The Talking Cure: Why Family Businesses Must Learn to Talk Again

At the heart of When Nietzsche Wept, the film based on Irvin Yalom’s novel, lies an idea that every advisor to a business family ought to know. The film follows Dr Joseph Breuer, a nineteenth-century Viennese physician and mentor to the young Sigmund Freud, as he treats a patient whose physical symptoms have defied every remedy. He discovers, almost by accident, that allowing the patient to put unspoken fears, anxieties and resentments into words begins, in itself, to heal. He calls it the talking cure.

A quiet moment. A small room. Two chairs. And a long, difficult conversation. Watching it, I recognised something I have seen lived out again and again in the drawing rooms and boardrooms of Indian business families.

It is simple. And profound.

More often than not, we construct entire narratives in our minds. What the other person will say. How they will react. What the outcome will be. And in doing so, we avoid the one thing that could resolve it.

Conversation.

In family businesses, this becomes not just critical, but existential. Silences are rarely neutral. They fill up, quietly, with assumptions, interpretations, and sometimes quiet resentment. Decisions get delayed. Conflicts deepen. Relationships strain. Not because the issues are too complex, but because they remain unspoken.

What goes unsaid does not go away

Look at the family disputes that have erupted publicly in Indian business in recent years. The Singhanias over Raymond. The Kalyanis. The Lodhas. And earlier, the Ambanis, the Modis, the Mafatlals. Behind the headlines, the cause is rarely a shortage of intelligence or intent. It is the absence of conversation. Fathers who never told their sons what they feared. Siblings who never named the favouritism they felt. Daughters who swallowed slights out of respect. Cousins who watched the cracks widen and said nothing.

By the time the family eventually speaks, usually through lawyers and media leaks, the conversation has already curdled into confrontation.

Contrast this with business families that have stayed together across three, four, even five generations. None of them is conflict-free. But somewhere along the way, each built habits of conversation. Family councils. Structured retreats. Quiet one-on-ones. The Sunday breakfast table. Things get said. Not always politely, not always comfortably. But they get said. And resentment never gets the time to settle.

The real role of an advisor: listen, probe, translate

In my work with business families, I have seen this repeatedly. The moment people sit down and speak, really speak, perspectives shift. Not always into agreement. But always into greater understanding. And often, that is enough to move forward.

Which raises an important question. What is the real role of an advisor to a family business?

It is tempting to think the advisor’s craft is in drafting elegant constitutions, designing governance, or recommending the “right” succession model. These matter. But they are not what families remember us for.

The advisor’s first responsibility is to listen. To hear the mother who worries that her daughter-in-law feels excluded. To hear the son who carries the unspoken weight of not being the father’s favourite. To hear the patriarch terrified of becoming irrelevant, who cloaks that fear in decisions that look like control. To hear the daughter who has quietly stopped expecting to be asked.

The second responsibility is to probe. Not to interrogate, but to ask the questions the family has been avoiding. “What would you want your brother to know that you have never told him?” “If your father could hear this without reacting, what would you say?” These questions are not comfortable. They are not meant to be. They are meant to open doors that have been locked for years.

The third responsibility is to translate. Not languages, though in many Indian families that too matters, but emotions. To reframe a founder’s anxiety about letting go as love, not control. To reframe a next-gen member’s wish to do things differently as stewardship, not rebellion.

Governance helps. Talking heals.

Governance structures help. Constitutions, councils and boards create the scaffolding for difficult conversations that would otherwise blow the family apart. Processes matter.

But at the heart of it, continuity in family businesses rests on something far more fundamental: the willingness to talk.

The families that endure are not the ones with the longest constitutions or the most professional boards. They are the ones where a father and a son can sit on the same verandah, without an agenda, and speak honestly about what they feel. Where a brother can tell another brother, “I was hurt,” without it becoming a lawsuit. Where a daughter can say, “I want to be considered,” and be heard.

Breuer’s insight, offered more than a century ago, has never been more relevant to the Indian business family. It is the talking that cures.

Every empire in Indian business that has broken, broke first in silence. Every one that has endured did so because at some critical moment, someone refused to let the silence win.

