Beautiful People

From: Liz Thomas
Sent: Thursday, April 20, 2006 3:22 PM
To: .Certus.R&D
Subject: Beautiful People...

Hello,

I am writing this mail on the last day in Certus. I am moving on, to another organization, to meet new challenges. On this occasion I would like to thank my colleagues for touching my life in the special way each of you did.  

I came to Certus in August. From that day, I have been seated in the seat where I pen this farewell. From the day Ganga move to another seat, this area where I sit became the boyzone, where the boys worked (Gopi now married, the quietest one, is still included in the bachelor gang). They put up with me, teased and pulled my leg. They asked me questions and demanded answers with the inquisitiveness of the youth, they were.

 I think of the evening before…

Sakthiya, one of the boyz, whom the rest of the team pulls his leg by giving blank calls (He has 4 Credit Cards now, coz he couldn’t resist the lady executives who offered them over the phone) , one of the best developer I have seen over years, is poring over his eclipse. Prasad, the most junior, seated next to me, the canniest of them all, is busy reviewing bugs. Kannan, the mischievous, stoutly declares to Sakthiya his support in searching out and punishing his blank caller is reaching over to push Sakthi’s ext. no stored in his phone and then hanging up. Sankha is trying to smooth Sakthi’s attempt to learn Hindi by correcting his pronunciation while working on his bugs. Gopi, quietly laughing while working on. These are some of my Favorite people…

The next Cabin seats the two people, Ravi and Anzer, whose sense of humor is legendary among the boyz. Their favorite pick is Kannan, who they wring and put to dry on the subject of his numerous girl friends he brags about (the fact that these girl friend count is imaginary do not deter them on bit). Ravi is threatening Sakthiya with mortal injury if he dare predict the run outs on Indian cricket team just before the match, with that jabs the ext. button of Sakthiya and hangs up. Anzer follows with another ring. Jags turns and scolds all in general, for disturbing Sakthiya, and is hooted down for her pains.

In the next cabin, a good repartee comes from Sankalp for all in general, leaves us in splits. Robin comes for a breather between Dell performance work, and smiles at sakthiya’s meerkat-like pose to catch the blank caller at work (Disappointed, Sakthiya settles down yet again to work). Aditya, who joined with me on the same day, smiles at the confusion.

Across the cabin the QA people, Uma, (an exceptional lady with a great sense of humour), Sithik and Partha syncing up with each other with yahoo chat for concurrency test. Murala, the multilingual is on leave and Mohandas is busy verifying, Sridhar quiet and Ravi in his creative prose. Rajesh resting…

Veena in Egypt, Ram, Raja and Kala in meeting.

Gopal has come from the better half of the office space to talk to Robin and smiles in general. In his part, from the proverbial Kailash where the Shiva / Ganga reside, to the HR cabin where Chezhian is busy calling up candidates and Baskar administering the daily chores, serenity reigns.

A Day in Chennai Certus… I will miss them all.

I came to know their good nature, their sense of humor and their character during the team out which I had the good fortune to anchor.

Veena, Robin, Sankalp, Anzer, Ravi, Jaga I am honored to know you. Veena, Jaga, I will miss you most of all.

Raja, Ram it is great working for you. I enjoyed working for Zurich fix pack and 2.7 product. Ambili, thank you for the first interview call. Ganga, thank you for the guidance and the good time. Gopal, George, Bala, Shiva, Ganga, Ambili for the first days fun.   

Ramesh, Sridhar, it was great working with you, Sudharshan glad to make your acquaintance.

As each open yet another forward I have sent and declare they are finally be rid of the junk they were secretly enjoying, I am glad they know me and I know them, for they were my inner circle.

As I clean up my desk and wait for my relieving procedures to end, Sated from the nice lunch the team gave. I reflect on the good times I have shared with these exceptional people.

Good Luck and Good bye…

 

Who do you work for?

- Profiled for a manager reportee relationship.

Part of a Gift...

Long time ago, in Africa, there was a school which was built by missionaries and taught by teachers who came from a world across the seas.

They were different, and they were kind.

An African boy, who didn't have much in possession, came to this school, which started of, by teaching concepts as stories. He soon became the brightest of students of his teacher.

Then, the teacher taught the story of Christmas and the practice of gifting. All the kids were excited and waited for December, for this festival known as Christmas.

As December neared, the boy grew anxious. He wanted to please his teacher, and went through all his ideas of gift and discarded it as unworthy of his teacher.

 Then He heard of the beautiful sands of the beaches of Coastal Africa. Only one elder in his village has ever been there. The boy did his research, pestered the old man for all the details

And one fine morning asked his teacher for permission of a month to embark on a journey. His teacher was upset but granted him leave. She wondered how much he would miss and where was he going. No answer were forthcoming.

