Finding Home

I moved to Canada about 2 years ago. The world around and within me changed. Now, this realization wasn’t instantaneous. Definitely not the very moment I stepped my feet on this land. This realization came in moments big and small, bright and dull and through landscapes and people, culture and food. So, while I embraced the newness of this country, and my life in it, there were moments when I missed home. The feeling of it. Still do.

I grew up with my Aunt around. She was pursuing her masters in food & nutrition while I was growing up. The days she had her exams and practicals, were specifically the happiest days for me. Because there would be recipes invented, food shared and I got to be the guinea pig by being her taster. The joy that I got being the first one to taste a dish created for the very first time ?on this planet? was unmatched. I as a little girl sort of took pride in it. It was like my little power that most of my friends didn’t have. 

There was this particular evening when my Aunt was preparing for her exam the next day and she baked this homestyle banana walnut cake by combining some of the signature ingredients. Now you’d probably think, what possibly would be signature other than bananas and walnuts. As a grown up adult, I’d think so too. But as that 8 year old, those were just some magical, signature ingredients going in the bowl, being whipped together and put to be baked in the oven. Irrespective of whatever day of the week it was, it surely felt like a Sunday. The hot, perfectly brown cake was brought out and the aroma filled our entire house. I remember taking the first bite and learning how cakes are supposed to taste. My 8 year old self jumped around the kitchen having tasted the best cake ever. 

Days passed since that evening. I grew up, shifted cities, met new people, fell in love, tasted more food, fell out of love, cooked, travelled, ate more food. Life was good. Because I knew I could any day take a flight back home and have that special cake. Not until I had a one-way ticket to Canada in my hand. So, when I was boarding my flight, having my life packed in suitcases and the melodramatic song playing in my head, I thought to myself- Aman, you may get a lot of things in Canada but you’re also leaving behind a lot. 

Even though I kept reminding myself that there are far better things ahead than any I’d leave behind, I didn’t believe in it until this evening, just a month ago. My social media was bombarded with the new frenzy gripping the world during times of Covid-19. Yeah, you guessed it, right. Banana bread. I called up my Aunt and begged and bullied her into sharing her secret family recipe. I read through it and thought to myself- ‘Wow! It definitely is more than just bananas and walnuts.’ I got the ingredients, started whipping them together, praying and hoping for it to turn good. I put the mixture in a dish and put it in my oven for 30 mins. The oven beep went off, but the aroma signalled this to me much before that. I was ready for some time travel. My tiny condo smelled EXACTLY the same as my house did. Years ago. I took the cake out of the oven, sliced it into pieces, took the first bite and I broke into that happy dance I did as an 8-year old. Not only did I revisit my childhood, but I finally got the glimpse of how home felt like in Canada.

Quarantine Living

It's a confusing time to be alive. While my mind is still adjusting to the new normal and living in times of Covid, I leaned back on some of my constants. Performed at Calgary Story Slam this evening. Virtually. It was special for reasons more than one.  Calgary Story Slam turned 8. When Jilliane said so, it was a moment of epiphany. It was like.. 8 years ago, if I had a wish to have performed and have people witness me, this was it coming to fruition. Secondly, the story I shared is very close to my heart. I'll share the draft. What isn't however mentioned here is the sleepless nights I spent while writing this one or the presence of someone special I felt as I narrated it. Here it is:

"While everyone around the globe is learning the new way of life, this quarantine living takes me down a memory lane. Wait, did we even have another pandemic in our lifetime? No. But there was a time in my life when I was quarantined for a month. Made to restrict to the four walls of my room. It was the month of May. Last year. A hot water bottle burst on me and I got 2nd degree burns on my leg and stomach. At the expense of getting explicit, I could not let any piece of clothing touch the area that had got burns, had to bandage 3 times a day, couldn’t walk, wasn’t even familiar with the healthcare system of Canada and was alone. I was at my lowest. Conversations, counseling and self-care? I tried it all. Nothing helped. I felt lifeless, joyless and lonely.

