" Fauji Kids "

- You were born in a Military Hospital (sniff..sniff..ahaan..ahhan,that smell, all MH smells same)

- Half your toddler years were spent being looked after by Bhaiyas ( no second thoughts..can’t forget their names)

- You went to school either on Bhaiya's cycle or in a Shaktiman (the ultimate powerful modified school bus)

- You know what a shaktiman is. (No! it isn’t the TV serial about half man and half machine starring AB look-alike)

- Olive painted Jeeps and Jongas don’t excite you (reason..arrae yaar..actually they were your regular mode of transport)

- The only alternative to the Central School was the Army School (KV’s and APS you can count them on fingers..Army School..naam tho suna he hoga)

- You always called Kendriya Vidyalaya Central School (god even today that sounds better compared to else)

- Your entire family could survive in one room temporary quarters during transit/ transfer (ahem with 25 trunks, wooden crates, the dog, the bedroll and two bhaiyas flitting around)

- The smell of Brasso & shoe polish was regular staple (hhmmm…early morning while dad getting ready..aan yaad aa gya)

- Mess was not what you created in your room, it was where  you went every  Friday for the free "english" movie (oohh…you can’t miss this..bhai bhandus..n..n.n..first booz)

- The "English Movie" was very often a western  and you couldn't follow a  word! Sometimes you just went for the samosas and the local drink that they insisted was Cola (and your eyes searching crowd for the one..your one…cough cough..)

- At the end of the month your dad had to pay for many pink slips (pink slips yaar…ask dad..showing how many samosas and local drinks that they insisted was Cola you had consumed, fact is they never missed any!!!)

- You attended many May Queen Balls before you knew what Miss India was (ohh your can’t forget the faces..well I tho still remember all)

- Your mother regularly got dressed, perfumed and disappeared for the  Ladies Club.

- You knew towns like Mhow, Wellington, Deolali, Bhuj, Lansdowne (the fauji areas..with which you fall in love everyday…everyday)

- You  weren’t a millionaire but hey you had Swimming, Horse Riding, Squash, Tennis and Golf (cantonment area rules)

- You thought the main reason to have a Golf Course was to have a Holi Bash. (not those 18 Hole pot)

- You can still take one quick look at the epaulets and figure out the rank (ya ya My dad is commanding bhai relax…chest puffed and chin up)

- You discussed Wednesday’s Chitrahaar in the  Shaktiman while going school (with padosi fauji chic..wohi wohi)

- You can still recall the special & particular smell  of the CSD canteen (a  special prize for the correct concoction - mine is - it was  a mix of Hamam  Soap, Ponds Dreamflower Talc and Surf I think also in some  corners it had  overtures of Brooke Bond red Label as well)

- Your vacations were a package deal consisting of  D-forms, Dad ki jonga and Army Mess ka karma (luxuries and comfort guaranteed with 5 star treatment)

- All vehicles mysteriously appeared or disappeared from a vacuum called "EMPTY"

- When "CO UNCLE”!! Was happy he took the unit out on picnic and when he was GLAD he organised a "PAGAL GYMKHANA” and then everyone got GLAD!!

- No one commented on the dressing sense of any body, "Olive Green trousers and Brown Shirt Angola"

- Every house had a settee (which looked more like a narrow coffin!!) Made out of condemned ammo cartons, sarkari blankets and an old embroidered table cloth. 