The boy walked for 40 days and 40 nights to reach the coasts of Africa, There he found the fabled sand more beautiful than described, And lying on the sand, was an exquisite shell of the palest pink. He smiled.

The teacher on Christmas day was a sad person. Her student, who asked permission, didn't return when expected. Days passed and ...

One day, She looked up and found him on the doorway, tired and dusty and brown, but happy.

 The boy came forward and said: "From me, to you, For Christmas. "

The teacher gasped to see what the bag of cloth held: Sand that glittered like rainbow, with an exquisite pink shell half buried in it.

 "Where did you find these?" She knew he was a poor boy...

 He said "I brought it for you from the sea shores of Africa."

 "But we live miles away from the coast", wondered the teacher.

 The boy smiled and said "The Journey is part of the gift"...

A dose of confidence

If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourselves when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, and not give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triump and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at the beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold On";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds` worth of distant run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you will be a Man my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Write your worries on the sand

I, a very successful Business Analyst, was referred to a well known psychiatrist for stress management issues. I lay on his couch, griped and whined about the issues faced at work, my health, confused and angry of the way life was throwing problem at me. The good doctor listened in silence and asked a question. "Where were you the happiest as a child?" I stopped, surprised in the middle of my tirade and answered "Why, at the Beach!" He reached and wrote something in 4 bits of paper, folded them and handed the bits to me. “Take a day off, Go to the Beach tomorrow. Take these at an interval of 3 hours starting at 10 in the morning". “You must be joking" I answered, "Trust me, wait till you see my bill" He said and buzzed me out.

The next day, I was at the beach sitting in my car, feeling rather silly, nevertheless obeying all the instructions handed out to me. I was not to take any form of additional recreation, no phones and no watch. I was not to open my 'prescriptions' before time. It was a week day and the beach as empty except for a few people. I looked at the sun, judging it might be 10 or so, opened my first medicine and read the words slowly...

Listen Very Carefully: Puzzled I turned and looked around. There was nothing but the sound of waves crashing on the rocks. Was that what I was supposed to listen to? Probably not. I got out of the car and walked to the beach. I sat near a clump of grass and closed my eyes. Beneath the sounds of waves, I could hear the whisper of the wind on the grass. Nearby a sandpiper whistled and ran past me. He stopped and looked at me, wondering what business I had there. He hopped and flew to a twig and went about the business of building his home. I got up and walked to the water. Beneath the receding waters, a conch lay half buried in the sand. I dug it out and washed it. I looked at it beautiful patterns, wondering of its journeys across the seas. I recalled vaguely how its occupant, the hermit crab, outgrows it, abandons it for a bigger shell, a perished shellfish must have left behind. They say that, if you put the conch to your ear, you could hear the whisper of your soul. I did and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. It humbled me to think that there were forces of nature at work from time immemorial, shaping the world I live. I had, for a time now, stopped noticing the world around me and concentrated in the cocoon where my universe existed. It was time, once again to pause to smell the roses and to hear the drum of the woodpecker near my home. I looked at the overhead sun and reached into my pocket for the second slip of paper and read.

Reach Back: Reach Back to what, I wonder? To the past, I guess. I closed my eyes and lay on the grass. I could see me and my sister, playing on the sands below. We used to come every summer to the beach when we were young. I could see my mother, settling on the mat with a book and my dad assembling the shade. Things were simple then, the school, homework and the exams; we had places to go, time to visit, things to do. Games were simple, involved running, hopping and climbing trees... I remembered when circus came to town when I was a child. We were ready to go when my father picked up an important call. We were sure that we would cancel on the outing. He apologized to his superior saying he won’t be able to make it to office, due to an important engagement. When we were about to leave, my mother said, "You know, Circus would be here next spring too", my father answered, "Circus would, Childhood wouldn't"

I smiled at the memories of my sister and me stealing from the neighbor’s apple tree. I scrapped my knee and we got into a row at home for mischief. My sister took the brunt of the punishment. Interesting, I have not thought about my sister lately, she died of brain fever when I was in school. I thought of my lovely wife and our 2 beautiful girls. I frowned trying to remember when I took them out the last time. It seems a long time ago. My girls doesn’t seem to have the fun, I used to have when I was young. Now beaches are crowded and apple trees rare.

I look at the sun making way to the west. I reach for my 3rd prescription.

