I question

The whiff of melancholy surrounded me this weekend. And I feel, this has been an essential milestone for me to preserve it in my words.

I moved out of the place I had grown up in for the past 2 years. It was a four walled, not too spacious room tucked in a corner of the house. The kind of space that I would want to come back to after a difficult day at work or a tiring road trip. And I did come back to it, feeling happy, safe and assured. Assured of the fact that I did whatever I could today, and tomorrow is going to be a brighter day.

Sitting on my bed, I would usually stare into the wall in front. This wall was my guardian angel. Maybe because this got to be close to family from Day 1. There were pictures, picked out of family albums, gathered over the years, of each of my family member with me. These would usually give me a free trip down the memory lane and make me feel loved. Next to these, hung very special dream catcher gifted to me by my sister. I always had a hard time cleaning each of its feathers, probably because of the fairy dust and dreams stuck in it.

A purple sheet of paper adorned the wall adjacent to it on the left. Back in the day, when I was young, more vocal, more confused, more raw, I had put on some pictures, words and people that inspire me on it. This sheet of paper has stuck by my side on some wall but always around through all these years. And yesterday, as I read through it, I realized how surprisingly, things manifested themselves from this sheet into my life. Million dollars, how did I miss mentioning of you in the space in here?

On the right side of my bed, was the shelf that respectfully stored my religious books and idols. As my Mom says, lucky are those who get to have a space in their home dedicated to Waheguru. This shelf saw me every day before I left for work.

Just next to it, was a shelf that spelled luxury for me. The shiny bottles, carrying elixir of my life. These bottles have made their way through different suitcases, into different homes, travelled places, met different people, spreading their fragrance and lending me something called as 'my smell'. Hoarder as I am, these perfume bottles have been growing larger in number by the years passing by.

Under this shelf, were the piles of books that I have read, left half-way, wanting to read. The book exchanges that I have participated in, gave me a hard time yesterday as I picked up each book, read a note inside it, felt happy, sad, excited based on the person I had received it from and packed it up. Although, I sure can say that the amount of books waiting for me to be read and give me company, I can go without talking to anyone for the next few years.

Zooming out, lightening the entire place up were the customary prayer flags and yellow fairy lights. Happy place, as I'd call it.

Packing my life into boxes has been an extremely emotional experience for me. Being around friends who have been shifting houses ever since their childhood, I feel alien. I question. I cry. I wonder. I smile.

How do you carry the essence of the place you call home? How do you pack the memories as you leave? How do you hand over the keys and let someone call them their own? How do you step out into the world of never return? How do you preserve the laughs you've had in the place? How do you shift homes?

I question.

Ability or Inability

Yesterday was Wednesday. One of the days of the week, I still look forward to. For an obvious reason, Toastmasters. Yesterday's was a special meeting in association with an internal club of the organization, Sparsh- Healing Touch. The theme being- 'Educate, Empower, Heal'.

The Master Of Ceremony, reached out to me a couple of days ago asking me to deliver a speech related to the theme. Here's what I spoke:

"I may not have visited a lot of old age homes. Or orphanages. Or all the good places that give us an opportunity to educate, maybe empower or heal.

But each one of us goes through experiences that transform you into a more humble self of yours.

Toastmasters and guests, let me pick a memory of an evening that did it to me.

This was in Hyderabad. A couple of years ago. It was my first time in the city and I wanted to explore everything that the city had to offer. A couple of google searches later, I found myself in a mall, exhibiting the usual exuberance, glitz and glamour. I immediately headed to the 4^th floor. Ah, I was there. Unaware of what lied ahead, I excitedly bought the ticket. The guy at the counter handed me my ticket, a cane and said, “Take this along. You’ll need it.” I smirked and gave him a look that I’d give my mother when she’d give me an umbrella before stepping out of the house during rains. You get that look, right?

So, I stepped ahead and the massive orange colored door behind opened. I walked in and all I could see was nothing. It was dark. Pitch dark.

My instant reaction was to search for somebody or something. What do I do? Where do I go? What if I fall? Where is light? I felt helpless. I started to panic.

Suddenly, the initial confusion and panic was put to rest by a sweet baritone. “Hello, I’m Nasir and I’m going to be your guide for this tour through the darkness. I request you to stand in a queue, one behind the other. Put your right hand on the shoulder of the person standing in front of you and take 3 steps forward.” Oh, there are other people as mad as me to come here as well?