Finally when Papa retired it took Mom about 12 years to get rid of the "KABAAR " that had been accumulated/ hoarded over the years to include about 30 to 40 wooden boxes all painted black, 14 Brass Mementos which looked like Knights on horses, Old Cannons or some sort of imaginary work of modern art which looked more like  flashes of Lightening  ( the concept of which only Papa could explain after two drinks!!) ,  Eight or Nine empty Brass Shells which bhaiya used to brasso every time we had someone visiting our house, Four sets of Naga Spears, Five types of Dahs, Two Khukris, One Mizo Bow and about 20 Arrows, Fishing Rods ( the hooks had been hidden by Mom long ago lest some brat managed to get them inserted into his hand or eye!!)  eight "Machchar Danis" and 32 rods/ bamboo sticks, Two World War II helmets, One Parachute, about Two High Alti Parkas, Three "chustis" , Papa's 18 pairs of shoes, One shiny green coloured Great Coat, Ten fungus eaten leather belts , Moth eaten sarkari Balaclavas, one High Alti Sleeping Bag, Two Mattress Kapok, Key chains made out of  M14 Anti Personnel Mine Safety Clips, One Pack 08 and about four FS Packs, Web belts, One pistol Holster, One cowboy hat, One "Barah Bore Bandook", one .302 Springfield Rifle whose ammo is no more available and has become a nuisance to get rid of !!, Four Daggers,  about Five walking sticks , Two sarkari canes, One Swagger Stick, One "chabuk" !!!!!, One Leather Crossbelt, about five Whistles, Thirty KGs of  Hazen Cloth in various stages of decomposition !!!! , about 80 KGs of Drift wood, almost 400 White coloured Stones that were picked up from some godforsaken riverbed in Sikkim to be used one day for Landscaping of the Garden after retirement, 60 to 70 Flower Pots, 100 Meters of water pipes ( in bits and pieces), One unused fish aquarium , 50 Meters of Cable WD, Old Blanco Cakes, One Folding Camp Cot, One folding Camp Chair which has the nasty habit of injuring the hands of any inexperienced person trying to open it. Two Namdas, about Four to Six rusted dog leashes still attached to rotting dog collars and not to forget the JHOOLA that was made long ago after taking a lot of obligations of the "Work Shop Uncle".  

We  are still proud of what we got and are aware of the sacrifices our parents made, toiling honestly and with fullest integrity. It steeled us  to give our best and feel grateful for every additional comfort we receive. We know that ours is a culture apart which millions of Indians would want to experience and are highly envious about.

We like to be a free spirit, some don't like that, but that's the way we are. We are not only a pacifist but a militant pacifist; we are willing to fight for peace. Nothing will end war unless the people themselves refuse to go to war.

" well done Army kids, you are the best and the products of the best upbringing, you make your parents proud and indeed the Army proud of you "

- Surya Kant Jena -

soorajkiran1@gmail.com 

" e m o t i o n s "

For a weirdo geek like me, inactions needs to be rationally explained, some how I am not good at forgiving or at forgetting, but yahoo I am harmless. I am not good at saying sorry, strange but my ego doesn’t allow me to do so, and people I am attached with know it very well. I avoid attachments, making friends, trusting the presence of omnipotent/ divine. Dark or black attracts me, the feeling of power and the fact that you are the one, “only one, alone”. I like me without my shadow, the only and only real companion of mine, believe that my mother was right when she said, "actions speak louder than words," and "that life goes on, that I count too;" that if I start to get frightened and think of running, I need to consider that maybe the words and actions I'm hearing seem inconsistent, and to run in the opposite direction if it hurts because these things isn't supposed to hurt.

Years ago a colleague left the organisation (Vertex) I was working with and went to work for the organisation I was trying hard to join (Google), so to speak, during a time of great personal challenge and difficulty for me. I was hurt and felt betrayed and unable to trust her. Months later we began working together again. But for me, every subsequent interaction with her occurred within the context of "I can't trust her." No matter what she was saying to me, the background commentary in my head ran, "She's not telling the truth, be careful, watch out, you can't trust her."

With my inbuilt curiosity, research analysis of such human behavioural psychology states, "the unsaid is the most important part of language when it comes to performance," they write. "What's already there prevents anything new from happening.” a human performance and development company, describes the phenomenon as "already-always" listening. It's counterproductive listening, in which you're not really listening to the other person at all. Instead, you're listening to what the voice in your head is saying about what the other person is saying. He or she gets trapped in the prison of your prejudice i.e. trapped in your "listening" and can never show up in another way to you. 

