Garden Diaries: March ( A season passes by )

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

Ecclesiastes 3:2

On 5^th March, my garden was on full bloom. Sun was shining bright and birds were chirping as usual. When I went home for lunch around 2 PM, I happily checked my flowers and my seedlings (sunflower and zinnia) and even took some photos of Delphiniums, Larkspurs, Nasturtiums and Cineraria.

Hailstorm

Around 4 PM, there was a sudden hailstorm……. the lawn turned white and the flowering plants were slayed within minutes. Hailstones of the size of golf ball were too much for my delicate flowers to bear. At the end of it Nasturtiums, cinerarias and Petunias were gone completely. Few pots and flower beds in shade of trees survived the worst.  Kalnchoes and Impatiens suffered major damage and in short, the garden was ruined. It was a sad sight and it broke my heart.

Orange blossoms

Next morning, the sun was back, so were the birds and while I was still mourning the destruction of yesterday, nature had started building up. The geraniums started showing new buds in few days and even the petite pansies fought back. The water in waterlily tubs had turned black but soon, I saw new leaves of waterlilies too. The calendulas and Helichrysum braved the damage and again stood tall.

 I was still sad thinking of the premature ruin of my pretty flowers. Then on a Saturday, standing out in bright sun I saw a blue sunbird happily frolicking among the larkspurs. It was such a heart-warming sight. Standing in the middle of ruined flowerbeds, I smiled.

Since then, slowly but surely things have warmed up in the garden. Nastratiums are now replaced by the tiny seedlings of Zinnia and in place of my pretty pink petunias, I have planted Giant Russian Sunflowers. Gaillardia and Vinca will be next and of course Kochia and Portulaca. It is said that “A good gardener always plants 3 seeds -one for the bugs, one for the weather and one for himself.” But well, I did not. Hailstorm also killed many of the seedlings. The mis-calculation has costed me one full month. At present I have vacant flower beds but nothing to plant. My Mixed Zinnia seeds are coming up slowly and hopefully in another 20 days I will be all set to face the summer with my summer flower garden.

Trays of Succulents 

Meanwhile, I had collected some succulents and had arranged two trays of them. They also suffered some damage in the storm but these tiny plants are known for their sturdiness. So they are doing fine. I am still not too enchanted by them as I find flowers much more delightful. But who knows? I also got some more succulents as gift and may be another arrangement will soon follow.

Helichrysum- the everlasting flowers

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.

                                                                                       -- William Blake

That is funny part of being a gardener. Your garden often knows better than your imagination and skill. The storm had damaged one part of mango blossom also and yet the other side of this good old tree is still  a sight to behold – full of pale yellow blossoms. As I have always believed – Mango blossom is the true portent of summer. So here it is – the summer of 2020.

Outside the limited world of my garden, there is a real scare of an epidemic. The virus is spreading world over and the normal life has been shut down in so many countries. For the first time the scorching summer sounds very welcoming. Temperature in the city is touching 32 and hopefully, we won't be affected much with the deadly virus thanks to the heat.

I just remembered that this is the 12th edition of my garden diaries. It was fun writing these posts. I do hope I will read them in future and remember the joy my garden brought me whole year through. It was a great learning for me as gardener and also as a person. I learnt the lesson of patience and moderation, a lesson of learning the skill right and most of all, I learnt that it takes a dallopful of faith and trust in nature for a garden to bloom. I am ever so grateful that I could hear the music of the earth and could hum its tune this whole year through.

Garden Diaries- May (It's May, it's May, the month of great dismay)

Glorious Amaltas- the Golden Shower

              
                “Summer has set in with its usual severity.”

                                                       --Samuel Taylor

The sunshine is bright and blazing almost whole day. Even a sight of shade provides some relief to the eyes. Birds are always looking for the bowls of water to splash in and the plants get dried up however much we water them. Well, it is the desert land and you cannot expect an easy summer. This month and the next is harsh to get by for the birds. Even local newspapers appeal to put water for birds and set up birdhouses on trees. The usual chirping comes down from 9 in the morning till late evening (barring some parrots of course who continue to engage with us in a battle of wits over ownership of raw mangoes – Needless to say they win).
 

