Being a source of motivation is not my job. My job is to tell you that you can motivate yourself. No one can give you an instruction booklet on how to live your life or how not to live it,” I said. “Your idea about finding inspiration from this planet doesn’t make sense. I live on a modest budget. I don’t have friends like you do. I don’t have anyone I can turn to. I could have done better if I had some friends. People say I am not good enough. Can I keep in touch with you so that you’ll push me to do what I want to do?” he spoke fast. “Don’t wait for it. No one will come to you to motivate you. You should motivate yourself so that others see that spirit in you. Don’t let others tell you what you can or cannot do. I used to think that I will be inspired only if I have a girlfriend, or if I have money. But it never worked that way. You said you quit drinking. That’s good. Now you can start new. Ideas and inspiration can be found anywhere. You can find inspiration even in your house”, I said. I took leave of the man and walked to my car and drove away. A few days later when I was at home, I received an e-mail from the man with the peace sign Tshirt. “Dear Sir,” began his mail. “You were right about finding inspiration within my house, though I must admit that it came in as pure coincidence. One warm afternoon, a few days ago, as I was lazily browsing the newspaper, I chanced upon an article that featured a differently-abled person. As I read through,

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he was a schoolmate of mine. I knew he had an attack of polio when he was young and used to be constantly mocked at in school. The article mentioned that he had represented the country in the special games conducted a few months ago. He was a swimmer. I would like to say that a smile broke on my face after I learnt this, a genuine one at that. It was not like we were best friends or that we were in touch. I felt happy for him, for what he achieved. That night, as I lay on bed, I wondered what it would have been like to beat the odds and emerge this successful. How did he overcome his disability and achieve the seemingly impossible? I admired his spirit and perhaps, like they say, I had a faint hint of the light at the end of the tunnel.

achievements. There were pictures of him beaming. However, I also didn’t miss the tiredness that comes of achieving something after overcoming a practical difficulty. When I turned around, I saw him standing and I gave him a warm hug, the warmth emanating out of respect and adoration. As we talked he told me this, ‘I see myself as handy-capable. I hate it when I am being pitied by someone else. So you can see how much I detest self-pity too’. That, I believe, Sir, was my spark of inspiration. Those words. He radiated the spirit that you said others have to see in an inspiring person. I realised innately and not superficially that all this while I was finding excuses for my failure. I have begun to believe that I can resurface from where I am just like many people have. I have started writing again. My eagerness to get back to my wife is I am sure you will not be surprised if I said that now my motivation. I have restarted from where I attempted, as a first step of getting back on I had left off. So I guess I will see you in the track, to figure out where he lived. It wasn’t field soon,” he concluded. easy, not tough either – I had to ask around a bit and one day, I landed up at his house. Among And that definitely made me smile. other things, I saw one whole shelf dedicated for all the awards that bore testimony to his

Kishor V R grew up in Mangalore and now works as a technical writer in an IT organization in Bangalore. He is also studying Mass Communication through an open university. He loves reading suspense and thrillers, watching movies and browsing the internet. Cooking up stories is what he can do best and he aims to be a successful fiction writer one day.

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Poetry Eyes that Speak by Vinay Krishnan

Vinay Krishnan expresses his admiration and respect for an inspiring pair of eyes that belong to a woman, through a poem.

Thoughts that speak so quietly, Tears that flow invisibly. Her heart clutched hard within herself, Her life is nothing off the bookshelf. Facing tough times with a smile on her face,

A conversation sufficed to get me off my seat, Seeing a girl this strong, I had to admit defeat. I’d thought I’d faced the worst, but I was proved wrong, By a girl with a mind and heart this strong. She says not a word, when in pain no solace does she seek, But I read her heart through her eyes that speak. Is it love I do not know, but I know this, She’s a girl I respect a lot, than dismiss. It’s not just her beauty or her smile and voice,

Eyes that Speak

She tackles difficulties with her strength and grace.

But something that’s louder to the heart amidst any noise. She says not a word, when hurt, no comfort does she seek, But I read her heart through her eyes that speak. Her eyes I see, I see every day, 28

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

She’s my best friend now, in every way. I have good days and then some bad, Some heavenly and some demon-clad.

And those eyes that speak, they see me better.