It was kind of funny. I could hear the voice, but had no idea where the voice was coming from. And forward? How do I see forward? What direction is it in? I had no option but to give in to the voice, the dialogue in the dark.

After struggling just a bit, I could feel assured that there were other human beings around me. Phew. A sigh of relief.

And thus began the experience that I was SO excited about. Finally, giving in to using the cane. The counter guy was after all, right.

Apprehensive, I played along. Nasir took us to a wall and made us sense the engravings on it. We had to feel the wall, examine the texture and guess what was engraved on it. “A man”, “A flower”, “A scenery”, people started shouting. “Which man?”, “Which flower?”, “Which scenery?”, Nasir pushed our imagination. We started touching the wall and feeling the nitty gritty of the engraving this time. Slowing down, touching and feeling the texture, one crest, one trough at a time, the image started getting clearer in our minds. “Lotus”, “Bhagat Singh”, “Mountains”. The room suddenly got filled with luminous joy as Nasir said we were correct.

After a while, I was really surprised at how calm I became. And Nasir’s, step by step instructions exhibited how planned and safe this was. I started having fun solving those puzzles. It was an absolute delight on having other senses come to rescue in the absence of sight. And how that awakened other senses, deepened self-awareness.

Next we were asked to take a few steps forward wherein we would find a rocking, shaky bridge and the idea was to cross it. The simple task of taking 10 steps and crossing a bridge seemed impossible. What if I fall? We are used to seeing “where” before taking a step, right? No matter how hard I tried to pop my big eyes out, I still couldn’t see anything.

“Walk slowly, count your steps. Take help of objects lying by the side” reassured Nasir.

And bravo! I crossed it. Having the sense of space without even looking at it made me feel like a hero.

The 45 minutes experience ended on a snacky note. Nasir led us to a café setup in the same room. Entering the café, taking our seats, Nasir recited the menu and took our order. As I handed him out the money, he prompted “That’s a 100. I need to give you 20 back.” Confused, mesmerized, before I could’ve said, “Yes.” ,he said “Here’s your 20”. I was flabbergasted. How did he know that was a 100?

After sipping the amazing coffee served by Nasir, I started walking out with a heavy heart, NOW not really wanting this to end. The doors opened and welcomed us with the gush of bright light; Blinked, cringed and then smiled. It was a relieving feeling similar to getting your first love back. Happy and excited that you have it again but difficult to let it fit in your life for you are a changed person who has adapted to new surroundings now.

I turned around to thank Nasir that is when I saw him tip-topping his cane, making his way and adjusting his blind glasses. Shocked and stunned, I looked at him with a blank face. While I had tears in my eyes, Nasir beamed. “In there, you were blind and the blind were sighted.”

As I heard those words, I questioned myself- did I just put myself in the care of a blind person for almost an hour? Did I ever imagine that?

And we think of ‘them’ as less-abled?

What gives us this power? Their ability or our inability?"

This was something I had written earlier. Tweaked it to fit the bill. :)

About time.

I start writing this as I just end up reading an article that mentions, how writing may not be a solution to your low moments. But it at least, lets you be your bare self amidst the shiny world. And I guess, on most days, that's enough.

So here I am, mourning, hurting on losing a friend. I'll take the liberty of calling him a friend because I remember, having a warm conversation with him at Pune airport, he is a fellow Toastmaster, and he has always inspired me with his infectious, positive energy. Isn't that what friends essentially do? But maybe he wasn't a friend and just another fellow human. Because he was somebody, I didn't know enough about but always wanted to. He was somebody I wanted to work closely with. He was somebody I knew, I could learn something from. Isn't that what describes just another fellow human? 

Or maybe he wasn't anything of this. But someone special. Because his death is what bonded us.

My week started of with a terrible news of a fellow Toastmaster meeting with an accident and dying. From shock to denial to sadness to acceptance is what I have gone through since yesterday. Or maybe am still going through.

He was somebody who I had first seen from a distance and heard him speak at a Toastmasters event. You know there are certain people who you meet for the very first time in your life and you're sure that they are going to make it great. And what happens when they suddenly vanish? There is no more of them? They're just gone from the face of earth? What do you do?

Shattered, clueless and helpless, I reached out to social media, holding onto the brink of hope that all of this may just be a sadist prank or a gory whatsapp forward. Or the name that has been mistaken. 