Parrots  attacking raw mangoes

Earlier this month, on a Thursday morning – the sky was pale blue with no clouds in sight, weather was getting warmer and as usual, this peacock came to our garden. It happily ate its daily staple diet of the bird feed and insects, took a stroll around flowerbeds and suddenly, it was dancing.  Oh, what a performance it was. No words can suffice to that display of colour and I guess contentment (which no doubt came from a good meal). And this is how, ordinary Thursdays turn magical in the marvelous month of May.

Dance Performance in the Garden

AA Milne wrote somewhere that “I regretted that the loveliness of May was lost for so many in the clamour of elections when the only 'issues' which really mattered were the apple and cherry blossom, the budding flowers, and the fresh pale green of birch and beech.” 

 If I think of the Indian Summer alternative to English apple and cherry blossoms, it would be definitely yellow Amaltas (Golden Shower tree) and red Gulmohar (Delonix regia). Yes, election talk even here overshadowed every other real issue. But for anyone keeping his/ her eyes open, it is difficult to overlook the beauty of trees turning the brightest of yellow and red. In India, it is typical to line up the streets with these trees. They flower simultaneously and make such a delightful sight in summers. For me, these flowering trees of Amaltas and Gulmohar and the cuckoo singing on the mango trees are two most endearing sights of Indian Summers. I feel lucky to have many Amaltas and Gulmohars around my house .

जियें तो अपने बग़ीचे में गुलमोहर के तले,

 मरें तो ग़ैर की गलियों में गुलमोहर के लिये

May is not a very forgiving month for flowers but then you have some brave hearts. I am specifically partial to Zinnia- which bloom from summers to monsoons with great gusto. This time we are particularly lucky with Zinnias. We have all possible colors and shades in them and they provide a delightful respite from the dearth of colour in my flowerbeds otherwise.

Colors of Zinnia

My giant sunflower plants are now much taller than me and are full of promise. Buds are already opening and I do hope to see the most beautiful shade of yellow in the garden. Meanwhile, birds are building nests all over the house – inside the hedge, behind the ACs, over the telephone box and of course, in the shrubs and on the trees. Many nests also have eggs. The family of Grey Francolins (Teetar) gleefully march with their latest generation, reminding me of the old film song (Teetar ke do aage teetar ……). In the wild mulberry tree, I have noticed a small nest built by a robin and you can see blue eggs inside. I have been warned by a birder friend not to go very near the nest, in search of a good photograph, as that might attract predators to the nest.

Two happy updates from last month- my owlet family has a new addition too. The junior is very shy and hardly steps out of the tree hole but like all kids, it is curious enough to peep now and then. The eyes are still white, unlike parents and the little one is exceptionally cute.

Baby owlet i.e. Ullu Ka Pattha

Also in my little waterlily pond, we have finally got another colour. Most adorable shade of peach pink which melts my heart every morning. I wish the pond was bigger to accommodate more of these waterlilies.

By the way, some Mangoes have survived too, despite vicious continued attacks from parrots and pigeons. Now they are big enough to be used for pickles, chutneys,panna and all such delightful recipes which taste of summer and we are taking full advantage of them.

While the city regularly faces evening thunderstorms followed by some raindrops, by the morning it is again hot. Hope June will bring some real rain showers.

New colour of Waterlily( Nilopher) 

Castles and Cold Waves of Copenhagen

If Copenhagen were a person, that person would be generous, beautiful, elderly, but with a flair. A human being that has certain propensities for quarreling, filled with imagination and with appetite for the new and with respect for the old - somebody who takes good care of things and of people.

Connie Nielsen

It appears that Ms. Nielsen was describing my Danish landlady when she said these words. At the age of 82, Eva was standing outside her Osterbro home, wearing a warm smile on that chilly morning. She was braving the cold wind to welcome me to Copenhagen on the Monday after Easter. One look at her and I felt at home. If you go from one of the most populous countries of the world to Scandinavia, you marvel about many things. To begin with, octogenarian landladies who wear red lipstick and ride bicycle, live alone, plant flowers, bake cakes and are perhaps fitter than you. The warmth, pride in Danish culture   coupled with eccentricity runs in all streams of Danish life. It reflects in their majestic castles, their cuisine and also in their quirky designs. But at some level the life is much evolved. Luckily, I got to decipher this Danish puzzle in the best season of the year – spring.