Even though all of this sounds and was way more awful, no doubt about it, I think it had a purpose.

So what do you do when you are alone and physically restrained to move around, you compensate by making my mind run instead. I thought, I over thought and thought some more. Amidst all of them, there was one particular chain of thought that disturbed me, shook me, made me weep. Before I share that with all of you, let me introduce you to my grandma, my Nani (which is an Indian slang used to refer to your maternal grandma)

My Nani was this adorable, soft spoken, religious lady who left parts of herself in each one of my family members. She physically suffered a lot during this lifetime of hers. Having rheumatoid arthritis for over 35 years of her life, she had restricted physical mobility. From arms to legs to most of her body, we helplessly saw her getting deteriorated and it tore each one of us to see her going through this pain. As a child, I saw her doing just some of the tasks with little difficulty. But in spite of her physical condition, my childhood was filled with food, prayer sessions and love-- lots and lots of love, all my Nani special. As I grew up, I learnt how her body had more limitations now. Some and more of the tasks were taken up by others in the house. Nevertheless, if there were less of pots of food from her, there was more time she would sit in that corner of our house and pray. Relentlessly. As I grew up, she grew old. My achievements meant more of data points than a fully understood story that she would have remembered. The last couple of years before she passed on to a higher life were immensely difficult for her. From turning around in her bed to using the restroom, she needed help for most of the things now. But irrespective of how tough the night would have been, she would still wake up at her usual time in the morning, talk to me, bless me and wish me a good day ahead. No matter how difficult walking even 4 steps were, she would still join us at the lunch and dinner table every day. Filling my memories with her presence, in her own way.

I love her and miss her just like my favourite toy from childhood. So close in my memory yet so far. So that afternoon in May last year, when I was in this utter physical pain, I took each step with difficulty and cribbed, I thought of her.

How did her self-talk look like with all that pain? How did she still continue to pray and have so much faith? How was her 35 years of quarantine?

That afternoon in May last year, for the first time, I identified her pain being more than just of physical.

I now wondered how inside of her mind looked like. And that afternoon, I vividly remember saying this to myself, if I can tell even an iota of positive things, she would have told herself, I will sail through this physical pain of mine.

She indeed left parts of herself in each of us. It is just a matter of time until we discover them. And once we do, there is no turning back. There is just before and after."

Nani

I had an accident a week ago. A hot water bottle burst on me and I got 2nd degree burns on my leg and stomach. While this experience was new, unwanted and unexpected, it left a bucket of learning for me. I was/still am at my lowest. No amount of conversations, counseling and care for self helped in lifting my spirits up. I felt lifeless and joyless and lonely. Because I was physically restrained and unable to go to work, move around, in bare terms, I was room arrested for a week, I compensated by making my mind run. Did it serve me well? I don't know.

I thought, I over thought and thought some more. Amidst all of them, there was one particular chain of thought that disturbed me, shook me, made me weep.

My Nani was this adorable, soft spoken, religious lady who left parts of herself in each one of the members of my family. She physically suffered a lot during this lifetime of hers. Having rheumatoid arthritis for over 35 years of her life, she had restricted physical mobility. From arms to legs to most of her body, we helplessly saw her getting deteriorated and it tore each one of us to see her going through this pain. As a child, I saw her doing just some of the tasks with little difficulty. But in spite of her physical condition, my childhood was filled with pinnis, paath and pyaar, all my Nani special. As I grew up, I learnt how her body had more limitations now. Some and more of the tasks were taken up by others in the house. Nevertheless, if there were less of pinnis from her, there was more time she would sit in that corner of the house and do paath. Relentlessly. As I grew up, she grew old. My achievements meant more of data points than a fully understood story that she would have remembered. The last couple of years before she passed on to a higher life were immensely difficult for her. From turning around in her bed to going to the washroom, she needed help for most of the things now. Each of her children and grandchildren patiently helped her with chores big or small. But irrespective of how tough the night would have been, she still spoke to me every morning, blessing me and wishing me a good day ahead. No matter how difficult walking even 4 steps were, she would still join us at the lunch and dinner table every day. Filling my memories with her presence, in her own way.