Eyes that Speak

But on those days I feel I can’t endure, I turn to her,

Vinay Krishnan is currently pursuing his post-graduation in Transportation and Automobile Design. Besides being a design student, he’s also a blogger, daydreamer, thinker, and artist by heart. His dream is to change the way people see the automobile and also to own a firm that caters to understanding and designing what people would like to see in their automobile. He blogs at http://myscribblesonpaper.blogspot.in/ and has a chapterised novel at http://mylifeoutofthebox.blogspot.in/

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Fiction Byte-sized Inspiration by Anupama Krishnakumar Inspiration is what keeps life going. It is that which adds meaning to our lives. In four little stories, Anupama Krishnakumar attempts to capture how little things can turn out to be something that lifts your sagging spirits and sometimes, can be life changing too!

Building Blocks Renu arranged the pale little circles in a 10 X 5 matrix on the small table by her bedside. They glistened like costly pearls under the dim yellow light of the beautiful night lamp that rested on the table. Renu admired the fineness of the base of the lamp –it was creativity carved to perfection. The tall glass into which she had poured ice cold water had begun to sweat – there were beads of water forming on the outer side of the glass. Renu couldn’t help smiling at the irony. Shouldn’t she be the one who should be cold and clammy with sweat? For, she was about to embark on a journey to a place of no return. The spirit had withered. There was no energy left to fight. She hated life, she hated herself. She suddenly thought of happier days as if on an impulse– a childhood so priceless and joyful. Did happiness decide to stay behind when she got married and left her parents?

Suddenly, her random train of thoughts was blown to pieces by a crashing sound. A crash of plastic building blocks. A smile played on her lips. She looked fondly at the only product of happiness of her lacklustre and trouble-ridden marital life. Her four-year-old daughter. Renu did think of her when she took the big decision which she would begin to work on in a few minutes. She had timed it such that when her husband returned from work, he would find her, initially sleeping, and later discover that it was something more. The illusion would work well for their daughter too who would imagine that mama was tired and was hence sleeping. And anyway, Renu felt, she was too young and time would surely heal the loss. She looked longingly at the little girl – a life which had taken root deep within her. And then suddenly, she realised that quite unusually, her daughter hadn’t cried when the blocks had crashed. She was trying again to stack the single

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

blocks one over the other near the bedroom door, patiently and methodically. Renu knew she was working hard to raise it to match the height of the door but half way through it lost balance and crashed. Even as Renu watched, the little girl began yet again and no she didn’t ask for help from her mother. She could have asked her if she wanted to but she didn’t. Renu realised that her daughter wanted to build the blocks in a challenge that was nearly impossible for her age and she wanted to face it head on, alone. So there she was, doing it – again and again and again. It was now, watching her daughter in action that Renu broke into a cold sweat. And for the first time in days, she wondered if she had been right in deciding to end her life. She shivered at the thought of how she didn’t realise the worth of trying hard and repeatedly, the worth of fighting, the worth of this priceless gift called life. The thought gave her goose-bumps and tears welled up in her eyes. In one quick move, her heart beating fast, she cleared the matrix of pills she had methodically designed on her table. A fire of determination crept up her within her and a clarity that almost dawned like an epiphany left her feeling rejuvenated. Building blocks, she decided, would now be her focus. And so would be her life, thanks to her innocent little girl who was playing with her blocks. Olfactory Inspiration There was something that he needed to lift the utter boredom or a fatigue of routine that had clung to him suddenly this morning like the dust that refuses to get off the carpet. It was disgusting, suffocating and stubborn. This boredom paled life in his eyes as if his glasses were fogged. He had the mind to just take off his

glasses and rub them with a cloth, stupid though it sounded. He needed something that would soothe his nerves, chase the sullen feeling away and refresh every cell in his body. Where was this inspiration? He tried to recall things that would please him – things that he usually resorted to when the chips were down. Books. Music. A Walk. Nope. He had no patience or inclination to do any of those. He wanted something different, something simple but extraordinary. He dug into his pile of memories and thought hard. He even began thinking what his parents, friends and relatives would do when they had to pep up. Anything quirky? Anything that he used to do that was different? As he racked his brains, a figment of a conversation he had with his office colleague, Sandhya, played in his head. You know when I feel soggy like a damp cloth and need that spark of inspiration to feel good, I dig into my bag, fish out my pain balm – with that lemongrass scent. It does something that lifts my spirit, I don’t even know why that happens. Sometimes, I don’t mind eucalyptus oil too. Well, that’s what she had said. Now, the creases on his forehead eased a bit. They were gentler unlike the deep lines that had marked his skin a few minutes ago. He knew the answer for his boredom. He remembered that when he was a child, he used to like this particular incense flavour– something that his mother used to light in the puja room unfailingly every single day. That scent sort of pulled him back to his childhood even now when he was just thinking of it. And luckily for him, he remembered the name of that incense stick brand.These days though, he never lit agarbathis. But now he felt the urge to smell that scent again –the inspiring