Talking of weather, April was supposed to be warm and welcoming. Then why  there  was this skin piercing cold wind which not only moved the gorgeous windmills in the sea but also quaked my bones covered with multiple layers of clothing. The trees on the road were bereft on any leaves and the green grass below was only half awake after the harsh winter. There were hardly any flowers in sight – even in the famous King’s Garden. To my Indian mind, this was no spring.

For me the first look of the city was of a deserted town. There were absolutely no signs of humans on street. First I blamed it on winds, then on extended Easter holidays. Finally on the third day,  the realization dawned that perhaps there are not many people in the city. Well, this was true till the weekend came. As Helen Derbyl writes in her guide on Denmark that the population is scant unless the weather is very sunny or the Swedes very thirsty. So it was only on the first weekend that we saw people and cycles – people on cycles and people walking on the streets…mostly to the beer  bars .

 It’s a strange capital city- a place where pedestrian set the pace not the automobile traffic. It was rather common to find in Copenhagen mothers safely parking baby carriages (or the famous Christiania bikes with a cart to carry stuff/ babies in front) outside bakeries while outdoor cafés fill with cappuccino-sippers, and super fit lanky Danes pedal to work in lanes thick with bicycle traffic.

In my 11 minute walk to workplace in Mormovej every morning , it was a sheer delight to face the crisp morning air punctuated by golden sunshine in the pedestrian streets redolent of baked bread, baskets of organic strawberries  and soap-scrubbed storefronts. If there's such a thing as a heartwarming city sight, this was it!

No wonder that when today’s glittering world metros with their high-rises and  traffic troubles , seek enlightenment, they commonly look to Copenhagen. The Danish capital regularly tops world liveability lists. This is one of the globe's greenest, cleanest, most sustainable urban centres, a place where cycling is serious transport, where buses and the metro run frequently and around the clock, and where the harbor is squeaky clean enough for a bracing dip.

But Copenhagen has always been far more complex than Denmark’s “happy nation” reputation. It had other layers to show as well- in all shades of greys , much like the designer coats I admired people wearing there  .   The gorgeous old town with splendid historic buildings stands near areas that have only recently seen a renaissance after years of gang violence, prostitution and ethnic tensions. The in-famous Freetown Christiania was just a walk away from the city centre with its cannabis selling Pusher Street. In my tour of “alternative”-Copenhagen, I saw some of these areas and was amused to find the unique “solutions” devised by the policymakers to deal with these. To quote one, the state funded designer drug consumption rooms providing a safe haven for drug addicts to inject themselves in calm surroundings may sound weird to many of us. But as the experiment shows, it has proved to be an effective method of bringing down the drug menace and making the neighborhood safe for kids.

For me the more attractive were the places associated with city’s history of witch hunts, executions, mobsters and murderers. With such morbid details of history, it is funny that the city is also reputed to be the fairy tale city. When I set out to explore the Fairy tale side of the city, I went in search of Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid and almost accidentally discovered magic of Danish weather. In the Langelinie Park, the trees which were standing bare just the other day were almost bursting into pink Cherry Blossoms. With a cute little English Church in the backdrop, combined with the imposing Gefion fountain depicting the Norse goddess Gefjun, the cherry blossoms were on a bloom leaving no doubt that the spring had finally arrived.  It, however took me another weekend to realize that there can be an even better place to admire cherry and almond blossoms – Bispebjerg Cemetery. The explosion of a pink and white flower sky was mesmerizing in sprawling space of Bispebjerg Cemetery.

While the little Mermaid surrounded by selfie clicking tourists did not impress me much- it opened my mind to the idea of discovering fairytales at oddest possible places. And then I found them – underwater bronze statues of the family of Agnete and Merman, twisted dragon tales on the old Stock Exchange (Borsen), the spiral stairs to (almost) heaven on the baroque Church of Our Saviour , snow leopards and wolves adorning the town hall building …and of course , Holger the Dane who sits asleep in the casemates of Kronborg Castle - until the day when Denmark is in real trouble and he will wake up and defend the mother country.

