Samantha Harvey’s Orbital offers a beautiful window into the mind of an astronaut

 

At a time when Indians are celebrating the return to earth of Sunita Williams, my mind is still afloat with the thoughts of six astronauts aboard the International Space Station.
 
Don’t get me wrong: the space station I’m talking of is from Orbital, Samantha Harvey’s Booker prize-winning novel.
 
And what an amazing book it is!
 
Like millions of Indians, I’ve enjoyed Williams’s videos of her extended stay on the ISS. But after reading Orbital, I can happily say that I’m “witness” to much more.
 
First and foremost, the wondrous, all-too-human thoughts of Anton, Pietro, Roman, Shaun, Chie, and Nell—whom Harvey has compared to the spaceship’s heart, mind, hands, soul, conscience, and breath.
 
But embodying what goes on in their minds and hearts, I suspect, is the author’s own voice. A voice so beautiful and enchanting that the Guardian called Orbital “an uplifting book, in every sense.” 
 
When I started reading the book, I picked up a pen to mark a few lines or paras I particularly liked. By the time I finished it, however, the markings engulfed much of this tiny treasure (it’s less than 140 pages but its scope and imagination are vast).
 
The best parts I liked concern the sheer beauty and uniqueness (thus far!) of the pale blue dot we call Planet Earth—our only home in a seemingly endless universe, not counting the astronauts’ occasional sojourns outside. And I completely second the spacefolk’s thoughts, echoed so poignantly by Harvey in her book, about how the humans’ non-Sapiens behavior is ruining it beyond repair.
 
When the astronauts arrive on the spaceship, the lights of the “night earth” impress them most. As Harvey writes: “From the space station’s distance mankind is a creature that comes out only at night. Mankind is the light of cities and illuminated filament of roads. By day, it’s gone…The night’s electric excess takes their breath.”
 
After a week or two of “city awe,” however, the astronauts’ senses begin to broaden and deepen and it’s “daytime earth” they come to love, the author notes. 
 
With the space station orbiting the earth at over 17,000 miles an hour, there’s a new daybreak for them every ninety minutes. And the kaleidoscopic play of night and day casts a mesmeric spell on how they observe the earth.
 
“It’s the humanless simplicity of land and sea. The way the planet seems to breathe, an animal unto itself. It’s the planet’s indifferent turning in indifferent space and the perfection of the sphere which transcends all language. It’s the black hole of the Pacific becoming field of gold or French Polynesia dotted below, the islands like cell samples, the atolls opal lozenges; then the spindle of Central America which drops away beneath them now to bring to view the Bahamas and Florida and the arc of smoking volcanoes on the Caribbean Plate. It’s Uzbekistan in an expanse of ochre and brown, the snowy mountainous beauty of Kyrgyzstan. The clean and brilliant Indian Ocean of blues untold. The apricot desert of Takla Makan traced about with the faint confluencing and parting lines of creek beds. It’s the diagonal beating path of the galaxy, an invitation to the shunning void.”
 
The love for a shifting, turning, breathing earth is also accompanied by the realization of how human choices and politics have wreaked havoc.
 
“Every swirling neon or red algal bloom in the polluted, warming, overfished Atlantic is crafted in large part by the hand of politics and human choices. Every retreating or retreated or disintegrating glacier, every granite shoulder of every mountain laid newly bare by snow that has never before melted, every scorched and blazing forest or bush…or the altered contour of a coastline where sea is reclaimed meter by painstaking meter and turned into land to house more and more people…or a vanishing mangrove forest in Mumbai, or the hundreds of acres of greenhouses whose plastic makes the entire southern tip of Spain white in the sun.”
 
When they look upon the earth, Harvey writes, the astronauts come to see the politics of want, of growing and getting—a “billion extrapolations of the urge for more.”
 
Inside the spacecraft, the astronauts go about their duties with mechanical precision—often marveling at the meaning of it all. They tend to mice and plants brought along for scientific experiments, do the chores of maintaining the ship, and engage in small talk like most people would do back here on earth.
 
On occasion, Harvey skillfully melds sensitive moments with the critical realities of living in the extraordinary environment of a spaceship. For instance, when Chie shares a memory of climbing a mountain with her mother (who recently expired in Japan while Chie is here on the station), Anton finds himself crying. His tears form four droplets which float away from his eyes—which he and Chie “catch in the palms of their hands.”
 