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

fragrance that he believed would pervade him and make him light and calm the moment it entered his nose. The next minute he rushed down the stairs to the departmental store at the end of the street, bought a pack of it, came back home and lit two of them. And what delight it was! To smell the fragrance that marked years long gone, to smell the scent that used to enliven him as a child, to smell something that erased the fog out! Bliss! Now that’s what one would call olfactory inspiration! Superstar When Ravi got into the autorickshaw, he was in a very foul mood. The meeting with the client had not gone well. Working in a nationalised bank, almost every other day he had to go out and meet new people, try and sell insurance policies and gold coins. Well, that was not all about his job but it was perhaps what he didn’t quite enjoy as part of his work profile. He, in fact, pretty much hated it. To top the irritation he was feeling that day, the Chennai sun was beating down hard on his back and he felt literally like stripping himself. But whatever was left of his sanity reminded him that he should get into an auto and find his way back to office.

‘Get in, Saar!’ said the driver and turned the meter on. Ravi stood shocked. ‘What pa, Meter aa?’ ‘Why Saar. Correct meter Saar. Get in Saar.’ Ravi eyed the meter cautiously as if were some time bomb attached to the auto. An auto driver attempting to turn his auto meter on in Chennai was literally unheard of and something to be extremely wary about. Even little children knew that. Parents ensured that they knew it. ‘Saar. Superstar fan Saar. I don’t cheat,’ he said pointing to the picture of Rajinikanth dressed like an auto driver. The superstar had donned that role in his super-hit film Baasha. Silly though it was, Ravi was suddenly convinced. Superstar magic, perhaps! He got into the auto and as the race down the road began, Ravi became indifferent and was lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly the auto driver turned the radio on and the voice of the RJ filled every silent corner of the auto with her squeaky voice. And much to the delight of the auto driver, the station belted out the superhit song ‘Superstaru Yaarunu Ketta Chinna Kozhandayum Sollum’ (If you ask who the superstar is, even a small child would say!) from one of Rajinikanth’s movies from the 1980s. And suddenly, as if the speed that he was already going at wasn’t enough, the auto driver accelerated further, transferring all the energy that stemmed from his enthusiasm into the driving.

With the scepticism that immediately entered one’s mind when calling out to a Chennai auto, Ravi put his tired hand out to stop one auto that was racing down Kodambakkam High Road. And typically like any Chennai auto driver, this one too drove way too fast as if he was ready to mow down Ravi but stopped just a foot away from the probable passenger. Ravi, tired and annoyed, controlled his temper, nonetheless and For the first time in three hours, Ravi did smile. And he struck a conversation with his enthusiassaid, ‘Mylapore.’ tic auto driver. He learnt that the fellow was a 32

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die-hard Superstar fan, had watched almost all his movies first-day-first show ever since he had the chance to go to a theatre, kept an album of Rajini’s pictures (most of them clippings from newspapers and magazines), had one small photograph of his inside his wallet and one stuck in front of him in the auto. ‘He gives me strength, Saar,’ he said. ‘He is a great human being. Almost like a God to me.’ I speak to his photograph first thing in the morning. On days when I don’t have too many savaaris and I don’t make much money, I just need to look at his photo, Saar, and his eyes and smile will tell me not to worry, that I will have a better day tomorrow. And I believe it, Saar. He started out as a no one and today he has grown so much. And that is not possible unless he is a good man, Saar, and I want to be like him – a good human. One day I am sure I will meet him and take a photo, Saar. That will be the biggest moment of my life,’ he said. Ravi could not miss the conviction and genuine affection in the auto driver’s voice. But more importantly, he understood that Superstar was this simple, not so well-to-do man’s biggest inspiration. In the flow of the conversation, Ravi didn’t realise that his destination had arrived. When he got down, the auto meter did indicate the correct reading, Ravi noted. He smiled widely at the auto driver and gave him 20 rupees over the meter fare. ‘No, no, Saar,’ said the man, but Ravi insisted and the beaming auto driver did a superstar salute, thanked him and drove away. Ravi began climbing the steps to his office feeling inspired not by the Superstar but an equally worthy auto driver.