After a month of stay, I came to the conclusion that despite all jokes about their language and behavior, Danes definitely have their lives sorted like none of us. They do appreciate what really matters – clean air, green grass, blue waters of the sea….and perhaps a good drink to go with it. They live simple lives enjoying and not destroying nature. They peddle their cycles with great joy – without any pretensions and consciousness of wealth or class . 

In the words of  Xenophobe’s Guide to the Danes –

“For the Danes, culture is a way of shedding the modern world and retracing their roots. All Danes are inveterate nature lovers. They cultivate an almost masochistic feeling of insignificance coupled with awe at nature’s power and the forces of life. Danish literature is full of examples of characters trying to come to terms with man’s essential loneliness and unimportance.”

If you ask me that is the way to go.

Yerushalayim Shel Zahav - Jerusalem of Gold

There can be various reasons for never ever visiting Israel and if you ask me, the rude airline staff of El Al should feature in top 5.  But that is not all. Visa interview for Israel is a unique experience too. On the day of my visa interview at Israel embassy I was asked, along with other two visa aspirants  to stand 250 meters away from the gate in blazing sun so that we are no security threat to the embassy. After one hour of wait, in the interview I was asked (very politely) that how do Israel Embassy assure itself that I do not intend to take up a permanent employment in Israel. I was clueless how to politely convey that I am not mad enough to leave a steady job of 17 years in Indian Civil Service to think of migrating to Israel. But the guy was not just completing the checklist. It was a serious question asked earnestly. So I responded with a serious face and luckily was able to satisfy him that someone who is neither Christian nor Muslim nor Jew may also consider to visit Jerusalem for vacation. The person before me was not so lucky, when he explained that he has no intention of staying in Israel beyond 7 days of vacation, and that he has a comfortable life and business in India, the Embassy officer shrugged with disinterest. He said “Prove it.” Visibly baffled, the person exclaimed – “How? And with such rude behavior, I doubt if I would like to go there at all.” The embassy clerk looking straight into the visa aspirant’s eye and  told him “As you wish. You wanted to visit Israel, we never asked you to.” That was my first introduction to Israel’s paranoia with security.

However, with all the problems of getting visa, firming up travel and logistics and the scolding of people around us (“Israel! Who travels there for leisure...go to US or Western Europe.”), the bunch of crazy five (actually 4.5) landed at Tel Aviv earlier this year.  And looking back, what an experience it was! Unique. Incredible. Breathtakingly thrilling.

Israel is spectacular. It is nothing like Europe or Asia or any other place in the world (perhaps). Tel Aviv the cosmopolitan city stands next to Jaffa old city, which is still frozen in medieval age. Israel Philharmonic Orchestra was divine and the Museums were world class.   Haifa the port town is picture perfect. Dead Sea is seen-to-be-believed kind of place.  Even the barren hills of Masada fort leave you so awestruck. Haifa, Caesarea, Jaffa ...all places are beautiful but nothing prepares you to face Jerusalem. There is something about this ancient city, a disputed city that is so important to people of three Abrahamic religions - Judaism, Islam and Christianity. It is so mind blowing that it attracts - or perhaps even causes - a special kind of madness. For some people, Jerusalem is a condition, like being in love; for others, it is a state of mind, a constant tension between rival flags and faiths, or members of the same faith. You may feel moved, energized, or swept into the maelstrom of contemporary or even historical issues—but the city will not leave you unaffected. No, none of us came back with the famed Jerusalem syndrome but then, it was nothing less than a mad plan for us to go there in the first place.

The parallel with two other cities – Varanasi and Rome comes to mind when you think Jerusalem as an eternal city. Now that I have been to all three I can say with certainty that each of these three sacred cities have their own character – they do have great energies but apart from that each one is unique. 

Jerusalem is a city suspended between heaven and earth, East and West, past and present—parallel universes of ancient wall with wailing pilgrims and trendy coffee shops not so far from it. The first thing you notice in this holy city is that the past is not past but it is still passing. Whether it be the past associated with biblical tales or that of holocaust, it continues to live in every moment of the city. The stories of Jesus’s life do not seem to be mere stories written in some ancient sacred text- they suddenly appear to be very real. The grief of Holocaust is not a thing of past- it still guides the minds of the people in their individual and national decisions.  And ironically, this is perhaps the only city where facts are irrelevant. Beliefs , sayings, traditions and even dreams rule the flow.