Liquids are not to be let loose on a spacecraft.
 
Harvey narrates the life and challenges of astronauts in a way that stays with you long after you have read her words.
 
“Up here in microgravity you’re a seabird on a warm day drifting, just drifting. What use are biceps, calves, strong shin bones; what use muscle mass? Legs are a thing of the past. But every day the six of them have to fight this urge to dissipate. They retreat inside their headphones and press weights and cycle nowhere at twenty-three times the speed of sound on a bike that has no seat or handlebars, just a set of pedals attached to a rig, and run eight miles inside a slick metal module with a close-up view of a turning planet.
 
Sometimes they wish for a cold stiff wind, blustery rain, autumn leaves, reddened fingers, muddy legs, a curious dog, a startled rabbit, a leaping sudden deer, a puddle in a pothole, soaked feet, a slight chill, a fellow runner, a shaft of sun.”
 
One of the astronauts, Shaun, once receives an editorial email asking his views about an imminent moon landing. The question posed is this: With this new era of space travel, how are we writing the future of humanity?
 
While Shaun answers the email in the customary and predictable way (“There’s perhaps never been so exciting and pivotal a time…”), he turns the question to his fellow-traveler, Pietro. The answer Pietro gives is more pointed (and perhaps apt, given our current situation): “With the gilded pens of billionaires, I guess.”
 
The gilded pens of billionaires indeed seem to be writing our future in space, perhaps without as much thought as should have gone into it. And often in a “tearing” hurry.
 
Which is why we must take a pause and go with Harvey on a considerate “Orbital trip”. The book doesn’t have all the answers—but at least it compels us to ask some questions that urgently need to be asked.
 

Why it's perfectly OK to be ordinary—and unambitious

 

“We want rock stars.”

“10x engineers.”

“Super achievers.”

It’s an overwhelming reality of the world we live in. Every company wants exceptional, super-productive people on its teams. And every individual strives to be in the top 10, 20, or whatever number they fancy in a given realm.

The human race has been in a relentless race with its own kind for as long as anyone can remember. For everything—from jobs and sports to crazy feats and rare honors.

But, of late, the desire to be extraordinary has taken on a ferocity that makes the rest of us—the ordinary folk who form the bulk of Planet Earth’s inhabitants—shudder.

I have nothing against superlative achievement or the pursuit of excellence, mind you. On the contrary, aspiring to reach our highest potential is a worthy, admirable goal.

I’m here to warn against and provide a contrarian view to the blind cult of ambition at any cost. Against an all-consuming pursuit that usually breeds secret fears of being left behind in an avalanche of technology-led progress. Which also begets unhealthy envy. And depression. And, quite often, a dangerous attitude of “making a mark, come what may.”

So much so that many “driven” people wouldn’t think twice before building their palaces by bulldozing the tiny huts of those who aren’t as “passionate” (read “aggressive”).

Again, it’s all right to be full of energy and follow one’s dreams in right earnestness. But reckless driving to mow down others? Not done.

To be sure, it takes a combination of talent, hard work, and the right circumstances (also known as luck) to reach the pinnacle of success in any field.

Plus, there’s only so much room at the top (unless you are thinking of climbing Mount Everest, where it’s a crowded slugfest now!)

But, more importantly, and the main point of this post: not everyone needs to be super ambitious or extraordinary. In fact, in their heart, a majority of people are not ambitious—though many of them harbor borrowed ambitions and expectations of those around them (Remember the “What do you want to be when you grow up” spiel or the never-ending plea to “push the envelope”?).

IMHO, most folks just want to live in an admixture of peace, love, and fun—with or without achieving a supposedly lofty goal. 

Not all who join as employees do so to become the CEO—which is okay. (They may still become the CEO which, again, is okay.)

Not all folks who play a sport or go for daily runs do so to win an Olympics medal—which is okay.

Not everyone who applauds a theatrical performance is looking to be a stage actor—which is okay. 

And not all who put on makeup want to win beauty pageants—OK, again.

Ordinariness is an essential, irrefutable fact of life. It is, of course, not to be worn as a badge of honor—but nor is it to be looked down upon. Ordinariness or lack of ambition is usually the way things are, and the person that others label as “ordinary” or “unambitious” may not give it two hoots.