Reflect and Re-examine: I became defensive, what is wrong with my goals? All of us desire to provide for our family, the best of the world and be happy. But you weren’t happy, an inner voice whispered. I reflected; there are times to see the sleeping heads of my daughters and leave at daybreak before they wake up. I was missing out of their growing years. I miss the times; I bounced them on my knees and listen to the stories. But you were a good analyst, Long hours are part of your job, said another voice True, but was it required anymore? I wonder. I have earned for all the luxuries I need for my family. I could afford to stop working, but was terrified to do nothing afterwards, unknowingly I became a workaholic. My pal suggested an idea of my own consultancy. I was reluctant for fear of failure. That seemed a long time ago. Now I toyed with the idea. To work at my own pace would be nice. To each, their own.

As I grappled and made peace with my own dilemma, I watched the sun start to sink into the horizon. The doctor was wise; He understood the efficiency of examining our soul in solitude, away from the confining wall, within the fold of nature. I reached for my last note.

Those last words I turned and stopped; reached into my pocket and read those last words and smiled. I let the note fly, put the conch in my pocket and reached for a stick. I wrote on the sand, just before the tide came in. I don’t guarantee to lead a stress free life again, when I do, I know where to come. I will once again pick up a shell and listen to the roar of the ocean. I walked to the car. As I started my car, I saw the waves washed away my words, remembered the note and let go.

Write the worries on the sand for the tide to wash away....

Poems That Struck A Chord

XLIII. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, ---
I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life! ---
and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Ballad of a river

Dawn fires the surface into gold,
gold-eyed the herons stilt and stalk.
At silver noon the water hold
Wheeling of a mirrored hawk.

I have not seen water lie so still
As here. Perhaps an otter may
disturb its peace, or white crane till
the green edge wading tall-knee-deep.

In gust of wind, a faint wood hum-
Plucked leaves and broken petals dance,
the wind departs, the wood is dumb,
and floating yellows gather brown.

To think up to a mile ago
this river bounded like a hound,
convulsed and nearly wreaked our boat,
and lies here gentle as a pond!

A rich practical man I'm told
Demanded, why this idleness?
He got no answer and compelled
The river into harness.

Like frightened birds the minutes fled
Pursued by roaring steel and fire
The river slaved and profits grew
To almost overtake desire.

Until, they say, one windy night,
In the deepest vigil of the owl,
The river rose and foaming white,
Descended like a murderer.

At dawn the water shone restored.
The wreakage stood like blasted rocks
Round which the burnished mirror showed
The artistry of a wild brown hawk

-Patrick Fernando


To my Brother, who loves poems

MENTORING A WORKFORCE

THE PAPER FISH THAT LEARNT TO SWIM

About 500 years ago there was a young origami master named Daishinji who lived in a small fishing village in Japan. Daishinji was beginning to become well known for what she could do with a single sheet of paper.

One day she decided to fold a sheet of paper into a fish. Daishinji was amazed by it; she thought it to be a masterpiece and so did others. The fish was fully shaped. With its folds of fins and gills, it looked almost real. One day, after listening for a long time, the paper fish finally spoke. His first three words were: “I am lonely.” Pleased by the fish’s ability to communicate, Daishinji said, “Then I’ll fold you a world in which to swim.” And so an entire folded world was made from paper – an ocean, seaweed, swordfish, whales, sharks, lobsters, crabs, an octopus, and even birds above.

For a long time this was good, and the paper fish was happy. But then one day the paper fish realized that as deep as he swam he would never get wet. And this seemed odd to him, to be a fish, but not to feel the wetness of water. The paper fish begged to go to the real ocean, which was deep, wet, and full of mysteries unknown to Daishinji. The young master began to get frustrated. After all, she had spent months building a world for her paper fish. “Imaginary things must stay in imaginary places,” Daishinji shouted with an anger that the paper fish did not recognize. The paper fish would not take “No” for an answer. His determination was like that of a samurai, and Daishinji finally relented. Although she knew in her heart that paper was only paper, Daishinji agreed to take the paper fish out to the deep, black, real ocean. So the next morning as the sun was rising, the young origami master placed the paper fish in a red wooden box and secured it to her father’s fishing boat.

Daishinji steered the boat to the center of the sea, far away from the small studio that was so comfortable to her. The paper fish was safe and dry in the waterproof box, but he became increasingly excited as he felt the pulse of the waves swell under the boat.

Finally, after what felt like forever to the paper fish, the master stopped the boat, dropped anchor, and lifted her creation out of the walls of the red box. “See the rough, rolling sea?” shouted Daishinji above the crashing waves rocking the boat. “Is this what you want?” “I want the real sea!” the paper fish shouted back. “Trust enough to place me in it and I will become as real and full of blood and bones as any fish swimming at the greatest depths.” The young origami master decided that her paper fish needed to learn a lesson. Daishinji lifted her folded creation, placed him on top of the ocean, and let go for just an instant, figuring that as the paper got wet and began to disintegrate, the fish would scream to be brought back onto the boat. But no such thing occurred.