That is the first and most sacred task of any advisor worth the name. Before the drafts, before the designs, before the boards and the councils, build the room, the time, and the safety, for the family to finally say what it has been unable to say.

The lawyers, the courts and the constitutions come later. They are the ruins we assemble when the talking has already failed.

Talk. While the family is still yours to keep.

Udaipur: A Dream in Every Detail

I recently returned from Udaipur, and even now, the city’s magic feels like it’s lingering in my heart. Known as the City of Lakes, Udaipur is a harmonious blend of romance, culture, and history. Its beauty unfolds slowly, like a story you don’t want to end. From tranquil lakes to grand palaces, from delicious food to enchanting music, Udaipur is a symphony of unforgettable experiences.

Adding to this unforgettable journey was a meeting with Maharaj Kumar Sahib Dr. Lakshyaraj Singh Ji Mewar of Udaipur. A gracious host and a remarkable individual, Lakshyaraj Ji welcomed us warmly, and our conversations spanned a range of meaningful topics—from family enterprises to philanthropy, from education in schools to advancing gender equality. For our next generation, it was a unique opportunity to meet and connect with the 77th generation scion of the Mewar dynasty—a living symbol of Udaipur’s rich history and legacy.

A Cup of Chai Under the Moonlight

One of my most cherished memories is of sipping chai by the lake. Now, you should know I’m quite picky when it comes to tea made outside. But in Udaipur? Every cup was perfection—smooth, comforting, and made exactly how I like it (after a few instructions, of course). Imagine this: a warm cup in hand, the moonlight shimmering on the water, and majestic palaces standing tall around you. It wasn’t just tea—it was pure magic.

The moon itself was a star of the trip. Every night, it rose over the city with an effortless grace, lighting up the clear skies and reflecting off the tranquil lakes below. Its beauty was almost hypnotic, making every evening feel like an ode to quiet wonder.

And then there were the flowers. Bright, vibrant, and blooming everywhere, they added splashes of color to every corner of the city. Whether cascading over walls or lining pathways, their beauty was a reminder of nature’s quiet ability to charm.

Sunsets, Reflections, and Palaces

If Udaipur’s nights are enchanting, its evenings are nothing short of breathtaking. The sunsets here are some of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. The sky transforms into a canvas of gold, orange, and pink, casting its hues over the city and its lakes. Watching the sun dip behind the Aravalli Hills, with its colors spilling across the water, was a sight I’ll never forget.

And then there are the palaces—grandeur personified. Built centuries ago, without the technology or machinery we rely on today, these architectural marvels are stories etched in stone. The intricate carvings, the sprawling courtyards, the attention to every detail—each palace whispers tales of royalty and vision.

The lakes, too, play their part. They don’t just surround the palaces—they become a part of their beauty. Whether in the soft glow of morning, the blazing light of day, or the fading hues of sunset, the lakes reflect the palaces in a way that feels like a work of art in constant motion.

Savoring the Flavors of Udaipur

Food in Udaipur is an adventure in itself, and for someone with a Marwari palate, it was an absolute delight. From ghee-rich daal baati churma to flavorful kair sangri, lehsan ki sabzi, and even papad ki sabzi, every meal felt like a warm embrace of tradition.

And yet, even something as simple as Maggi became special here. On a cool day, steaming noodles, I found joy in the simplicity of the moment.

Sukhadia Circle, with its small shops serving everything from chaat to sweets, was another highlight. And for fine dining with a view, places like Amrai and Darikhana at Jag Mandir combined delicious food with unforgettable settings. Eating by the lake, with palaces glowing in the distance, is an experience that elevates every bite.

Rajasthan in Rhythm

Udaipur’s cultural heartbeat comes alive in its folk dances and music. Watching Ghoomar, with its flowing skirts and graceful circles, is an unforgettable sight. The vibrant costumes and rhythmic movements create a spellbinding visual treat.

Dhola Maaru, a hauntingly beautiful ballad of love, struck a deep chord. Even without understanding every word, the melody felt universal, carrying emotions that transcend language.