I love her and miss her just like my favourite toy from childhood. So close in my memory yet so far. Today, when I am in this utter pain, I take each step with difficulty and crib, I think of her.

How did her self-talk look like with all that pain? How did she find courage from within to carry out normal tasks of the day? How did she still continue to do paath and have so much faith in Akaal Purakh?

I thought I was an empathetic human. I thought I fairly understood how human mind functioned. Then how did I just focus on her physical pain? Was I even empathizing all along?

As I continued to feel sad, sorry, helpless, I couldn't help but appreciate the fact of how she was such a strong woman who not only fought a long physical battle but an even arduous mental one. I wonder how inside of her mind looked. And I believe, if I can tell myself even an iota of positive things she would have told herself, I will sail through this physical pain of mine.

She indeed left parts of herself in each of us. It's just a matter of time until we discover them. And once we do, there is no turning back. There is just before and after.

12.5 Hours Apart

A while ago, I boarded a flight and came over to a country that's 12.5 hours apart from all the people I love. And vice versa. How do I feel? I don't know. Even though this while has been days by now. The days have turned into months and will eventually turn into years. I guess, I may still not know how this move makes me feel. But it's okay. Or may be I am learning to be okay with this state of mind.

Apparently, the rate at which things changing around and within me is far more than I can process or capture. For now, I am going to pen down couple of things I'd want to preserve from my still being a new comer in this country, still being able to look around with that silly wonder on my face and while I still can get excused for not knowing how it is 'supposed' to be for most of the things. All of this without being judged, rather being embraced with wide, virtual, open arms by my folks as much as it has been by the strangers that I am beginning to familiarize myself with. So, here am I giving the tangible form to what inside of my head looks like right now.

1. 'I am grateful for the unspeakable telepathy of loved ones and strangers alike'

Someone I was talking to the other day mentioned how I might be super scared and unsure right now but I will be just fine. These Canadian Rockies take care of everyone eventually. Of course, that was just the symbolism of the higher power that's going to make sure I get to experience the rose petals along with thorns on my path. One of the strange ways I have found that happening is in the low moments of my trying to push through, there have been external knocks reminding me, I am not actually alone. Even though the days and nights might be reversed or I may not know even a single soul in this city, there have been times when I am in tears and a random guest in the house I stay in has asked me to come watch TV with him. Or it's in the middle of the (Indian) night, I'd get a Facetime call. There are these unique ways that make hopping over that moment easier. And it's only a moment that is usually the most difficult to go past, right?

2. 'Just do the next 24 hours well'

In between swinging from past to future to past, I feel torn apart. Because my past in no aspect is going to be in comparison to my future. From seasons to culture to food to experiences, it's all new. Better or even better? I don't know. But it's in fact, strange because I don't have a reference point for any of the comparatives. I hear people saying, the warmer winter, the tastier Wendy's burger, the better Sale season. I'd usually just pass on a smile in such conversations because there is still some time before I start living my life in comparatives here. Until then, shall we just do the next 24 hours well?

3. 'Give me reminders of the way life carries on'

I am intrigued and in awe of how gracefully people carry small talk in this country. My conversations with them have been during my Uber trips, train rides, coffee shops, office pantry. Each person, in their own unique ways have shared their life stories, heard mine, or the least given me these tiny reminders that irrespective of what happens, the people you lose, the miles you travel away, the faith that shakes up once in a while, life carries on. And it is extremely important to remind myself of that, right?

4. 'It isn't a unicorn'

When I was back in India, everything about this faraway world would fascinate me, lend a twinkle to my eyes, as if everything on this faraway land is going to be perfect. No doubt, it's pretty and fancy but it's no unicorn. I experience real emotions of jealousy, gluttony, self-doubt, exhaustion, just like I would back home. There are adult and mature things of taxes, laws, politics, weather and all things that aren't as pretty but just real. But yes, if I just dust off that realness, the sheen of the unicorn does make my 6 year old self, my folks back home happy. And if that doesn't fulfill my purpose then what does, right?