And so, as we continued our exploration of the Holy City of Jerusalem, we too began to take things on faith. The guides issued repeated  disclaimers  while showing sites and parallel sites of the same events  but after a while, it simply didn’t matter . If you are a Muslim, you believe that the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven from Temple Mount, conversed with God, and returned to inspire his followers. If you are Christian or Jewish, you believe that the stone inside the Dome of the Rock is the place where Abraham was ordered by God to sacrifice his son Isaac. Druze, Samaritans, Bahá’í, Coptic Christians, Ethiopian Christians, and Armenians all believe that miracles of faith occurred in this ancient city. And almost everyone chooses to believe that if you write a prayer on a slip of paper and shove it into a crack in the Western Wall, your prayer will be granted. Like everyone else, we descended to the wall and dutifully left a note. I am not particularly a religious person, but my rational mind tells me that there must be something in this land that faiths which otherwise do not agree on most things, agree on the sacredness of this place.

Like Varanasi for Hindus, the faithful of the Abrahamic religions aspire to be buried on Mount of Olives. From atop the Mount of Olives we surveyed the Holy city of Jerusalem in all its glory. Directly below us, white marble caskets in the Jewish cemetery tumbled down the hillside like giant rows of dominoes. This cemetery may be the most expensive real estate in the world as the tradition holds that those who are buried here will be the first to be resurrected when the Messiah appears. No wonder that people from all over the world pay thousands of dollars for one of these tiny plots.  The price of eternity, however, is escalating as the cemetery is fast running out of space.

 But the mountain in not only just the cemetery. It is also ( believed to be ) the place  from where Jesus ascended to heaven , Garden of Gethsemane where Christ prayed before God for the very last time before being betrayed by Judas and Chapel of Dominus Flevit, the place where, according to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus wept over the fate of Jerusalem.

Travelling in and around Jerusalem is mystifying. There is so much history, so many legends and so much to understand. How do you cram 4000 years of history, faith and myths in one week? For some of us it is also our first encounter with the world of Jewish ideology and symbols - I mean beyond books and movies.  For the youngest member of our group it was also her first introduction to the horror of holocaust. For all of us it was a happy introduction to the “food that Jesus ate” but most importantly it was our first experience to the great divide between the places where Jesus was born and where he was buried. The physical distance was not much but the political divide made such visible difference between Philistine and Israel. The tensions are all-around. The paranoia with security is very visible (and very irritating). There are claims and counter claims. But the golden Jerusalem stands strong amidst all these - this is after all , not the land which grows on worldly facts – it is a land created on beliefs and  legends of centuries and thrives of those too. 

Leaving Mumbai............

Even when I said goodbye to Delhi , I knew we’d meet again — but not even in my wildest imagination did I think it would be so soon. As someone who takes time to adjust to places, people, and rhythms, who learns slowly and makes friends even more slowly, frequent moves feel like a tasting menu at a restaurant: a glimpse of what could have been, but never enough to feel full. Not a happy situation. I remember this feeling — of not. being quite done — when I left Jaipur, or Rome, or even my hometown, Lucknow. And now, I add Mumbai to that list.

I’ve come to realize I’m full of contradictions. I have gypsy streaks that make me restless if I stay in one place too long — and at the same time, I suffer from a kind of incurable inertia. When it’s time to leave, I panic. With inertia like mine, you often find yourself in strange emotional spaces. You feel reluctant to leave a city even when you haven’t done half the things you wanted to. You wake up in the middle of the night aching to rewind time. You bristle at your new office or colleagues for no reason at all — even when they’re kind, even when they understand your moodiness. The strange thing is, even as you're looking forward to the new — the fresh sights, smells, and flavours — you still resist letting go of the now-familiar people, places, and routines.

Leaving Mumbai was especially frustrating — just as I was beginning to grasp the nuances of work and look forward to exciting assignments, the news came as a surprise. I’m not particularly good with surprises, but I played my part with as much courage as I could muster. All those “congratulations” sounded bittersweet to a heart that was, in equal parts, sad to leave and scared to join the new, larger assignment at the big office.