Divinity People love her voice. They say even honey would be put to shame if its sweetness is compared with her voice. From humble beginnings, today, she is one of the leading Carnatic musicians in the country. She has grown from strength to strength and people say that she wasn’t as good ten years ago. There is something that had changed in her rendition, her style of singing and her very personality itself, they say. The better informed listeners, critics and patrons of Carnatic music give it different names. But it all boils down to one thing – divinity and that’s what I infer they refer to. There is this certain divinity about her that they say they see in her face, a light that passes over her face when she closes her eyes and renders songs. Some say see it in her when she sings Sahana, some say they see it when she renders Hindolam, while some say they see it when she hums Darbari Kaanada. Now she has a principle that she sticks to with due devotion. Every year, she, despite her tight schedule, manages to accommodate three concerts – all done for charity. She believes in using her vocal skill to raise funds for non-profitable organisations – primarily those involved in helping terminally-ill patients and those that work for the betterment of physically and mentally differently-abled people. She has been doing this for five years now and I haven’t really been to any of these concerts of hers. But today, for the first time, I am at one and she has directed a musical performance lasting two hours and involving a host of musicians including a flautist, pianist, violinist, drummer, a mridangam player and a tabla player. This is her first fund-raising

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concert this year and it is for a trust that helps cancer patients. I have listened spell-bound to her two-hour programme and now that the concert is done, different dignitaries have occupied the stage alongside her. A man in a white shirt and white dhoti, rises from his chair. I guess he should be the person who runs this NGO and soon he is talking over the mic, thanking her briefly. She sits and smiles politely, listening attentively all the time. After he thanks her, he gets down the steps by the side of the dais and helps a young boy all of ten years and an old woman of about sixty years up the steps. One of them carries a silk shawl and the other holds a bunch of flowers. The man in the white shirt

mutters something to them and once they hand over the gifts to her, both of them hold her hands. I see she looks directly into their eyes and the old lady places her shrivelled hand over her head in a blessing. That instant I see that light on her face – the divinity that everyone speaks of. I witness it for the first time and I am transfixed and in awe for it is an experience that cannot be described in words. It is something unearthly and her face glows. I think it is sympathy, compassion and love – all Godly traits. I see my mother, today, this instant, in a different light. And I stand inspired.

Anupama Krishnakumar loves Physics and English and sort of managed to get degrees in both – studying Engineering and then Journalism. Yet, as she discovered a few years ago, it is the written word that delights her soul and so here she is, doing what she loves to do – spinning tales for her small audience and for her little son, bringing together a lovely team of creative people and spearheading Spark. She loves books, music, notebooks and colour pens and truly admires simplicity in anything!

Do you own a copy of our anthology, ‘Sparkling Thoughts’? Order it now at http://pothi.com/pothi/book/anupamakrishnakumar-sparkling-thoughts

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

The Lounge

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The Music Café

Taking Music For a Walk by Jessu John

Jessu John likes to listen to Western (English) music and her tastes aren’t restricted to one particular genre. In her piece for The Music Café, she talks about different kinds of English music that have appealed to her over the years. Music is inextricably linked to Jessu’s life, particularly her writing, as she reveals in this piece.

I have always detested the question, ‘What’s your favourite kind of music?’ As far as art, music or literature is concerned, my view is that different facets of every genre appeal to us in various stages of our lives. The truth is that nothing out there has managed to have a stronghold or a lasting influence over me. There’s a mental dichotomy there that I am trying to work out: as a writer, I would like to influence people and yet, I refuse to be a fan of anything or anyone. I like learning from most things around me and I believe everyone teaches me something. When I think about how music has shaped my writing or even me as an individual, I realise that while I like Indian classical music and would treasure the experience of a live performance, I

tend to listen to more Western (English) music. A lot of my writing takes off from a line or set of words in a song I really like. When I’m writing a piece based on music that moves me at a given time, I am obsessive-compulsive. I’ll play the tune over and over again until I’ve finished my poem, for example. Most people will tell you they really like this or that kind of music. I don’t commit myself to any one form of Western music purely because I find a variety of styles helpful as a writer. Over the course of the last three decades, I have enjoyed music churned out by the boy bands to the punk rockers to Sting and Springsteen and U2. I can’t deny I went through a brief phase of metal mania too. But today, I don’t listen to