5. 'Notice the easy to miss moments'

I have fallen prey to the human tendency of trying to convince myself that nothing's changed even when everything around me changed. So, it's usually in these tiny moments that pop up, subtly yet loudly remind me of this change. Sometimes for good, others may be not. But here's a reminder to catch onto those easy to miss moments the next time I hold a Tim Horton's coffee or I pack blackberries as my mid morning snack. Or when I casually walk around the house in my pajamas while it's -23 degrees outside. There is enough warmth in those moments. And if I can let that warmth give me company (until I'm alone here), I should be fine, right?

Until next time, onward and upward! :)

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?"

Who Are You?

I'm taking faster steps. I delivered my next project at Toastmasters as well.
The objective of this one was using visual aids.

I had a beautiful PPT accompany me on stage. But sharing the first draft of what I spoke:

MOC introduces me:

TM Aman Who Are You? Who Are You? TM Aman

"Wish I could answer that in 7 mins.
*laughter*

But instead, today, I’m going to tell you, who you are.

And instead of pointing at you, which would be intrusive, I’m rather going to tell you a few facts and stories, in which you may catch a glimpse of yourself.

Fellow Toastmasters and Guests

Have you ever felt that you’re not in the right job? That’s just not who you are?
Or maybe you don’t prefer going to parties and when you go, you don’t feel your most natural self?
While people around you are totally happy to be there.

It’s simply because we all have different preferences. And they boil down to our personality.

Let’s try a quick activity. I want you to cross your arms.

Now you probably didn't even think, "Which arm do I put on top?" You have a natural preference for how you cross your arms.

So, try crossing them in the other way.

You can do it, easily. It doesn't feel quite as natural.

That is it with our preferences. This.. (enact) may feel natural, whereas here, you did have to put some effort. Similar it is with our personality. Some activities, some decisions come to us very naturally whereas to others it may feel alien to them.

I recently got certified in one of the personality assessment tool that not only helps me understand myself but also others around me, better. That tells me how different people see the world differently.

Chances are you’ve taken Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, or will. Roughly 2 million people a year do.

The fundamentals of MBTI include identifying the four main personality preferences pair which describe who you are. How do you act and think.

The first what we call ‘preference pair’, is about where we do we draw our energy from. This pair is E and I. Where Extraverts or the Es tend to focus on their outer world, Is focus more on their inner world. Now, these are not social skills. This is about energy. While Es want their energy to go out and, when it goes out, it comes bouncing back to them. And Is want their energy to go in. By looking at ideas, impressions, facts inside their head, they create more energy. We believe that you have both within you. It's just that you prefer one over the other.

How Es and Is appear in meetings is kind of interesting. Extraverts in a meetings are more likely to be talking their ideas out. I have a preference for extraversion and I feel if I bring it out, it becomes real, and I may start over here and end up over here, because I've made it real as I'm talking it out. Now, an I listening to that E may be thinking, "If they just shut up, we would get somewhere." Whereas an E looking at an I is probably going, "Are they awake? Are they listening to me?"

Silences for Es are space to be filled. Silences for Is are space to be cherished.

For example, both an introvert and an extravert may like going jogging after work. And while the extravert notices people, things around in the park and draws energy from these outward sources, the introvert's energy is turned inwards. He uses the time outside to mull over ideas and what has happened that day.

Moving to the next one, which is how we gather data and the kind of information we like and trust. The preference pairs here are sensing and intuition. S and N. People who prefer sensing want things to be practical, actual, real, facts and data. They just really want to get down to the here and now, the present of what's going on. By contrast, intuitive types like possibilities, meanings, the big picture, the future.

Let’s have a small experiment.

Unlock your phone and look at it for 3 seconds.

Alright, what’s the time on your phone?

Okay, that’s a good start.

Can also tell me the battery percentage on your phone?

Even though all of us got the same time to look at our phones, for some it was natural to look for these details.