And yet, here I am — back. Back in Delhi, back on the familiar old campus with known faces, scents, and routines. Still, a certain sadness lingers. It would be a lie to say I’m not happy — I am genuinely excited about this new role — but like a greedy child, I want both joys, without having to choose. My mind tells me I should feel content, both personally and professionally, but the heart is stubborn. It clings to what I’ve had to leave behind.

A good friend told me, after hearing the news, that perhaps this is life teaching me to grow up — to stop imagining the world in black and white and to embrace the role of destiny, the fifty shades of grey that shape our paths. Something like what Nida Fazli so aptly captured:

"अपनी मर्ज़ी से कहाँ अपने सफ़र के हम हैं,
रुख़ हवाओं का जिधर का है उधर के हम हैं।
वक़्त के साथ है मिट्टी का सफ़र सदियों से,
किसको मालूम कहाँ के हैं किधर के हम हैं।
चलते रहते हैं कि चलना है मुसाफ़िर का नसीब,
सोचते रहते हैं किस रहगुज़र के हम हैं।"

(We never quite choose our paths — it's the wind that decides our direction.
Dust has travelled with time for centuries — who knows where we come from, or where we belong?
We keep walking because that is the traveler’s fate —
Even as we wonder which path is truly ours.)

Before leaving Mumbai, I found myself thinking about all that I loved and all that I didn’t — about the unfinished checklist of things to do, and the reasons I’d like to return.

To begin with, I was happy to leave behind the nerve-wracking traffic: the incessant, mostly unnecessary honking that seems to be a constant feature of Mumbai’s roads. Coming from small towns, the hyper-urban intensity of the city often felt overwhelming. I never warmed up to the view of endless apartment blocks, clothes dangling from window bars, or the cramped, concrete monotony of city living.

And yet, Mumbai gave me sights I will never forget — the monsoon clouds gathering over a deep blue sea, colourful fishing boats bobbing in the harbour, seagulls chasing them as they returned with the day’s catch. The sun setting behind Haji Ali. R.K. Laxman’s “Common Man” statue quietly watching over Worli Sea Face. The endless stream of people along Marine Drive.

At first, I laughed at the couples cosying up along the promenade. It felt awkward, intrusive even. But soon I understood the necessity. In a city where flats are smaller than pigeonholes, where big families often share tiny spaces and relatives drop in unannounced, privacy is a luxury. Over time, I began to find those public displays of love oddly beautiful — even poignant.

Every day, Marine Drive made me smile. The selfie queens posing with practiced ease, wide-eyed tourists from rural India, and slightly confused foreigners. The well-heeled elites turning fitness freaks on weekends, dressed in expensive sportswear. The middle-aged women gossiping about neighbours, celebrities, and simpler times — many of them now living in luxury, yet nostalgic for the days when they arrived in Mumbai with little more than dreams.

On my morning and evening walks, I met others who, like me, came to Mumbai as strangers and ended up falling in love. They now love even the noise, the grime, the chaos. Artists, musicians, entrepreneurs — people who chose this city not out of compulsion, but out of fascination. It amazed my small-town heart to see that in Mumbai, there’s no such thing as “too late” to go out. Unlike Delhi, where I wouldn’t dream of stepping out alone in the evenings, Mumbai mostly felt safe — especially for women.

It’s a pity I only got a glimpse of its cultural life. Though I managed to visit Prithvi Theatre, the NCPA, and the Kala Ghoda festival, there’s still so much I left unseen in this city that never sleeps.

The most unexpectedly heartbreaking part, though, was leaving my workplace. I had assumed it would be dull, impersonal — but I ended up loving the work. For someone who once couldn’t tell upstream from downstream petroleum, and who had no childhood fascination with aircraft, it’s surprising how my eyes now go first to aviation and petroleum news. I can’t board a flight without noting the plane’s make, model, and tail number.

This unexpected learning curve was made possible by a rare team: colleagues and a boss who inspired, taught, supported — and never let personal troubles interfere with professionalism. People who put work above ego, who welcomed my questions and ignorance with patience and generosity. It’s my loss, I know, to have had such a brief time with them.

Each time something like this happens, I tell myself I won’t plan the future. I won’t make wishlists or imagine how things will turn out. So I won’t end this by saying I hope to return to Mumbai. But let me just confess this:

For the last five days, on my way back from work, I’ve watched the sun set behind the shabby, uneven colonies that line the Delhi-Noida highway. And every evening, a part of me aches for the sight of the sun dipping into the Arabian Sea — calm, majestic, unforgettable. If I ever get to see that again, I’ll consider myself very lucky.