What’s more, labels can be misleading. An ordinary assistant, for instance, may be a great human being while an extraordinary CEO can be lousy and mean. A “successful” career politician can fill you with disgust while a “street tramp” playing the violin can bring a smile to your face.

What matters more than ambition—whether you consider yourself extraordinary or ordinary—is the sincerity with which you do the job at hand or the empathy with which you treat your fellow humans and other sentient beings.

I’m not just preaching this to you—I speak from experience. I gave up being ambitious in my career when I was in my forties. Somewhere along the line, I stopped chasing increments or jumps but, instead, began to walk with a pace that was more in step with my psyche. I also focused more on what mattered to me personally (to the extent I could). This included meditation, reducing my cravings, and taking joy in the little things of life. Seeing my friends and even complete strangers flourish and laugh made me happy. Before long, I felt more fulfilled, more connected with the world at large, even as I quietly acknowledged my own tininess.

At a time when the specter of AI is looming large over jobs, it is important to wield human ordinariness not only as a shield but as something of great value—one that no extraordinary AI model can ever generate. 

It is important to strive for excellence—but more by means of who we are than by the judgment of others. It's even more urgent to achieve collective happiness and peace in a world increasingly divided by labels, gaps, and rifts. 

It is indeed important and necessary—and perfectly all right—to be ordinary.

Why There's Still Nothing Like Great Mornings

In India the early morning hours, called Brahma Muhurta, are considered auspicious for new initiatives and great beginnings. Even otherwise, there’s something in the morning air that takes you to another level of exalted existence—provided you can shake off the sleep and be up and about this side of 6 a.m.

I used to be an early bird but, somewhere along my worklife, I metamorphosed into a night owl. Even so, every once in a while I chirp up at a respectable morning hour.

Recently I got up around dawn, took one final yawn and, freshening up quickly, made for the nearby park that’s my usual walking heaven.

The moment I found myself in the middle of a grassy patch with peepul, margosa, and ashoka trees, I paused to take it all in. The beautiful, green landscape. The cool breeze. The sound of koels, barbets, mynas.

Sitting down on a bench, I listened. Above the sweet din of birdsong, my ear caught the curious cry of a black kite. I have often wondered at the onomatopoeic symphony that so closely resembles the Hindi name of the raptor. It goes like this: “Chee-eel, chee-eel, chee-eel.” The kite was making slow circles up in the air, probably looking for its first catch of the day down below on the ground. Or maybe it was eyeing me, reciprocating my curiosity!

My attention was diverted by a unique buzzing chorus that was growing in loudness and intensity. I wondered whether it was a swarm of crickets, grasshoppers, or some other insects making those shrill noises. In all probability, they were a bunch of male cicadas out on their annual short sojourn out of the mud, attracting females through what’s called “stridulation.” Later on, when I searched the web, I came across this beautiful article  by Ramya Coushik on the whole shebang. The Britannica entry throws in some amazing tidbits, too (like, each of the 3,000 species of cicadas has a distinct sound; or that they can contract their tymbal muscle, responsible for those screeches, 120 to 480 times a second!).

But let’s not lose our wings in entomology—back to the park and the morning.

Having noticed all that natural drama around me, I did some stretches and settled down to meditate. Most often, I meditate in my room but exercising or meditating out in the open, green surroundings is remarkably different. Your lungs are fuller, your mood lighter, and your spirits higher. Gratitude and love flow more easily from the bottom of your heart.

On this particular occasion, I didn’t have to wait long before I eased deeper into a state of peace and equanimity. I felt healthier and more agile, even though I was barely moving.

When I opened my eyes, the benign sun was just appearing on the horizon. It was the middle of summer but there was still an hour or so before the day would lose its cool to the ferocious glare of the sun.

I surveyed the park before getting up to leave. The crowd of people to make good on their jogging and exercising self-promises had grown. Dog-walkers were jostling for track space with slow-moving uncles and impatient athletes. Not far from where I sat, a group of yoga enthusiasts were folding up their mats. It was apparent from their echoing banter that they had had a good session.