Shocked, terrified I see Facebook being flooded with condolences, memories and words of appreciation for him. 

As the world mourns for this 28 year old, I question a lot of things. I question the laws of the world, the laws of nature, fair and unfair. I question people expressing love once he's gone. I question how weak I am. Or maybe how strong my empathy is. While my mind has been wrecked with what-would-have-been-s and my heart mourns, I just continue to pray. 

For the people who've felt this stab far more brutally than maybe I have. For people who'd miss him in the moments that I or any of the just fellow human beings did not even experience with him. For the ones who would move from shock to accepting this news in the times to follow, I just pray for more strength and courage for you. 

And you, Leo, this may have been about time for you to be in heaven but I'm sure you continue to live here. And know that even by going, you've taught each one of us. A lot.

Bubbles and Sticky Fingers

This was the last project of the Competent Communicator journey, the Project 10. But to be truthful, I enjoyed writing, practicing and delivering this the most. So much so that, even when I read it today, I can almost hear the voice I had on the stage, taste what it felt like, see myself delivering it. And the buzz of this experience stayed with me for days to follow. Quite unusual no? But I think when you put all of yourself into something, this is what it feels like.

So here's the draft of one of my most cherished speeches minus the drama that I added while I delivered it. But I'm sure you're smart enough to read it with all the drama your life has to offer.

It was titled as 'The Buzz'

"So a while ago, I tried an experiment. I would say a yes to all the things that I have kept delaying all this while. Anything that I should do, I forced myself to say a yes to. Did I want to learn swimming? No, but yes. Did I want to finally complete my CC? No, but yes. Did I want to leave a safe job for a passionate career? No, no, no but yes, yes, yes.

And a crazy thing happened: Not only did I overcome my fear to accomplish these things, but also I had less monsters to be scared of. My fear of venturing into sports, my anxiety of taking a leap of faith, poof, gone. It’s amazing, the power of one word. “Yes” changed my life. “Yes” changed me. But there was one particular yes that affected my life in the most profound way, and it started with a question from my niece.

I have these two amazing nieces. Hazel and Pragun. Pragun is a toddler who resembles the version of Little Red Riding Hood that I had in my head when I was 5. The tiny girl who’ll keep moving around the house wearing that flurry frock, carrying basket full of flowers, spreading happiness and sprinkling magic wherever she goes.

My little red riding hood asked me to leave my cell phone and play with her one evening when I was home for a short vacation. And I said a, “Yes”. I made a vow that from now on, every single time either Hazel or Pragun ask me to play, no matter what I’m doing or where I’m going, I would say a yes. Every single time. Almost. I’m not perfect at it, but I try hard to practice it. And it has had a magical effect on me, on the time I spent home. But it also has had a stunning side effect and it wasn’t until when I understood that saying yes to playing with my little red riding hood was likely to save my career.

Now, I started working a java developer. Being bit by the corporate bug, I was happy. Spending some time there, I took a career detour to work as a Learning and Development professional. The dream job for me.

I’m a behavioral trainer. I talk. I imagine. I get paid to speak. My dream job. I create. I write. I get involved in meaningful conversations. Conversations about people, patterns, behaviors. Creativity, thinking, imagination.

Now, I don’t tell all this to impress you. And also, I don’t go to the classrooms and get to blabber anything. So when you hear me when I say it’s my dream job, it’s not about dreaming. It’s a job. All work, all reality, all blood, all sweat, no tears. I work a lot, very hard, and I love it.

When I’m hard at work, when I’m deep in it, there is no other feeling. For me, my work is at all times building nation out of a thin air. It is painting the canvas. It is hitting every high note. It is running a marathon. And it is all of those things at the same time. I love working. It is creative and mechanical and exhausting and exhilarating and hilarious and disturbing and clinical and cruel and judicious, and what makes it all so good is the buzz. There is some kind of shift inside me when the work gets good. The buzz begins in my brain, and it grows and that buzz sounds like the open road that I could drive on forever. And when I try to explain this buzz, people assume that my buzz is about “talking” and that this talking brings me joy. Don’t get me wrong, it does. But the buzz is more than just the joy of talking. It’s about working, making, building, creating and collaborating. And it’s in all of this that I discovered this buzz, this hum, this rush. This buzz is more than just talking. This buzz is action and activity. This buzz is a drug. This buzz is music. The buzz is light and air. This buzz is God’s whisper right in my ear. And when you have a buzz like that, you can’t help but be grateful and strive for more. That feeling, you can’t help but strive for more at any cost. More and more. And more. That’s called the buzz.