In the instant that Daishinji let go of the paper fish an amazing transformation took place. If Daishinji had not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. Paper turned to flesh and folds turned to fins and gills. The blood rushing into his body was as fire burning paper away. The fish let out an anguished scream as if he were dying, but then the cry became one of joy. Daishinji gasped a great breath and held it as the paper she had folded with her hands in her private studio transformed before her eyes into a giant, radiant yellow tailed tuna. The yellow tailed fish did not look back at Daishinji once he hit the real ocean. He simply swam on into the deep.

“One day you may get caught in a net, now that you are real. My father may bring you back to market so you can be supper for the village!” Daishinji screamed anxiously. The wide-eyed finned giant finally turned back and shouted, “But now I am free — as real as you are!” And then the yellowtail splashed a spray of water to the sky, and swam down deeper than any fish had ever gone. Daishinji finally released her anxiety and, began sobbing. The ocean rocked her from below like her mother once had. After what felt like a lifetime, silence returned. A tender smile of renunciation appeared on Daishinji’s lips. “I don’t even know your name…” she whispered to the emptiness.

Daishinji focused on vast sea and on the empty red box until the two became one to her. When the time seemed right, she pulled up her anchor and turned her boat for home. After many years of folding paper, Daishinji became known all over Japan as a great master. She created worlds on paper that all became real in their own time.

One day, a young origami practitioner sought out Daishinji. She asked the old woman why she bothered to make things if she then just let them go, holding on to nothing to show for her labor. Daishinji thought a while. She looked around her shop until she found the old dusty box with just speckles of red paint remaining on it. Daishinji asked the young apprentice if she had come by boat. The apprentice said she had, and Daishinji suggested that they take a ride together. She instructed the young woman to drop anchor when they got to the center of the ocean. Daishinji then told the apprentice to go to the side of the boat with the worn wooden box and bid a fish to jump in so they could look at it. The apprentice went to the side of the boat and did as Daishinji instructed her. Nothing happened for a time. Then, out of nowhere, the largest yellow tailed tuna the apprentice had ever seen jumped into the boat. The force of it knocked Daishinji and the apprentice overboard. Daishinji was laughing hard as her old friend; the one-time paper fish got hold of her and the apprentice and helped them back on to the boat.

The apprentice watched as the one-time paper fish told his creator, “There is no going back.” “I know,” said Daishinji. And she pulled up the anchor and instructed the origami apprentice to steer back to shore. The young woman and the old one were silent on the ride back. When they reached shore, the apprentice implored Daishinji, “Master, will you please teach me what you know?”
“I just did,” said Daishinji.

Moral of the story:

• Work is a relational experience, not a transactional one: A relation between creator and created, such that the created is free to transform into its own autonomous entity. It is also a relation between one person and another where a lesson is transmitted through touching real experience.
• It is pretty simple: continue to treat people as trained seals and they’ll work for rewards alone; treat them as full human beings and they’ll work for the work itself. The answers lie inside the people you hired and if you don’t believe that, you never should have hired them and you are wasting your money.
• People need meaning and if they don’t have it, the workplace devolves into a zone of petty competition, selfishness, and political play. Give them a meaningful mission that is about more than transaction. Give them something that is hard, that is full of obstacles, and is incredibly worthwhile. And then tell them they must do it, that you yourself do not know how. Give them support, care, a relationship with you—a real one. Be human with your people and model a relational way of working.
• We have to trust that our ideas on paper have a power of their own, a power beyond our ego and personal strategy, a power that the world itself imbues, a power that only an interaction with the world can set free.
• A transformation is always a surprise. There was a drum maker who has been making drums in his shop for the last 16 years. He works with saws, a lathe, chisels, files, sandpapers, oil, and with goat skins and rope. He has made thousands of drums in his lifetime, every one of them with his own hands, which are calloused and worn. But each time he hears one of his drums played by a new player it is different to him. It feels as if he never made it at all. The player remakes the drum in her own image.
• It is high time for the business workplace to realize that manipulation is powerless next to trust. Control is not the ultimate elixir; and in making the mistake in business of drinking from its cup alone we have poisoned the most hopeful and alive part of ourselves. The antidote is to remain open to becoming continually and unexpectedly transformed by our relationships, our creative ideas, and our life—a life that has been crying out from the beginning to find a place for its authentic expression and revelation at work