On my way back home, I saw the city wake up in an outburst of laziness and bustle. Reluctant folks bringing milk and groceries; long-distance commuters hurrying up to the nearest metro station, trying to avoid the dust from the mighty sweeps the street cleaners made with their witch-brooms; cows munching on leftovers they shouldn't be eating for producing healthy milk; the neighborhood elder shouting North India's most common salutation as he passed the next house or shop: “Ram-Ram ji!”—each one playing their usual part in the forward march of the day.

Just another great morning in the ongoing drumbeat of time.

Of Squirrels and Quarrels

 

At first she completely ignored me, though it was she who made the first few advances in her bouncy gait. And when I extended my hand out a little bit, she scampered away as quickly as she had come. I waited a few more seconds before resuming to read a book I had just bought from the nearby market, hoping that she would come again and stay for a while. I found her kinda cute, with a tiny face, a soft body and quick, jerky movements with which she moved about. In our five-second encounter I had even given her a name: Flitty.

Now, as I took out a bit of roti (a round, thin Indian bread made of wheat dough) from the tiffin box in my bag, Flitty appeared again before me, looking more resolute and sure. Learning from my overzealousness in reaching out to her (How I wanted to shake her tiny hand!), this time I remained calm and unmoved. Emboldened, she took a few more quick hops ahead and stood still, barely two feet away from the park bench I was sitting on. Slowly, very slowly, I dropped the piece of roti at her side, without making the slightest sound. True to her name, Flitty made a series of quick twitching turns, as if to run away again. But no, from the trembling of her tiny mouth, I could feel that she was hungry and wouldn’t mind taking the risk of being so near a human for a sweet little morsel. 

So Flitty stayed, snatched the piece of roti lying on the grass with her dexterous hands, and nibbled at it vigorously amid jealous screeches from three or four fellow squirrels who had scented food and were now gathered around us.

Soon enough, besides Flitty and friends, a flock of mynahs and about half-a-dozen crows were chirping and crowing around the trees that surrounded the bench.

I was tempted to throw some biscuits in their direction but held myself in check: it’s generally not advisable to give cooked or processed food to birds and animals as it can upset their health (besides spoiling their habits).

Instead, I sat back and watched the fun riot of squirrels and quarrels all around me.

There was a little mud pool into which some rainwater had collected. The crows, realizing that no food was coming their way, headed toward the pool. One fella hopped inside and splashed the muddy water around, followed by another black dude who seemed quite amused by the spectacle. Their numbers soon swelled into what would collectively make them into a murder of crows—though, obviously, it was frolic rather than murder on their minds. Not that there were no squabbles. Some people just want to grab opportunities out of turn, you know. 

Not far from this frolicking was a string of robust-looking garden ants making their way to the roots of an Ashoka tree. I could see a hole at the bottom of the tree trunk into which they marched and disappeared. From the same hole, another string of ants quickly emerged, carrying bits of rice on top of their heads. This seemed like an efficient supply-chain operation in which the rice thrown by someone near the tree was being supplied to where it was truly needed through a chain of smooth operators.

Like all supply chains, though, there were hiccups. I saw a pug separated from its owner chase away the ants hurrying toward their destination with a snort of its nose and some scratching of its paws. The thought must have entered its head somehow that this rice-redistribution operation must not be allowed to go on. Or so I felt. 

The dog owner soon came looking for his pet, caught hold of the leash, and gently dragged it away. Even as the pug went away, it turned its head and wistfully looked back to where it was having so much fun.

The ants barely broke a sweat and resumed their work on the double.

High up into the thicket of branches of a mango tree, a couple of parrots were fighting with each other—possibly about who had the right to the first bite of a particularly luscious mango. In their apparent struggle to peck first at the fruit, the ripened mango broke free and came to the ground with a soft thud. There it lay for a while, before it was picked up and carried off by a little girl, probably the daughter of one of the laborers working a few meters away with their tools on repaving the footpath.

The parrots came looking for it and, realizing that the object of their affection was claimed by someone they couldn’t fight, shrieked away into the distance.

I buried myself in the book once again, quietly laughing.

Image: Pixabay.com

What a quarter century of writing and editing has taught me

 Image by Hannah Olinger for Unsplash

As with all writing, this one began with a blank space. Or rather, with the vast expanse of creative possibility represented by this seemingly “endless page”. (Thank you, Internet, for that.)