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music that’s overly loud and ferocious anymore. My ears can’t take it. My neck needs to be in great shape for my running, so you will never find me head-banging even if only to impress. Besides, as a writer, these days, I prefer songs that have the power to make some words or expressions jump out at me while they play on. Because there’s every chance I might write a poem or ruminate meaningfully over a line. For me, that is time well spent. Right up to my teens, I listened mostly to my father’s collection of 70’s music. I was enamoured by the baritones of Andy Williams, Jim Reeves and Engelbert Humperdinck. I still fancy Olivia Newton-John. You can gather how I might have been Miss Melancholic. I liked sitting in my room with the curtains closed and cooking up tragic love stories while sad songs played. Fortunately, I moved on to the Carpenters, Abba and BeeGees and spent some free hours pretending that my hairbrush was a microphone for a few years. Soon after, an Aerosmith-Richard Marx-Bonjovi-Bryan Adams phase took over with enough Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls and Dixie Chicks in the mix and well, I was all over the place. Not to mention, ‘Christian rock’ was a rage at one point and I let some of it swallow me alive for a while.

ciate the simple complexities of Lennon, the Beatles and their lyrics. They are still not my favourite, but some of their words will ring in my brain for a long time. They won’t fail in sometimes inspiring me to concoct some of my own fancy lines as I travel through life as a writer. In recent years, during my time in Europe, I enjoyed some amount of classical music. During such performances, I simply relish a concert and would not be able to take my eyes off the flautists and violinists. But if you and I met for a drink, I will not go on about the technicalities of classical music. I will tell you, though, what images ran through my mind while a piece was being performed. I’ll talk to you about emotions of mine that were stirred (and controlled), if my skin felt warm or cold, if my eyes filled up or closed to relax, if my heart wanted to burst or if I just felt plain sad. If you are a close friend, I will tell you about a young man I once liked, who took me to a concert years and years ago. I will tell you that I remember everything about that evening and that at this moment, I am thinking that it would make for a great piece of fiction.

In my early twenties, I was hooked to the Corrs and Cranberries. Alanis Morissette catered to my largely hidden love for the edgy. However, I also began to appreciate some of the music from the 60’s and 70’s I had never been inclined towards before. The Beatles had to grow on me. There was a time when I honestly didn’t find their music appealing. My visit to Liverpool and the Beatles Museum changed that. I began to appre37

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

My family was largely left-brained or no-brained when it came to the arts. So I left some artistic pursuits by the wayside and got busy with work and life. While I can’t say for sure if I will get back to singing or playing an instrument again, I like appreciating and analysing art. I enjoy trying to comprehend the reasons artists have for their chosen styles of music I appreciate some of the collaborative productions that have resulted from two strong artists coming together. Or even covers of some classics. Take Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock, for example, in the single ‘Picture’. Even the uncomplicated and soulful ‘If You See Him/If You See Her’ by Reba McIntyre, Ronnie Dunn and Kix Brooks performed by Lady Antebellum more than a decade later. Throw great performers together and they are compelled to stretch or challenge their own fortes and create something unique. (Even Pitbull thrives on collaboration). When I write or take a break from writing, some of these songs play in the background. Music keeps me going on race day. So if it’s Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Carly Rae Jepsen and David Guetta who help me from warm up all the way to the finish line, then it means they are all useful. Their music also keeps me on my feet if a dance floor’s open. I forget all about my drink and get high on the disco beats. But I’ll always have the Goo Goo Dolls, Lifehouse, Nickelback to the Foo Fighters and Pearl Jam types for whatever mood swings of mine that align with their music and themes. Classic jazz, R&B and reggae have not done the trick for me just yet. But who knows? There just might be a phase of my life coming up that will be suited to those genres. Right now, though, I could listen to some alternate jazz. It would comfort me as I

struggle to keep this piece within the word limit. For someone who likes music, I have not been to many live concerts (just a few classical music ones). It was not the kind of thing my parents would spend money on when I was growing up. It does not help that my father is paranoid to this day that I might die in a stampede. Now in my 30-something years, I have a fear of being stuck in the embrace of sweaty crowds and fainting due to lack of air. At the end of my life, I will have no autographs to treasure and no memory of touching handsome rockstars. Other than that, it’s all good. I’ll definitely have some music playing in my head when I succumb to dementia. Forgetting you, forgetting him, forgetting them. Unable to remember who I am, was and could have been. But perhaps humming the tunes that have kept me going all the way from innocence to knowledge and understanding to oblivion. Music has walked with me so far like a companion, familiar and strange. She is constant but will also show me her different sides. She soothes my (loveable) neurotic tendencies and satisfies the soul. She doesn’t make me anyone I don’t want to be, though. If you prefer music snobs, I am never going to be the hottest date you ever had.