Two weeks ago, that colleague of mine and I got on the phone with a trainer schooled in the dynamics of these phenomena, and we each stated what our "already-always listening" voice told us when the other person was speaking. For me it was, as I said, "I can't trust you." For her, it was, "You think I'm a commodity, and you don't care about me as a person," which is the signal one would get from a person completely preoccupied with a sense of distrust. How could there be any space for me show concern about your life when I'm constantly worrying about being attacked from behind by you? It would be like the bull saying to the bullfighter, "You don't show any interest in me personally."

Even more interesting, my colleague revealed that, years ago, before the original incident happened, she'd felt the same way and that I didn't care about her. So it surprised her enormously to learn that I had felt hurt and betrayed when she left. I didn't even notice her, she believed, and certainly wouldn't consider her departure any kind of disloyalty.

A bright light dawned over the situation. Everything instantly made sense, and ever since that call, the "I can't trust her" background chatter has gone silent, and I see this colleague as a human being, not as a threat. Consequently I am able to show interest in her as a person. Our interactions have been richer and more productive.

Imagine this kind of misunderstanding multiplied across the range of relationships in any knowledge enterprise, and then multiplied by the number of years for which it has gone on, and consider the losses in productivity. So often we talk past one another, distracted by the voices in our own heads, unable to listen to what other people are saying, let alone what they might be feeling, all under the pretence of communication.

Now throw technology into the mix. We used to be able, at least, to feign "communication" face-to-face. But, more and more of us work virtually. We did not speak by phone or meet one another face to face until nearly a year after we began working together. Imagine the already-always listening that could develop inside the ambiguities of our e-mail exchanges: "Does she like me? Does she think my writing is smart? I don't think she does."

Modern "communication" tools just make things worse. We get on a free conference-call service with four other parties to begin discussing a major deal. We've never met one another. We don't start off the call trying to get to know anything about one another. We just jump into the agenda, because we're all busy. It's voice-over-IP, so the audio quality is degraded to begin with. Three of the people are on cell phones with lousy signals. One is on a headset, which makes her harder to hear still, and she's driving, so she's distracted. Another is on west coast time: It's early, he's at home, and the dog is barking. Two are using the speaker feature on their cell phones, so they sound like Neil Armstrong calling from the moon. Someone keeps dropping off and coming back on but no one knows who. No one can tell who's going to speak next, so people talk over one another jockeying for talk time. None of this is far-fetched. You and I get on conference calls like this all the time.

Opinions begin to form really fast in our heads: "Wow, what an aggressive jerk." "Why's she so uptight?" "That guy can't string two coherent words together." And then we all say, "We communicated by phone." No, we didn't. We did something by phone, but it definitely wasn't communicating. We didn't learn anything about the realities of one another's lives, about one another as people, or about what others' motivations or needs are in the deal. And on this basis we are supposed to begin a healthy relationship. It's absolutely inhuman.

Combine the perils of communication technology with our predisposition not to want to talk about the stuff that's in the middle of the room, and you have a perfect storm of anti-communication. It is the source of all misunderstanding, and misunderstanding is the source of 99% of our problems.

To me, there is no more important issue in business, or in life, than this, because it is the issue that underlies all others, and the good news is, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to fix it. Fixing it is as simple as the phone call my colleague and I had together. Whether it's in the construction of a conference call, or considering that there might be a point of view other than our own, the answer is very simple i.e. " human beings just have to be human to one another "

The best advice always is to not follow advice, try life by yourself, taking risks and learning daily from all around you. We are all on a pilgrimage, whether we like it or not and the target, or goal if you like is, "Death". Get as much as you can from the journey because in the end, "the journey" is all you have.

Trust me it's, " e m o t i o n s " with each space between those alphabets justifying . . . . .

This is some-what like, sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask "where have I gone wrong?" then a voice says to me, "this answer going to take more than one night"

- Surya Kant Jena -

soorajkiran1@gmail.com