Now there are two ways I can do this, the sharing of my experience as a writer-editor for over 25 years. The more obvious and cliched one would be to pen down (key in, actually) the lessons I’ve learned and package them as a listicle: 10 Extraordinary lessons I learned in 25 years of career. Or some such.

This would please a lot of folks and probably fit the bill when it comes to getting the eyeballs and ticking some boxes in search engine optimization.

But hell, no. To be honest, I’ve done my unfair share of writing listicles. And yet, I thought that twenty-flickin’-five years is a pretty long time to be a little more indulgent. A bit reminiscing, perhaps. And a lot more forthcoming certainly.

So this one is a trip down the memory lane combined with fragments of learnings—woven, I hope, with the kind of warp and weft that will keep you interested. Shoot and scoot if you find me boring!

Here goes...

I got my first real job as a copy editor while I was awaiting the results of my postgraduate journalism course. My LinkedIn profile doesn’t mention that company, nor do I intend to name it here (we can take that offline, right?) But I did cut some of my teeth doing industrial-strength editing at this publishing firm. Those were the days of marking copy on paper and then handing it over to a computer operator for corrections. Girl, was I proud of my prowess with editing symbols! (The symbol for deletion was shaped like a ‘d’ with the upper edge slightly hooked; spacing out two wrongly joined letters of the alphabet was the job of a zigzag line plonked in their midst; a double-looped squiggle was used to interchange two letters or words; and so on.)

What gave me a great platform for learning and early boasting rights to a big media brand, however, was DQ. That is short for Dataquest, India’s first computer magazine and, at the height of its prime, the most significant purveyor of happenings in the IT industry in this part of the world. (In those days, the DQ Top 20 parties, where the top players of the industry were feted, were attended by the Who’s Who of Indian IT such as Shiv Nadar and Dewang Mehta.)

There was a small library in one of the three basement offices occupied by Cyber Media, the parent company of DQ, in New Delhi’s Panchsheel Enclave. At that time, DQ had a licensing arrangement with BusinessWeek to republish some of the magazine’s tech articles and a printed copy of the latter was available for Cyberites to borrow and read. I would often grab a new issue of BW and, sometimes, even read it cover to cover, in addition to marking out which article to pick for republishing in the upcoming edition of DQ.

No offence to the DQ writers of those times (by the way, I also wrote occasionally even though my primary role was to edit), but I was in thrall of BW for the magazine’s clarity, clever expressions, and tight editing. For one, I still remember this headline of theirs for an article analyzing AT&T’s choice of an external exec to head the telecom giant. It said: Why AT&T Made An Outside Call.

There was another magazine that I began to greatly admire (just like a lot of journalists do, I believe): The Economist. Curiously, the magazine loves to call itself a paper. But it writes with amazing panache and, often, with what I call “pleasantly irritating” sarcasm—pleasant for the general reader but irksome for the object of their ridicule.

In those days, CNET’s News.com and Wired used to be my go-to sources for all things tech. Now, of course, you have a much wider swathe of media covering tech and much else.

“The more you read, the more you get to learn about great writing” became my personal mantra. I was already “into books”; magazines and websites added more fodder to the fuel that kept me going. Some of the books that have stayed in my heart and mind after all these years: The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway, Talks on the Gita by Vinoba Bhave, Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, The Outsider by Albert Camus, Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. (For my recent tribute to reading, do check out Why We Love Reading Books.)

Another mantra I have come to live by is that you must first learn the rules before you try to break them—and break them you must, once in a while, to get rid of monotony and keep things from becoming too straight-jacketed. For instance, they tell you in grammar class that you shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition or begin one with a conjunction. But that’s not always true and not something everyone should stick to.

More than the rules of the language, it is what you say and how you say it that matter.

Along the circuitous route of my career, which saw more job switches than many HR pros would recommend, I realized the power and importance of editing. Indeed I was drawn equally to writing and editing. The majority of people working in media are either characterized as writers or editors; only a select few get to be both. I’ve been fortunate and happy to wear these two hats, often simultaneously—despite owning only one head at all times.

Initially, I was hesitant to edit or rewrite somebody else’s copy. How could I be sure of what exactly they meant by something? What if I delete some important parts from the story? Have I really enhanced what was already written? All sorts of doubts used to crop up in my mind.