What made these performances even more magical was the setting. Whether by a tranquil lakeside or within the historic courtyards of a palace, the atmosphere added layers of depth to every note and movement. It wasn’t just entertainment—it was immersion into Rajasthan’s living traditions.

Lakes and Legacy

The man-made lakes of Udaipur are a marvel of both beauty and ingenuity. Built centuries ago to meet the water needs of this arid city, they are lifelines disguised as romance. Whether it’s the iconic Lake Pichola, with its serene waters mirroring the palaces, or the picturesque Fateh Sagar Lake, framed by rolling hills, each one adds to Udaipur’s timeless allure.

The museums in Udaipur are equally captivating. The City Palace Museum offers an intimate glimpse into the lives of the maharajas, with its intricate designs and rich history. The Vintage Car Museum is a treasure trove of rare automobiles, each one telling its own story of elegance and style. And the Crystal Gallery? It’s beyond words—chandeliers and artifacts so exquisite they feel almost otherworldly.

A City That Stays with You

Udaipur isn’t just a place you visit; it’s a place you feel. Its lakes, palaces, food, and music weave a story that stays with you long after you leave. Meeting Lakshyaraj Ji added another layer to this journey—a chance to connect with the legacy of the Mewar dynasty and reflect on the values that continue to shape this historic city.

As I left, I realized that Udaipur isn’t just a destination—it’s a reminder of how deeply art, culture, and history can touch our lives.

When a Series Became My Unexpected Lifesaver

Picture this: you’re drowning in an ocean of thoughts, and the shore is nowhere in sight. It’s not the majestic kind of ocean we see on Instagram reels. No, this is the relentless, chaotic sea of an overactive, restless mind. Concentration slips away, irritability grows claws, and your favorite books, shows, and even people seem unappealing, distant. You’re caught somewhere between anxiousness and inertia—trapped in a limbo of your own making. And, honestly, you’re not sure what it will take to break free.

Then, as if sensing the tides within, someone close nudges (okay, more like pushes) you to watch a particular series. You roll your eyes, but something in you listens. “Fine,” you think. “It’s just one episode.” At first, you watch with reluctance, slightly annoyed even—why this, of all things, when you can’t focus on anything else? But for the love of that person, you start watching. Soon enough, episode one turns into episode two. Somewhere around episode three, you start noticing the quiet hum of calm returning. And with that, you realize the chaos in your mind is slowly retreating to the background. Healing, as reluctant as it began, is underway.

For me, that healing came through watching Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, which quickly became my accidental anchor. This show isn’t just a romantic drama; it’s a world of characters who, despite their flaws, grapple with love, ambition, and vulnerability with heart and humor. Sharjeena, a character full of practicality and intellect, somehow managed to soothe my own scattered thoughts with her steady resilience. Mustafa, the somewhat laid-back, unhurried spirit, was like that reminder to breathe when life feels like it’s rushing too fast. Their interactions—a blend of wit, misunderstanding, and undeniable chemistry—brought a lightness to my mind, making me smile when I hadn’t for a while. Together, they began to replace my own overthinking with their messy, real, yet endearing way of stumbling through life.

What’s intriguing is that this effect, as life-changing as it feels, isn’t just in my head. Psychologists call it Distraction Theory, which is the concept of redirecting the mind’s focus away from troubling thoughts by giving it something else to engage with. Distraction theory isn’t about avoiding problems forever—it’s a way to create mental breathing room. When I immersed myself in Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, my mind had something new to chew on, and the noise began to fade. The series became an emotional palate cleanser, helping me return to myself a little steadier than before.

Then there’s Narrative Transportation Theory, a fascinating idea that explains what happens when we become fully absorbed in a story. Imagine watching a show so captivating that, for a while, your worries feel like they’re part of a different reality. As I delved into the world of Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, its drama, characters, and plot twists became a world where I could rest my own worries. Psychologically, this immersion is powerful—it’s almost like visiting a world outside of your own, offering a refreshing mental reset without the need for elaborate escapes or forced relaxation.