Jessu John is a branding & communications professional from Bangalore, India. She also writes for mainstream Indian daily 'The Hindu' and is an amateur long distance runner. A lover of activities suited to the introvert, her inspiration for writing a piece often comes from conversations over coffee with friends or random people-watching and day-dreaming. She tweets as @JessuRJohn and blogs at http://forceofdreams.wordpress.com

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

The Inner Journey by Viswanathan Subramanian

Does the World Really Exist? Taking the discussion on memory, mind and world forward, here’s the fourth part to the series on the nature of the human mind and the ego. This month, Viswanathan Subramanian explores another interesting question, ‘Does the world really exist?’

Normally religions postulate three principles – world, soul and God. Such multiple principles, however, come into existence only after the assumption of ‘ego’. When the very reality of ego is questioned, the three principles fall into nothingness.

seen. Thus, when the unreality of the world (as an independent entity) is understood, there is no use in enquiring whether the world is an absolutely real or imaginary appearance, whether it has intelligence or whether it is insentient or whether it is happiness or misery.

Ego arises from wrong knowledge, which rises in the Dismiss all these enquiries of the limited form of “I am the world. Forget the world. Catch body.” When there is sincere and be aware of the ‘I’ which focusing on the question seeks to know the truth of the “What is the ego?’, the phanworld. This reveals the supreme tom of ego is in fact, not at all consciousness, the one without a there! There is only eversecond. There is absolutely no present consciousness. World, soul and God are scope for doubts to arise, as there is no doubter but imaginations in this consciousness. in fact, in the first instance. Only when the ego rises, all thought forms are Ramana Maharishi’s ‘Ulladu Narpadu’ verses 5 engendered and the physical world around us is and 6 reveal the unreality of the ego: 39

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The basic ego is none other than the “I am the body” idea. But body is a form composed of five sheaths. The world which is seen is nothing other than the form of the five sense-knowledges (sight, sound, smell, taste and touch). These five senseknowledges are sensations (known) to the five sense-organs. Since the one mind (or the mind alone) knows the world through the five sense-organs, say, without the mind, does the world exist? In the absence of the mind which perceives it, does any such thing as the world exist? Hence the world depends for its seeming existence upon the mind. Thus, the experience, which results from Self-enquiry is the knowledge that the mind and world have never truly come into existence and that the one unborn and unchanging Self alone truly exists. This experience is the Supreme and Absolute Truth.

(Source: Sri Ramanopadesa Noonmalai translated by Michael James with inputs by Sadhu Om) What comes to mind here is Sri Nochur Venkatraman’s observations on ego in his book, “In the Still Lake of Contemplation”:

The ego is the ‘mysterious offshoot’, ‘me’ with all its desires, ambitions, pretensions, assumptions and above all, a tremendous thirst to thrive as an individual. This ego is a ghost and not real. Stop having a tussle with this non-existing appearance. Look beyond. Peep through the ego me, you will see that the ego is only a film which covers the light behind. We mistake the names and forms shown by the film as real. So, look through the ‘me’ and see the infinite divine Self behind. Hold on to the real, the shadow will naturally disappear.

Viswanathan Subramanian was a banker for over 35 years. In his new retired life, he loves poring over business newspapers and journals and making notes. Spirituality also interests him, and so a good number of Sri Ramana Maharishi’s and Jiddu Krishnamurthy’s books find space in his bookshelf. He is extremely passionate about movies and music too. You are sure to find some good old English movie DVDs and an enormous collection of old mp3 Hindi and Tamil songs at his place!

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Storyboard

Directors Who Started Small by Zack Mandell

Zack Mandell talks about eight extremely popular contemporary film directors who made their first big splash with acclaimed short films.