But here’s the thing: the more sessions I take, the more work there is to do, the more barriers that are broken, the more milestones are achieved, the more expectations there are. The more I work to achieve, the more I need to work. And what did I say about work? I love working, right? The nation I’m building, the marathon I’m running, the canvas, the high note, the buzz, the buzz, the buzz. I like that buzz. I love that buzz. I am that buzz. Am I nothing but that buzz?

And then the buzz stopped. Overworked, overused, overdone, burned out. The buzz stopped.

I remember, it was the month of November. I was home for a vacation. Amongst my people and my little red riding hood. But I was sad.

Because the buzz of the engine died. I stopped loving my work. I couldn’t restart the engine. The buzz wouldn’t just come back. My buzz was broken. I was doing the same things I always did, the same sessions, the same conversations, no regrets, never surrender whatever. But there was no buzz. Inside me was silence. All the colours were the same, but I no longer was having any fun. And it was my life. It was all I did. I was the buzz, and the buzz was me. So what do you do when the thing you do, the work you love starts to taste like dust?

Dear Toastmasters and guests, if you love what you do, being a coder, being a project manager, being a mother, being a painter, being a Toastmaster, or maybe even if you love another person and that gives you the buzz, if you know the buzz, if you know what the buzz feels like, when the buzz stops, who are you? What are you? What am I? If the song of my heart ceases to play, can I survive in the silence? 

And then my little red riding hood asks me a question she says, “Amna Didi, wanna play?”

Just as I’m about to say a no, I remember my vow. My vow of playing with her every single time she asks me so. While I’m mourning my buzz, I say, “Yes!”

There is nothing special about it. We play, and we are joined by her elder sister, Hazel, and there’s a lot of laughing, I read them a book in a dramatic accent. Everybody turns into a Hogwart’s wizard. Nothing out of ordinary.

And yet, it is extraordinary, because in my pain and panic, in the numbness of my buzz-lessness, I have nothing to do but pay attention. I focus. I am still. The nation I’m building, the marathon I’m running. The canvas, the high note does not exist. All that exists are sticky figures, gooey kisses, tiny voices, my little red riding hood.

It’s all peace and simplicity.

Play is the opposite of work. But I am happy playing. Something in me loosens. A door in my brain swings open, and a rush of energy comes. And it’s not instantaneous, but it happens, it does happen.  I feel it. A buzz creeps back. Not at full volume, barely there, it’s quiet, and I have to stay very still to hear it, but it is there. Not the buzz, but a buzz.

I suddenly feel like I’ve unlocked a magical door. It’s love. That’s all it is. No magic. No secret. It’s just love and family. It’s just something I forgot. The buzz, the work buzz, that’s just a replacement. The buzz is not power and the buzz is not work specific. The buzz is joy-specific. The real buzz is love-specific. The buzz is the electricity that comes from being excited by life. The real buzz is confidence and peace. The real buzz ignores the milestones achieved and the expectation and the pressure. The real buzz is singular and original.

It’s just love. We could all use a little more love, a lot more love. Any time my little red riding hood asks me to play, I will say yes. I will run around the yard, play with the bubbles, read Harry Potter again and again and again. Without itching for my cell phone.

The two tiny humans, my people back home show me how to live and receive the buzz of the universe that fills me up. I play and I play until I begin to wonder why do we ever stop playing in the first place.

You can do it too.

Find the fuel that feeds your buzz. The place where life feels more good than not good. It’s not about playing with kids, it’s about joy. It’s about playing in general. Give yourself that playful time. The time that makes you feel good.

I’m not perfect at it. In fact, I fail as often as I succeed.

But what I’ve learnt is I may like that buzz but I no longer love that buzz. I don’t need that buzz. I am not that buzz and the buzz is not me. Not anymore. I am bubbles and sticky fingers and dinners with my family. I am that buzz and I am so grateful.

So, let me be the little red riding hood in your life and ask, 'Wanna play?' "

(In)Experience

Delivered this long ago. Have been lazy putting it up here.

Here's a draft of what I spoke for my Project 9 of Competent Communicator Manual.
Hope you enjoy the next 7 minutes. :)

" Inexperience is inability. Are you sure?

How many of you sitting here have been shut down by someone who supposedly knows more than you?