In the realm of management, there’s also the concept of Emotional Resilience—the ability to recover from life’s challenges with a sense of calm and adaptability. Watching the characters in Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum stumble, recover, and find joy despite their own issues had a subtle effect on me, like a gentle reminder of my own ability to bounce back. It was as if their resilience reminded me of my own, and with each episode, I felt better equipped to face my own day. The show built my resilience, episode by episode, encouraging me to regain balance with a little less effort than before.

And then there are friends who are our lifelines, sometimes in understated ways. They may not storm in with grand gestures or “fix” everything, but they are there, unwavering and patient. The friend who nudged me toward Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum was exactly this kind of presence: always there, quietly persistent, and deeply intuitive. She knew that words or advice weren’t what I needed—just a nudge, a push to something soothing and steady. These friends are the kind of people you reach out for in life’s storms, a steady hand when everything else feels like it’s slipping. They may not be shouting encouragement, but they’re like the firm stick you hold onto, even when you’re not quite sure how to keep going. I can’t help but feel grateful for the simplicity and depth of that kind of support.

What’s magical about moments like these is how they remind us that healing doesn’t always come in grand gestures or planned retreats. Sometimes, it arrives quietly, disguised as a beloved series that makes you laugh, cringe, or even cry a little. In a safe space, without pressure or expectations, you can start finding pieces of yourself again.

Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum didn’t just give me an escape; it gently encouraged me to re-engage with the world outside my thoughts. It was a lifeline that reminded me of the comfort in storytelling, the power of stepping back, and the beautiful surprise of discovering healing in the most unexpected places.

In short, sometimes it’s not about facing your problems head-on. Sometimes, it’s about sitting back, turning on a good series, and letting your mind wander just enough to come back to you, lighter and a little more at peace. So, here’s to the shows that save us—and to the friends who know exactly what we need—even when we don’t know it ourselves.

A Country Called Childhood

When reading "A Country Called Childhood- A Memoir" by Deepti Naval, I became nostalgic and reminisced about my childhood. I recall the Shree Ji stores in Ramgarh which used to be my favorite shop. It rented out comics for Re 1 a day. Sometimes 4-5 Amar Chitra Katha or other comic books would be bound together and they would charge a slightly higher amount for renting it. Ramgarh did not have a library and that store filled the gap for me. They also had various candies and gift items that used to fascinate me.

I also recall the samosas and sweets of Rajasthan Kalewalaya and their dahi kachori on special occasions. Later, when I was slightly older, they started selling a sweet called Madhuchakra that became my favorite.

Priya Sweets was for special occasions. Especially when I went to the main road and the elder accompanying me was in a good mood and had a few extra rupees to indulge me. There used to be the occasional curry puff, pineapple pastry, and beetroot cutlet.

Then Mangal Singh's shop was perhaps the most aspirational shop. You went there to buy an odd pencil box or water bottle. But there were so many things I liked. There used to be games, fancy tiffin boxes, or water bottles, that were often out of bounds.

For as long as I recall, we bought dresses only from National Stores. It was a very fancy store for it's times. It looked glossy, clean, and neatly arranged. We bought very few dresses but bought only from there. In hindsight, it seems like a lesson in quality over quantity.

One distinct memory I have of Ramgarh during my growing up years is the mela that used to be put up every year during December and would go on till Jan 26th. It used to have the Maut ka kuan, the Ferris wheel, a circus, and various shops selling toys, clothes, utensils, etc. There is a memory of buying iron utensils such as kadhai and tawa from there on more than one occasion and getting the knives sharpened. I also remember buying Khaja- a sweet- that I used to love eating, from there. Mounds of colourful sweets on both sides of the road. But we would buy the Khaja and occasionally Balushahi. I remember going to this mela 3-4 times during the one month that it was there, every year.

Another favorite shop of mine was Sishu Gyan Kendra, and later its sister concern, Gyan Bharti. We would go there for all our stationery, notebooks, and books. I remember the rolls of brown covers and the carefully selected book-label stickers. It used to be a big exercise before the beginning of every new class and before the summer vacations ended. 3-4 people at home would be involved in covering all books and notebooks with those brown papers. I still remember the feel and the smell of the newly covered books and notebooks.