Back in 2005, filmmaker Andrea Arnold won her first Academy Award. It was for Best Live Action Short Film for her 26-minute work “Wasp.” Honestly, if you have any semblance of a life, I wouldn’t expect you to know that. But Arnold is an incredibly talented emerging filmmaker. Her debut feature film, “Red Room,” sparked rave reviews, and won a prize at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival. “Fish Tank,” her follow-up, won the award for Best British Film of 2009 from the British Academy, and earned her comparisons to legendary French director Francois Truffaut. It’s no surprise that her newest film, an adaptation of the classic Emily Bronte novel “Wuthering Heights” has been called the most original and daring interpretation of the oft-filmed tale. It’s safe to say that Arnold will have a successful career behind the camera, and may win another Academy Award. She would join a club of other sensa-

tional contemporary directors who made their first big splash with acclaimed short films. Here are eight of those directors. Jason Reitman Given his genealogy, it’s no surprise that Reitman has turned into one of the most reliable comedic directors in recent memory. Anyone could have spotted his sharp talent back in 2000, with his witty and sardonic short film. It was merely a student film, but it displayed confidence rarely seen in even most experienced filmmakers. Gus Van Sant Gus Van Sant has proven to be one of the more curious, yet genius filmmakers of his generation. It’s no surprise that one of his earliest short films, “The Discipline of D.E.,” represents a vivid experimental work in a career full of them.

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This black-and-white short based on the story thrilled the Cannes jury enough to give her the by William S. Burroughs is a drolly comedic Palme d’Or for short films. oddity. Martin Scorsese Christopher Nolan Is there any filmmaker in the world that has garThis British filmmaker is now known for mak- nered more critical respect over the last 40 years ing behemoth, cerebral blockbusters, usually on than Marty? The famed fast-talking auteur has the elongated side of running time. Yet the film made a career of cultivating some of the most that got him his first modicum of attention was violent and vivacious mob thrillers in cinematic a bizarre three-minute horror called history, including “Goodfellas” and “The De“Doodlebug.” This spectacular short film, about parted.” So who would have thought that he got a solitary man attempting to crush a miniature his start making a zany short comedy named version of himself like a bug, showed off “What’s a Nice Girl Like You Doing in a Place Nolan’s penchant for visual flair at a young age. Like This?” John Lasseter

Tim Burton

“Toy Story” was considered revolutionary when it premiered in 1995. What many members of the mass audience don’t know is that Pixar’s first film was actually produced a full decade earlier. It was a two-minute short about Anglepoise desk lamps playing a game with a rubber ball. Lasseter’s film sparked the genesis of modern cinema’s most reliable and lucrative film studio.

Tim Burton is no closet fan of the iconic horror film actor Vincent Price; he even cast the actor in his 1990 masterpiece “Edward Scissorhands”. The director even dedicated one of his first, and most successful, shorts, “Vincent” to him. The stop-motion animated tale is both a quirky, yet loving ode to both the actor and the author Edgar Allen Poe.

Jane Campion One of contemporary cinema’s most daring filmmakers won the esteemed Palme d’Or prize at the Cannes Film Festival for her 1993 masterpiece “The Piano.” This was not the first time Campion had won a trophy from the renowned festival. Her 1982 short, “Peel,” about a dysfunctional family on a road trip, shook and

Alexander Payne This American master really isn’t known for his madcap sensibilities. It’s not to say that his films aren’t funny, but the humour mined in his films is rooted in real, humanist situations. His first short, a parody of the ubiquitous opera “Carmen” cleverly titled “Carmen,” is something of the antithesis to his current style, but it’s still fun and very unique.

Zack Mandell is a movie enthusiast and owner of www.movieroomreviews.com and writer of movie reviews. He writes extensively about the movie industry for sites such as Gossip Center, Yahoo, NowPublic, and Helium. 42

Spark—October 2012 | Inspiration

Slice of Life by Smruti Patil

Is Your Problem Bigger than Mine? When someone close is going through a rough patch, one of the common ways that people express sympathy is by comparing the present situation to something that has happened in their own lives, observes Smruti Patil. She wonders why people do it and questions whether this is a good approach. Read on.