It has happened to me too. In this era of constant change, I have been denied by the people who are more senior, more experienced, more knowledgeable than me. Where I’ve felt like a naïve kid among distinguished adults.

Fellow Toastmasters and Dear Guests

I had always learnt, knowledge and experience are the two ingredients. And hence been wary of stepping into situations where I did not have any experience.

I work as a Learning & Development professional. Recently, I had to deliver a new program. Now this program was related to something I had never done before.

A newbie, a facilitator, a 20 something year old working professional, here I was, standing in front of thirty leaders. From across job levels, across geographies and across cultures. They looking at me impatiently and expectantly.

I didn’t know what I was in for when I had accepted this client session request. The unit had asked me to deliver creative workshop that I usually delivered as part of my profile. The project folks flew me to Hyderabad and showered me with luxury: a chauffeur driven car waiting for me at the airport with a placard with my name on it, a room in a posh hotel, expenses and else. I felt obliged to them for delivering something worthy.

They rented a conference room in a five-star hotel for me to deliver my workshop. As I was led in to meet the entire team, the manager turned to me and said, “Oh, by the way, instead of the workshop, we’d like you to use the concepts and help us create a business plan for our next financial quarter.” It was a bombshell. My preparation was wasted. I had no idea about this.

I stood in front of the eager team. The room oozed of wealth and opulence; embroidered tablecloths, ornate chairs and hi-tech screens everywhere. I felt ill at ease. I was used to open spaces and bare floors, a place where you could make mistakes with freedom.

I questioned myself, is my inexperience here, an inability? I severely doubted myself.

Mustering up the courage, I started. Gave a short talk about myself; in reality I was stalling for time, trying to work out what to do. I knew I couldn’t produce anything creative in the room, yet they’d spent a fortune on it.

To the dismay of the hotel staff, I made them move all the tables and chairs out. I didn’t want everyone sitting down feeling relaxed. With the room empty, I felt better. It was like a blank canvas to an artist or a blank sheet of paper to a writer. They all looked irritated, though.

The production unit team were struggling to create this business plan for their financial quarter because their ideas were predictable and dull. They wanted me to resurrect the ideas, make them alive again, make THEM come up with creative, innovate ideas.

I rather thought and told them, it would be easier to scarp their ideas and start afresh. Better to think new ideas than waste time in trying to salvage old ones. They were annoyed at this.

The team of coders, developers, testers, consultants, business analysts, managers, delivery managers, clients, and more had attitudes that stifled creative thinking: “I have been doing this for years. I’m an expert. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

How many of you have been faced with remarks like that? Remarks that have curbed your new ideas. Your crazy ideas?

Just because you and I were unexperienced? And this inexperience considered as an inability?

They wanted to do things the way they had always done them.

But friends, you cannot come up with unusual things if you keep doing them the usual way. Open your mind to new ideas.

I swapped their roles. I asked the testers and developers to write up the allocations for new joiners, the consultants to think of the technical aspects. They were furious. Because they were out of their comfort zone.

I had to convince them to give it a try. Eventually they opened up and had a go. Fear of failure vanished because weight of expectation had been lifted. They no longer had a reputation to protect because they were not doing what they’d been trained to do. They improvised. They played around. New, original ideas poured out. They had fun. They were liberated. We created some new ideas with exciting numbers, unusual settings and innovative plans.

Friends, as a naïve beginner that day I had an advantage of having a fresh perspective. And I tried infusing it in them too by changing their roles. As a new role, they had no idea what was ‘wrong’ because they anyway didn’t know what was ‘right’.

As the leadership expert Liz Wiseman says, as an expert we think we’ve got it all figured out. It’s almost like flying through the day on an autopilot mode. Which is absolutely fine when the world is stable but when the world is changing fast, we need to move through the world of work like backpackers venturing out exploring new terrain; exploring new answers to problems.

I do not mean to discredit experience. Experience matters. But also inexperience doesn’t necessarily mean your inability.

Rather than being an expert, getting into a repetitive ritual of repeating the same experience over and over again, look at it from the eyes of a 4 year old. A 4 year old for whom everything is possible.

Challenge is not to get the innovative thoughts in mind but to get the old ones out. For that, spend a day working on something that’s valuable, but not what you’re ‘supposed’ to be working on. Switching to the new tasks would definitely create an environment that encourages innovation.

Inexperience is inability. Are you sure?"