Another place I remember is the fruit market, just off the main road. I remember going to that market with my father on the bike and occasionally with my mother or aunts on rickshaw.

There was one dosa wala on Main Road. I recall everyone saying that his sambhar was awful. It used to look a dirty yellowish brown rather than a bright yellowish-reddish-brownish that good sambhars are supposed to look. I also remember it used to have mashed pumpkin. And I hated pumpkin. But somehow, the taste of that sambhar lingers in my mind. Fondly. I used to finish it. Perhaps because eating outside food was a rare treat. And dosa in Ramgarh was a rare treat, unlike in the South of the country where it is a staple.

Another vivid memory is the movie dialogues echoing from a shop behind our home in Saudagar Mohalla. Now, as I listen to books on Audible, I appreciate that even movie dialogues can be listened to. Back then, however, I couldn't fully understand why anyone would want to listen to movie dialogues.

The Deepti Naval memoir sent me down my own memory lane. I am surprised at the memories that the mind stores. 

And of course, I also revisited the three all-time favorite movies of her- Chashme Buddoor, Saath Saath, and Kisi se na Kehna. She will always be Miss Chamko for me.

Resetting of Conscience, Priorities, and Emotions

Book: To Hell and Back: Humans of COVID

Author: Barkha Dutt

Price: 699/-

Pages: 288

Year: 2022

Publisher: Juggernaut Books, India

Usually, I have a wisecrack to crack on every occasion. Today, I have none. Even my posts post getting Covid in the second wave in May 2021, were full of humour [Post 1 Post 2]. I was able to laugh at myself. Not today. My pain, my experiences, seem too small today.

Sometime in April 2022, I ordered and got Barkha Dutt’s book, To Hell and Back: Humans of COVID. I was reluctant to start reading it, even though I wanted to. I didn’t want to refresh the memories of what I went through. But finally, I did start reading it last week [3^rd week of July, 2022].

There were a lot of things I reminisced while reading the book. Like wondering, during the period that I was hospitalized, that how would someone who doesn’t know someone get a bed like I had? What if the oxygen supply ran out? What if I was taken to the hospital a couple of hours later? And many such questions.

During that period, I knew of a junior, who had a two-year-old kid, not reaching the hospital on time, and then not even getting a proper funeral. I knew of an uncle who was brilliant and taught me accounts but did not get the right treatment. My thoughts lingered on an aunt who was never diagnosed with Covid but had all the symptoms and passed away soon after. I remember questioning that why did I deserve to live when they could not be saved?

Post Covid, suffering from Long Covid- chronic insomnia, anxiety, hair loss, pain in the bones, palpitations- I constantly battled my symptoms and tried to be normal and move on. Barkha Dutt describes my conversation with her on the Mojo Story on page 255 of her book. She calls me Nutan Banga. When I started reading the book, I realized that I had really moved on.

Barkha Dutt’s book is a solemn reminder of what the pandemic was and gives us a view that none of us could have had individually. The experience of a migrant labourer was very different from the experiences of a cow herder from that of a funeral service provider, to a doctor, and to a well-connected upper-class person, like she herself is. The inequalities that she has presented in her book, even in the way one faced death, are unimaginable to people like us who live in urban bubbles, disconnected from the grassroots, disconnected from our roots, and disconnected from how people outside such bubbles live.

I went to Kundli once and enjoyed the Murthal parathas with white butter and daal makhana. But did I know about the toxic yellow water that the people of this village got? No. The water that caused serious skin diseases, how would they drink that water when even buying drinking water became difficult? 

Or consider the corpses of 20 tribal migrant workers who were so exhausted from all the walking that they went to sleep on the railway tracks where “they thought they would not be noticed or disturbed by the police. A goods train ran over them an hour later.” [Pg38] A chill went up my spine.