So I began with careful cuts on the surface. Before long, however, I was making deep gashes. Also, I was reshuffling paragraphs, reviving dead sentences, and adding some flourishes here and there.

I remember that, when such “shenanigans” on my part as a copy editor began, a couple of writers at DQ (and, later, at other media houses I worked with) were really cross with me. They thought I had “murdered” their copy with those gashes and rearrangements, whereas, in reality, I only tried to make their words sing when they were barely speaking. It took some convincing and better reviews of “their writing” by neutral readers to turn the tide in my favor. And you know what? After a while, instead of complaining, they used to specifically request me to edit and polish their stories. Talk about happiness.

In hindsight, I think what has made me a bit successful as an editing professional is the ability to get under the skin of the writer and stay curious about what is being conveyed (in order to fact-check or cross-check, add more “meat”, etc.). You need to be empathetic to both the writer and the reader to be able to do justice to the editing job at hand.

Over the years, I worked with several top media houses in India, including the Times of India Group, the Indian Express Group, and the Hindustan Times Group (mostly in their tech or business publications)—taking each stint as a new learning opportunity. But I was also “daring enough” to work with dotcom startups (remember the original dotcom bubble?) and e-learning organizations. At the latter, I realized the rigor and discipline of delivering “learning content” in a project-managed setting—a far cry from the relatively lazy or haphazard way of working that journalists were often notorious for. 

Some of the work I did, especially at the e-learning startups, was so monotonous that I still shudder at the thought of it. To be fair, the memories also bring smiles for some interesting, enjoyable projects. Among the bad apples (as far as I was concerned) was a course for database administrators that required a lot of monotonous and slightly varying commands to accomplish tasks related to configuring and managing databases. I used to wonder whether DBAs found their jobs as boring as I did mine, checking whether the description of “Do this to do that” was correct or not. All the same, courses on Lean Six Sigma and teaching computers to youngsters in a fun way added moments of relief and even pleasure.

Which brings me to another guiding principle: one must persevere to see something through. Some tasks, even in something that sounds as interesting as writing, can be quite mundane and need to be dealt with just as professionally and thoroughly.

Here, maybe a word or two is warranted about the art of interviewing, an important, nay, indispensable tool in the writer’s repertoire.

I’m particularly reminded of an interview with a senior executive of India Switch Company (ISC), which used to manage the country’s fledgling network of ATMs. For some reason, he had been avoiding being interviewed but finally agreed to give me “not more than 30 minutes”.

Now, I had been wanting to interview him for a story on Indian banks’ modernization for a reputed tech brand, InformationWeek (at that time, it was debuting in India under a tie-up with Jasubhai Digital Media). In those days, there were barely a couple of hundred ATMs (in entire India!) and his inputs as one of the key insiders were going to be quite valuable. So, I went in to meet him nonetheless, armed with all the knowledge about the state of technology deployment at Indian banks. Knowing something decently well gives you confidence, and when I shook hands with that gentleman I sensed that I could “draw him out” with a little effort.

One-and-a-half hours and a couple of cups of coffee later, I was walking out of ISC’s Dadar, Mumbai office with a lot of exciting stuff to write about. I had quizzed him with just the right questions and given a patient hearing to him (though, ironically, he was the one short on time). Having done my homework, I had enough follow-up queries as well—something that he visibly appreciated (the coffee was nice). 

Cut to my present job at Freshworks, where I landed after stints with FactorDaily and Mint. By the way, I just completed two years in this fabulous organization envisioned and propelled by a sweet, caring guy that folks here simply call G (for Girish Mathrubootham, founder and CEO). And I must say I’m happy to play a part in building and enhancing the Freshworks brand globally in the booming SaaS market (SaaS is short for Software as a Service).

I have realized that there are great stories waiting to be discovered and told everywhere: one only needs to look carefully and nourish the opportunities with diligence and love.

Over the years, besides writing on tech and business, I have also been on an inner journey of sorts—through meditation and a deep concern for the environment. While you can find some of my articles on these topics online, I would like to say something I believe is of huge significance. Not that it hasn’t been said before or that a relatively less known writer like me can say it loud enough. But I just can’t leave it unsaid now that I have opened up pretty much.