Like a Boss

Factually, we spend more number of waking hours in office than at home.Our comfort and convenience at workplace is therefore, very important. If I ask you what is the biggest factor for making an office good or bad for you- you may say facilities,colleagues or even the work.But for me the one factor which makes life hell or heaven at workplace is, compatibility with the Boss. If you dislike your spouse, you can stay away from home longer, you can "unfriend" your social media friends and even stop meeting relatives...but bosses are unavoidable creatures. They are there whether you like it or not. They come in many colours and sizes, are found in both genders and can have many varieties and variations. Some love to preach, others are DIY bosses, some are invisible at workplace and others love to hang around in office on weekends and holidays as well.

We all have heard about good bosses (yes they exist!), bad bosses, bosses  who made you quit a job, bosses who make you perform  better than your expectations, bosses you have crush on and bosses you won’t mind pushing from the rooftop .And then, even before you realise it, you too turn into a boss for many. I am always intrigued by the influence and impact of this creature called boss on our life and career.

As I joined government service from the highest induction level of Civil Services, I become a boss of roughly 100 people the day I stepped in my first office. Looking back, I must have been a funny sight for all those people. Ignorant, inexperienced and too keen to change the world, I must have entertained the office veterans immensely.  Slowly some of them opened up, they started smiling at my follies, took time to teach me the tricks of work and helped me become what I am today. Many of my former subordinates with time turn into friends and they still  keep in touch over phone, email , social media etc.  It was only now that I realised that as a boss how I was judged back then.  One of the best farewell gifts I got on my recent transfer from Delhi was when an almost silent subordinate came to my room and gave me a card saying: “You are a terrific boss”. I was stunned. A thought that whether he misspelt ''terrible'' with ''terrific'' also crossed my mind .I tried remembering hard my interactions with him but found nothing much of note.  Another one, a serious matter-of-fact guy, suddenly opened up to me after I shifted to Mumbai. While working with me, we talked only about work and work related stuff and now that I am no longer his boss, I realised that  he had a human side as well. We can now talk about books, music, food, life, families and even work. It is funny how work relationships bind you and mould your interaction. I must have been a fearsome boss to these guys that only after my presence from the work  scene was removed with certainty  that they started to talk.

Looking from the other side, I was fortunate to have mostly good bosses. Correction: Good yet eccentric bosses. Bosses who talked too fast to understand a word, bosses who talk so softly that you could barely hear and bosses who would not talk at all. To my credit, I picked some or the other trait from each one of them... I mimic all of them. Once my then-current boss asked me if I ever mimic him. I told him that since I mimic all important people in my life, he should take it as an insult if I don’t. Much like my relation with my subordinates, my relations with my bosses also changed color with time. One turned into advisor, someone else a good friend and well, some remain just good subjects to mimic before friends   . 

Since the government service is the only world I have seen, I fail to comprehend the situation at workplace where your boss is perhaps in some other continent and you get to interact with him/ her only over phone/ internet. I also do not realise the situation where you do not work in a hierarchy and have practically “no-boss”. If you ask me, however irritating be the bosses, it’s good to have them around. Even the bosses who think at the speed of light and those who behave like babies. They provide much required entertainment and order in the workplace. And at times, you do learn a lot even from the worst of the lot.

 In Kolkata, back when I had newly joined, I had a boss who used to roll his cigarettes in his chamber and his standard response to any file put up to him was: “Won’t you like to see it again carefully?” And once you assure him that you have already seen the file, he will set out in a task to find fault with what you have seen, or rather find what you have missed. He would then, gleefully point out what you have missed in a footnote on page 713 or how a document is not tagged correctly in file.  I probably selected maximum nicknames (some pretty nasty ones) for him. But it was his this irritating habit that made me careful for life in scrutinising the files .

Yet another boss was a born teacher. He will write all kind of nonsensical queries of file and when I will, in all sincerity, go to him explaining  the facts , he would patiently listen with a poker face and then say “ I know that ! I was just checking that you do too” and burst into his amusing signature laughter. Never realised it then, but it was because of these two bosses that I learnt the maximum tricks of the trade. This second boss, used to call me “the argumentative Indian”, for my habit of arguing with him on  every brainy idea he had . But the fact that he let me argue and put across my not-so-brainy counter arguments, made him my all time favourite boss.