Most of us were helpless in the case of covid deaths to a large extent. Whether it was the availability of beds in the hospitals, medicines, oxygen, testing, what could most of us do? How could I help the migrants or those who lost their jobs? Sonu Sood did it. Many others did. But let’s just say that I am a more ordinary person. At least it was a good excuse to console myself. But I could not stop my tears for a long time when I read about Aishwarya.

The girl from Shadnagar, 50kms from Hyderabad, Aishwarya, committed suicide. She committed suicide because her parents could not afford to buy her a laptop or a smart phone to continue her education. “If I can’t study, I can’t live”, she wrote in her suicide note [pg 233-234]. Probably because of the geographical proximity, probably because she got an admission at the Lady Shri Ram College despite the poverty and circumstances, probably because I feel strongly for the cause of girl education, my tears would just not stop. Could I have helped if I knew what she was going through? Would I have helped? The fact is that I did nothing. Not for her. Not for anyone.

I would gladly give away all my hair if I could save Aishwarya.

The pandemic was sudden, but not improbable. Bill Gates warned against “the next outbreak” in 2014. National Geographic warned of how deforestation was causing bats to have “no other option than to fly elsewhere in search of food, carrying with them a deadly disease” in a 2019 article. But the world at large was not prepared for the Covid19. Some events need to be prepared for due to the severity of their impact. The governments must build their Afsluitdijks to prepare for such events. The quantum of impact, the number of people impacted, the physical, emotional, economic, and societal disruption is of catastrophic scale. Life cannot go back to normal.

To understand the severity of the catastrophe that Covid19 unleashed on humanity, each one of us should read the book. It will make us realise that there is life beyond our bubbles. While everyone’s sorrow and difficulties are exactly that- sorrows and difficulties- and thus, cannot be undermined, different situations have very different impact on the different strata of society. And in some cases, survival itself becomes a challenge.

Some books move you. Leave an indelible mark on you. And this is one such book. I am not going to comment on the writing style, what the government did or did not do, the organization of the chapters, etc. Sometimes, the message is far too important, the story is so powerful and compelling that how it is delivered doesn’t matter.

I cried many a times while reading the book, choked many times, sometimes just happy to be alive, while at the other times questioning why I was alive? What was I doing? And what am I going to do now? These questions are haunting me. Something in me changed after Covid. Something in me has changed again after reading this book.

“We don’t know about tomorrow,” said the horse, “all we need to know is that we love each other.”- Charlie Mackesy

Most of you might have read my experiences with Covid. If not, it can be read here https://npbang.blogspot.com/2021/05/up-close-and-personal.html

This blog post is about the last month, post-Covid, recovery phase. I will not repeat the things that I have already mentioned in the earlier post. And once again the disclaimer: It seems that the recovery process and timeline follow a long-tailed distribution. While many may have similar and expected experiences, many others have very different trajectories. It cannot be generalized. However, what is certain is, as Kabir said:

चलती चक्की देख के, दिया कबीरा रोये ।

दो पाटन के बीच में, साबुत बचा न कोए ।

That is, between a pair of quern stones, nobody remains whole. In the context of Covid, once contracted, however mild, nobody remains as they were before Covid. Physically as well as mentally.

Homecoming: My 11 years old daughter made a poster that depicted the corona virus being killed and welcomed me home with excitement. While I have always been very fond of my home and long to get back to it even if I am away for a couple of days, the emotions that the return from the hospital elicited were intense. Legs too weak to carry me to every corner, my eyes took in as much of home as they could.

It felt like the Shahrukh Khan entry scene from the movie Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. Except that I came in a car. Not a helicopter. And my daughter had a poster in her hand to welcome me instead of a puja ka thaali for aarti.

In the Storm: The primary concern for the first week was weakness and constant monitoring of oxygen saturation levels. Weakness was severe and oxygen levels did drop at times after walking a few steps or sitting for some time. Unfortunately, in the second wave, possibilities of post-covid complications were likely. So apart from weakness and oxygen levels, even a slight cough, or a headache, or eye ache, or discomfort in breathing, or a pain in the stomach, were all symptoms of black fungus or pulmonary embolism or a stomach infection or could be indicative of something else. Mind was on high alert and noticed every single change in the body. It continues to be, as the threat of a secondary infection or heart related problems loom until a few months post covid.