Sympathy can be expressed in different ways. The most common way of expressing sympathy is to change the distressed person’s state of negativity, even though one might not be in the same emotional plane as that person. What amazes me though is the way most of us conduct this ‘process’ of sympathizing. I have witnessed many conversations within my family and circle of friends when they are trying to console somebody. The oft-heard words in this context would be “It’s alright, forget it, whatever had to happen, has happened, probably there is something better in store,” or “Don’t worry, the problem is temporary, it is not in your hands to control everything” or something as diametrically opposite as “It is not your fault, forget it,” to the ”It was all your fault, now that you realise it, why not forget it and think of changing things?”. But the statement that attracts

me most is “What has happened to you is really bad, but do you know this can still be better when compared to what happened to me (or someone close to me)?” Even though it is a very common occurrence, I could not stop myself from dwelling further on this response. People first sympathize, and then slowly start talking of similar experiences. They compare most aspects of the situation and forget that the person in front of them needs moral and emotional support. They forget that the person does not need similar disturbing stories and similar encounters that would further his or her agony. Instead of providing comfort, people tend to talk about how even they or someone they knew faced such difficult times earlier, or rather how they had “bigger” problems than what’s at hand now. Be it an argument-turnedfight with a friend, or a health issue with

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children, or even the amount of work piled up and it was not long before I found myself talkduring some emergency at work, be it a major family crisis, or even a festival celebration gone awry, it has been common for some people to just grab the opportunity and start talking about themselves. One funny and extreme state of affairs was when one of my friends, Alya, lost her grandmother. Having spent many of her childhood years with her grandma, she was very close to her. Her sudden demise sent Alya into a selfimposed loneliness. Along with another of my friends, Devina, I went to meet her. It had been two days since her grandmother’s passing, and Alya had not been eating. Devina was regarded as somebody with good people-skills. After a little hint from her, we both reminisced some of the incidents Alya had shared with us about her grandma, and tried to make her know that we were with her in this hour of loss. Soon Devina went ahead and said “This is really bad that you haven’t eaten, Alya. Please eat, it will not help staying hungry. Yes, I do understand it is easier said than done. It is difficult to think of food right now. Have I told you what happened to my cousin when he lost his grandfather? He did not eat for an entire week and he had to be hospitalized. Imagine his condition then…” And though she kept talking for the next five minutes, I was totally taken back to my own little world where this statement of comparison always bothers me.

ing in a similar fashion.

One of my closest friends had the unfortunate event of a broken engagement and was full of sorrow and rage. I talked at length with her, trying to cheer her up, trying to make her see the positive side. I think I tried my best, and not realising how and when, I told her about my cousin who had to go through a similar situation when her engagement was called off. We both spent long hours talking and discussing each I did not know then if I had to be amused or day. After a week’s time of much consoling and should have been angry. While I was still thinkcounseling, she finally admitted that she was ing how to stop her, Alya’s mother luckily, enfeeling better. tered the room and the conversation changed. I was extremely happy then, but the next day All these years I had only seen people do this, 44

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while I was thinking about her, I wondered why I had talked about my cousin. Why did my friend not object when I was sharing an equally sad incident? After much thought, I realised that while doing so, I was just trying to draw her attention to something else. Perhaps I was trying to tell her that she is not alone, there are others who are unknowingly sharing her pain, there have been others who have faced similar trying situations and have emerged successful in letting it go. I was just trying to tell her that she should take that inspiration from them, and forget the past. In doing so, I was also trying to make her problem seem a little less helpless, so that she could feel that she has the strength to move past it.

others who have had similar complications, only to make us gather that courage. True there might be few people who sometimes talk a little more than required, but such are very few I am sure. Others I think genuinely try to make circumstances better by drawing comparisons. An odd way it is, I must say; it sometimes works, sometimes annoys, and sometimes is plain ignored.

So the next time you find yourself in the company of someone, who in the midst of consoling you, talks of other personal experiences, do not get miffed. It’s best to accept what you might need, what gives you that motivation and ignore It then occurred to me that perhaps others too, the rest. Because surely we all do need someuse the same formula. Most often, people have body in that hour of need. this unique way of making us feel that the current issues we face might not be as large as they appear. They probably are trying to make us see

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Photography When Pictures Inspire by Maheswaran Sathiamoorthy

Let Your Imagination Soar!

Cherish the Beauty of Small Things.

Be the Role Model for your Child. Let Your Deeds Stand Tall. Maheswaran Sathiamoorthy graduated with a B.Tech degree from IIT Kharagpur and is currently a graduate student at the University of Southern California. His interests include counting bokehs and taking out of focus shots. He also likes being unpredictable, random and enjoys coffee and 0000FF sky. He is so interesting that his friends eat popcorn while talking to him!

Treasure Every Second of Life. 46

Sparkâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;October 2012 | Inspiration