 So after a boss who would test my knowledge on every issue, I landed up with a boss, who right from the beginning “knew that I know nothing”.A quintessential bureaucrat and therefore an ‘’I”-specialist, this one made me listen to his great feats in life for hours together. He showed me how in every way personal or professional I was a failure, while he at my level was God’s gift to the workplace and well...the world in general. Working with him greatly enhanced my capacity to tolerate nonsense, it also taught me the reason why Peter (who exactly was he!) coined his Peter Principle. Anger and frustration were his two staple emotions. He wanted to be looked as a benevolent monarch but behaved like an angry bird with most of us . Do whatever you like, put in as much effort as you please but all you receive is a little spittle when he was screaming down your face and  yes, a few insults to wipe your face with. Thankfully, in civil service you have a definite date of retirement ...so finally, this know- all,flaming fury boss superannuated.Then for a short duration, I got a boss who disliked face to face talking. On the very first day he asked me to create intra-office chat Ids and to be online for him to pass on instructions. If only he had stayed for long, my typing speed would have benefited a lot. He also had an annoying habit of crunching data on every damn thing. You make a casual remark about something you read in morning newspaper and voila, next you are collecting data on the subject from all national authorities and research bodies .

After a while, I happen to have a boss who spoke, looked like and behaved like Jesus Christ. Believe me when I say that I have never seen a more charismatic, charming and detached from work person. There were moments when my keen capricornian self disliked his cool behaviour , especially in the moments of acute work crises , but looking back, it was pure bliss to have someone, who had a smile on face even when the worst crisis  hit us in office  and who could be a gracious host to most hostile guests. The best part about this one was his cool demeanour. Nothing, just nothing, could make his attention go away from things that matter viz.  A good cup of coffee, a crisp cookie, clean environment, polite speaking and impeccable manners....Work?   Incidental, may be, but well that was never in the list. No shrieking bosses , no jittery subordinates  and no competing peers could make him lose his peace of mind. He probably was the most self actualised person I have seen.  With his impeccable taste, amazing wit, charm and style, this boss taught me to be human even when all around you are losing cool over mundane work issues.

In a work place, there are always jokes and sayings about bosses. One significant part of such work-wisdom deals with women bosses. They are supposed to be jittery, eccentric, crazy and workaholic.  Till very recently, I had never had a direct woman boss. But I had seen my own bosses fretting about their lady bosses and cursing their luck. I moved to Mumbai and found myself with a woman boss. Contrary to what people say (like to believe) about women bosses, this one is perhaps my most competent boss so far. Dedicated to work, detached to the power hang-ups of being the big boss(unlike male bosses), no insecurities of calling on holidays ... she is  perhaps  the most approachable and  understanding person I know among work colleagues  . The people who say women turn tyrant and idiotic, lose balance and temper when given charge of high posts should see her. A delight to work with, a pleasure to talk to, one feels blessed to find a boss like her. In fact at times I think that what am I missing ...I mean you are suppose to dislike you boss..right? So where is that key trait for me to dislike? So far all I see is admirable and inspiring.  But wait ....it’s just been about  100 days in this office. Give me a year and I shall find one eccentricity, one comic angle or god willing, a vice as well.

While writing this post, I cannot help thinking that many of my present, ex subordinates would also have a caricature of me and my eccentricities. I can only imagine how many jokes and saying would be doing round about me and my work style . But then that is an occupational hazard of being a boss. You have to be half mad and half eccentric to  be a unforgettable boss. The legendary bosses are either the craziest ones or the most inspirational ones. No one likes to remember a boring boss. So if an essential purpose of being a boss is to provide some moments of entertainment and spice in the office lunch room chats, the boss should be suitably mad and eccentric. I know, I qualify with distinction.

NOTE: For all the colleagues reading this post, please ignore this as a work of fiction and pretend you don’t know who I am talking about. Do not recommend this post to any other colleague / ex-boss of mine. Please remember I might have much more to write about....the best ( and spiciest) may be yet to come  .