While the Sensing types would look at the details and the intuitive types would be interpreting some bigger picture behind all these details, forming patterns. So next time, someone points things out the things you didn’t even say, check if they are forming a bigger picture and interpreting your facts differently.

Alright, once we have information in, we make our decisions. The third preference pair: thinking and feeling. Thinking types when they take a decision, they look at the information that they have, in an objective way. They look at the pros and cons, and make their decision. But feeling types step into the decision. They become aware of, "How is this going to impact people? How does this fit with my value system?," and they're looking for harmony with their value system. It does not mean that Feeling types are emotional people or use their emotions to make decisions. Rather they use a structured way of using their values for it.

Hence, the definition of being fair, if different to both the types.

Giving you an example, let’s say you have 10 DIFFERENT chocolates to be distributed among a group of 10 children. How would you distribute it?

A person with Thinking preference would distribute they equally for they need to treat everyone according to same standards, and equally. However, a person with Feeling preference would give each kid the chocolate each of them likes. Because for them, being fair means treating everyone to what they need. Individuals are different and they need different things.

Now, both thinking types and feeling types came to the exact same conclusions. They just did it in different ways.

Our last one has to do with how we like to go about living our lives. And our words are "judging" and "perceiving" in this preference pair, and "judging" here doesn't mean "judgmental." But what J types like to do is organize things, make decisions, get on with it, and perceiving types like to kind of go with the flow and be spontaneous and continue gathering information. So, I'm a perceiving type, my life is all about options. It’s about going with the flow. And routines and strict organization of things make me feel suffocated. True confessions. Okay.

Now, I happen to have a friend, who prefers Judging. He thinks I'm nuts. He loves to make lists, and checking things off that list. So, you can imagine what happens when we go out for a meal: He’s making his decisions -you know, judging is about, "Let's make a decision and get on with it" -And I’m looking over the menu, looking at what other people have, trying to decide what I’m going to have, that's perhaps new and different, and he’s getting hungry.

But, for perceiving types, it's no decision before its time. So, judging types will often use words that end in "ed": "I've finished that," "I've completed that," I've decided that," and perceiving types will often talk in "ing" words: "I'm finishing that," "I'm completing that," "I'm deciding that."

So, this is about how you live your life.

All of these come together in a magical way. So, we've got four preference pairs. We've got

how you gain energy - extroversion, introversion -

how you gather information - sensing, intuition -,

how you make decisions - thinking or feeling -,

and how you live your life - judging or perceiving.

They come together to form 16 unique combinations.

So does that tell you who am I or who you are already? Is that all we are? Are we a bunch of these alphabets? No, we’re not.

You’re like some other people and like no other person. And that is what makes us who we are.

Do all humans get divided and boxed into one of these 16 combinations? No, there’s more intricacy to it. But it sure is a small window to your soul. And understanding the personality type sure does help you understand yourself better and the others who have surprisingly different preferences.

Remember, these are just the preferences. You and I can act other ways when I need to. Maybe not want to.

So, I'm going to ask that you help me demonstrate preferences for one last time.

And that is I want you to clap your hands and just freeze them. So, clap and freeze. Okay.

Now, you probably didn't even notice that you have a way of clapping, you have a preference for that.

So, I want you to practice, as loud as you can, the other way.

It's a cheap way to get applause. Thank you."

Secret Lives

Hey,

I'm back. And I'm happy for I'm back home.
I'm excited to share the stories that I have gathered all along in the past year.

Beginning with the latest one. I recently gave a speech at my Toastmasters club. I have reached the level 7, Project 7 as they call it here.

Here's a draft of what I spoke:

"It was the fateful day of 9/11. Two planes flew right into the twin towers. As the whole world saw the towers crashing down, there stood a man.

Howard Lutnick. The chief executive of one of the world’s largest financial-services firm, stood, watching 658 of his co-workers, friends, including his own brother being burnt to ashes. As much as he was grieved and pained by the sudden, catastrophic loss, one of the things on Lutnick’s mind was passwords. This may seem callous but it was not.

Fellow Toastmasters and dear guests.