If there’s one thing the ongoing coronavirus pandemic has taught us, it’s the message that healing is needed super urgently. What we must not forget, however, is that this healing is not only for human beings—even though we may happen to sit atop the species hierarchy—but for the entire planet.

We can’t say this powerful sentence a sufficient number of times, for the luxuries of modern living seem to constantly dull our sense of hearing: THERE IS NO PLANet B.

I know, I know...the ‘Musk’eteers out there are already pointing their cursors (or is it curses?) at me, pointing to their superhero’s impending plans “to colonize Mars”. And Mars, they will tell you, is a planet. (Well, so was Pluto, once upon a time...LOL.)

But seriously, we are running out of time to successfully colonize our neighbors for the majority of the “hooman race” to survive. You don’t have to take my word for it: just look at the recent cataclysmic weather events and some climate change studies if you wish.

Since this post is mostly about writing and editing, let me bring it to a close with these pressing words from a book I’m reading currently: The Future We Choose by Christiana Figueres (former UN Secretary for Climate Change) and Tom Rivett-Carnac (senior political strategist for the Paris Agreement):-

{We are already too far down the road of destruction to be able to ‘solve’ climate change. The atmosphere is by now too loaded with greenhouse gases and the biosphere too altered for us to be able to turn the clock back on global warming and its effects. We, and all our descendants, will live in a world with environmental conditions that are permanently altered. We cannot bring back the extinct species, the melted glaciers, the dead coral reefs, or the destroyed primary forests. The best we can do is keep the changes within a manageable range, staving off total calamity, preventing the disaster that will result from the unchecked rise of emissions. This, at least, might usher us out of the crisis mode. It is the bare minimum that we must do.

But we can also do much more.} 

As a parting remark, I think we can have a couple of billionaires indulge their appetite for space travel and colonization (which may turn out to be good for the very, very long term). But unless a majority of governments and entrepreneurs (tech or otherwise, who like to be called problem-solvers) put a laser-sharp focus on what Christiana and Tom say, most of us will just watch the spectacle of shooting a handful of rockets, escaping not only “the velocity” but a life of misery on the most beautiful planet there is. For much of humanity, there won’t be any escape route.

Humble request: please take the parting shot not as a doomsday lament but as a vaccine for hopeful action. That’s it for now.

Stay safe, stay hopeful, stay motivated and interested.

Thank you for reading. 

Why We Love Reading Books

 

Photo by Olia Danilevich from Pexels 

When it comes to books, many of us will identify with Francis Bacon’s famous saying, “Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.” But there’s no denying that for those who “just love books,” they hold enormous power over us.

To this day, I have not come across a higher tribute to the power of a book than this line in Talks on the Gita by Vinoba Bhave: “I have received more nourishment from the Gita than my body has from my mother’s milk.”

The sheer love that Bhagavad Gita evinced in one of India’s well-known social reformers clearly shines through his heartfelt words. 

That line and the childlike simplicity of Vinoba’s interpretation of the Gita’s 18 chapters in the book (which was initially delivered as a series of talks) have remained with me through the years. Permanently digested and absorbed, as it were.

What makes books, books

Books can get us started on an inner journey, inspire us to become great leaders, prod us on to pick up or drop habits, teach something new, or simply entertain us for a while.

Some bestsellers, when they catch the fancy of a Hollywood director, turn into big blockbusters.

There’s something about the term “book” that inspires trust, attracts admiration or instills confidence. For one, a book on a given topic is much more elaborate and “serious sounding” than, say, a social post or an article—after all, someone committed months, years, or even decades, to researching and writing it. Besides, it allows readers to engage in a deeper exploration of something at their own pace, in the comfort of their own space.

Images of readers lost in books and holding their favorite cuppa can be found all around us. Some of them evoke nostalgia or even jealousy, usually in a nice way that makes you resolve to “catch up on your reading” in the not-too-distant future.

Alas, if only wishes were books!

Books may demand more in terms of your time compared to watching a film or listening to a podcast, but once they hook you in and grab you by the lapels of your curiosity and hunger for knowledge and understanding, you can hardly, to use a cliche, put them down. You also find it harder to forget the protagonists, storyline, lessons or insights from a book you really liked.