The biggest threat to the survival at that point, became apparent almost immediately- no one knew the passwords for hundreds of accounts and files that needed to get back online in time for reopening of the bond markets. The attacks also knocked out one of the company’s main backup servers.

To crack the passwords, the Microsoft technicians performed “brute force” attacks, using fast computers starting from the alphabet “a” then work through every possible letter and number combination before ending at “ZZZZZZZ”. But even the fastest computers working through trillions of combinations, could take days. Even a day’s wait was unaffordable. Wall Street was not going to wait.

If you were a part of that team, what would you have done?

Microsoft technicians took advantage of two facts:

1.       Many people use the same password for multiple accounts.

2.       These passwords are typically personalized.

The technicians explained that for their algorithms to work best, they needed large amounts of trivia about the owner of each missing password. The kinds of things that were too specific, too personal, and too idiosyncratic for companies to keep on file. Even though it’s these details that make people distinct, that make them individuals but back then it was the reason for chaos. The officials of the organizations soon found themselves on the phone, desperately trying to calm their own agony while calling the spouses, parents and siblings of former colleagues to console them, ….. and work their way through a checklist that had questions like- “What is your wedding anniversary?”, “Tell me again, where he went for undergrad?”, “You guys have a dog, don’t you? What’s his name?

Remember, this was less than 24 hours after the towers had fallen. The fire department was still referring to it as a search-and-rescue mission. Families had not accepted their losses. Forget about answering the questions and breaking the passwords.

The tendency of employees being lazy and choosing a simple, “weak” password, that day ultimately proved to be the organization’s only saving grace, helping them crack it easily.

As I completed reading the case study, I was myself drawn into the stories of my own passwords. Not forgetting the strain it takes on my mind remembering all of them but also the extreme irritation whenever this expiry notification pops up, “Your account password will expire in the next 5 days”. Like most of you, I always change my password on the 5^th day. Never before that.

But there is more to the passwords than their annoyance. Many of our passwords are suffused with pathos, emotions, mischief, and sometimes even poetry. They derive from anything- horoscopes, an inside joke with ourselves, a lost love, a defining emotional scar. And we try our best to hold onto these, not letting a story, love, idea, person go away by keeping them close in form of our passwords. Like a tattoo on a private part of the body, intimate, compact and expressive. Often though, the story behind these passwords has an emotional edge to them.

Fiona Moriarty, a competitive runner had “16:59” as her password— her target time for the 5kms on the track.

Data suggests that setting your password to something is also a unique way to remind yourself of the goal you have to achieve. Have you ever done that?

While I was doing this research, a person I got into a conversation with around passwords, George mentioned how setting his password to “Meditate@Today” set a reminder for him to continue the momentum and eventually build a routine around it. Because his computer demanded that he changes his password every 30 days, he moved to other goals, “LearnCalligraphy”, SUCCESSFUL, “GoForASoloTrip”, SUCCESSFUL, “CompleteTheCC”, SUCCESSFUL, “LooseWeight”, IT NEVER WORKED, HE’S STILL FAT. :D

Some people even set passwords that are reminder of what they have achieved.

Stuck in a middle of traffic jam in Bombay, I sat next to a chatty man, Mr. Sinha, who judging by his expensive watch and suit, seemed to have done well for himself. We made a small talk about our jobs, and eventually I told him about my interest in passwords. After a long, silent look out the window, he turned to me and said that he typically uses “83.59” in his passwords. This was his CAT score and he liked reminding himself of it because he took a certain satisfaction in how far he had come in life in spite of his mediocre showing on the standardized test.

Passwords may not completely bare our souls, but these passwords do represent pages, or perhaps pieces of pages, torn from our mental diaries.

The fact that we construct them so that we and only we will remember them makes it a unique take on the secret lives.

Try asking someone their password and the rich back story that it holds in it. Because it’s not every day that you stumble upon a conversation topic that teaches you new things about people you’ve known for years.

Or maybe look back at your own passwords and the stories they have been holding in them.

Who knows, your password may contain a story in itself that you may narrate to your grandchildren."