Again, it’s probably true that films or videos provide a bigger visual feast than books. But it’s also true that books give better wings to your imagination and, if I may dare say, a higher canvas to project your thoughts and ideas.

A look at some of the bestselling books of all time—across genres—enables us to appreciate the breadth of their scope and the depth of their impact. From the Bible to The Lord of the Rings, from Principia Mathematica to Das Kapital, from Romeo and Juliet to A Brief History of Time, from Think and Grow Rich to The Innovator’s Dilemma, from The Origin of Species to the Harry Potter series...books have not only captured much of human knowledge but also kept us going in our constant pursuit of happiness.

Let’s catch glimpses of what a few famous folks have said about books and reading:

“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” – Jorge Luis Borges

“If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.” – Haruki Murakami

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” – Marcus Tullius Cicero

“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” – Toni Morrison

“Do not read, as children do, to amuse yourself, or like the ambitious, for the purpose of instruction. No, read in order to live.” – Gustave Flaubert

“In a good bookroom you feel in some mysterious way that you are absorbing the wisdom contained in all the books through your skin, without even opening them.” – Mark Twain

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” – Neil Gaiman

“There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate’s loot on Treasure Island.” – Walt Disney

“Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.” – Malorie Blackman

A book, to borrow a line from the poet John Keats, is a thing of beauty that is a joy for ever.

Three cheers to books, writers and readers!

(The above post was first published on Freshworks.com.)

The Essence of Leadership

At a time when our world is suffering from one of its biggest crises – the leadership vacuum – I think it might be worth our while to revisit the idea of leadership and the core qualities of great leaders


Few things move men and women as much as the inspiring words or daring examples of a great leader. Over millennia of human history, a galaxy of leaders have led people all over the world to achieve extraordinary things. Not just in times of war to win battles but in peaceful times as well to establish business empires, create things of beauty or make planet earth a better place to be. Some of the biggest names in leadership that immediately spring to mind: Mahatma Gandhi, George Washington, Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte, Ernest Shackleton, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr, Winston Churchill, Gloria Steinem, Buddha, Pope John Paul II, Dalai Lama, Jack Welch, Steve Jobs...

Not a comprehensive list for sure, nor does it belong to a particular eon or creed or flavor – but certainly worthy of our aspiration, emulation or, simply, following.

There are some key questions we have always been asking about leadership: What is leadership? What makes the people named above or hundreds of others like them across centuries so different, so influential, so long-lasting despite their limited tenure and many human frailties? What intrinsic or acquired qualities have made them win wars, inspire trust in people, heal their minds and souls, change the way we relate to society, or create organizations and objects that become the envy of the world?

Questions like these have intrigued the best of human minds and the answers still continue to evolve even after relentless honing and refinement. But given that the world is going through multiple crises which, I believe, can be better tackled with effective leadership, it may not be out of place to address its core principles and ideas.

First and foremost, the very term leadership, according to Oxford dictionary, means “the action of leading a group of people or an organization, or the ability to do this.” So the most essential thing about a leader is that he or she gets other people to achieve some goal.

But a mechanical get-things-done-through-people definition is not what leadership is all about. Let's look at what some of the world's best minds have said about leadership.

Dwight D Eisenhower: “The supreme quality for leadership is unquestionably integrity. Without it, no real success is possible...”

Stephen Covey: “Management is efficiency in climbing the ladder of success; leadership determines whether the ladder is leaning against the right wall.”

John Quincy Adams: “If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Our chief want in life is someone who shall make us do what we can.”

Warren Bennis: “Leadership is the capacity to translate vision into reality.”

Tom Peters: “Management is about arranging and telling. Leadership is about nurturing and enhancing.”

There are thousands of such interesting, inspiring or illuminating viewpoints and opinions. But the critical thing to note is, it is the leaders – whether of a country, a society, an organization or even a function within a firm – who make things move. Who take the initiative to urge people to come together for achieving something. Who are always taking it upon themselves to learn new things, try new ideas and leave a legacy of innovation, creativity, and can-do spirit. They may lean toward certain personality traits, but they are all distinguished by the integrity of their values and the emotional maturity of their actions.

They are all, without doubt, leaders.

We don't seem to have many of them left, do we? So, how can we create, nurture or empower more leaders?

Think about it...