Upon recommendation from a friend, I read this lovely book “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse” by Charlie Mackesy a few days after coming back home. And loved these lines: “This storm is real, and our fear is real,” said the horse. “But our love is also real, and in the end, love wins.”

Also, these “This storm is making me tired,” said the boy. “Storms get tired too,” said the horse, “So hold on.”

Weakness: Two things helped me regain some basic level of strength in about 10 days. First, drinking lots and lots of fluids. About 5 litres a day; water, coconut water, freshly made juices, buttermilk, and ORS. I could feel the improvement each day and even the difference on a day I had lower levels of fluids. Second, the fact that I was relatively fitter and healthy. After about 10 days, the improvement was not perceptible on a daily basis, and the delta became smaller with each passing day. My fitness level is down to zero right now. It is as though I have never exercised in my life. It may be a couple of months more before I go back to my pre-covid levels of fitness and that would now require starting with some conscious exercises and training. Patience is the key.

धीरे-धीरे रे मना, धीरे सब कुछ होय ।

माली सींचे सौ घड़ा, ॠतु आए फल होय ।

As Kabir says, everything happens at its own pace. As a gardener may water the plants with a hundred buckets of water, but the fruits arrive only in its season, similarly, whatever you may do, have patience and you will see the fruits of your hard work.

Food: While in the hospital, I lost 5kgs weight. My skin became dry, lost all elasticity, appeared wrinkled and sagged. Just a couple of days after coming back home, my appetite suddenly went up. I regained some taste. And wanted to eat all the time. Even now, a month later, I feel like eating all the time. With increased appetite, the weight came back, and some more ☹. Here, I must say that I ate regular food that is cooked at home and did not make any attempt to eat healthier options that few people suggested. I included seasonal fruits (only mangoes, litchis and watermelons) and lots of fluids in my diet. The dryness of the skin has improved though it remains loose. Again, exercise should help with toning.

जिन खोजा तिन पाइया, गहरे पानी पैठ,

मैं बपुरा बूडन डरा, रहा किनारे बैठ

In these couplets, Kabir inspires us to work hard and seek. Those who search in deep waters, find something. Whereas those who sit at the fence for fear of drowning do not get anything. So, I must pursue fitness now and get rid of the fear that Covid has deep rooted in my mind, in order to get back to the pre-Covid level of fitness.

Anxiety and Insomnia: These two have been my companions frequently in the past as well. But I mostly had reasons to be anxious and could explain the sleeplessness. The frequency has now increased, and I have no reasons now.

मुझे नींद न आए, मुझे चैन न आए…

हालत क्या है कैसे तुझे बताऊँ मैं, करवट बदल-बदल के रात बिताऊँ मैं

पूछो ज़रा पूछो क्या हाल है, हाल मेरा बेहाल है

कोई समझ न पाए क्या रोग सताए…

This super hit song from the Madhuri Dixit and Amir Khan starrer movie Dil (1990) describes my state quite well. The problem is that it is very difficult to explain this to anyone. Why am I not sleeping? What is bothering me? Even I don’t know. I cannot explain. It is just an after effect of Covid.

Yes, I have tried counting 1 to 10 to calm my mind and breath; yes, I have tried deep breathing many times but did not fall asleep; yes, I have tried white noise and various apps; none of them worked. I just hope this is temporary.

Concentration and memory: I’m an academician, a researcher. A lot of what I do requires me to have a good memory, to pull out anecdotes, facts, numbers, and findings, that I might have read long ago, from the depths of my memory. People used to tell me that I have an elephant’s memory. I would remember the page number in a book where I read something interesting. I have had moments in the last few weeks when I have struggled to recall names and words. Similarly, I pride myself for my ability to concentrate even amid many distractions. The nature of my work requires me to concentrate. I am not able to watch or read for more than 2-3 minutes at a stretch now. I would be devastated if Covid has a long-lasting impact on either my concentration or memory. I hope not.

Compare this to the days when I was doing a PhD. I had flat mates who were working. They would come back from work and put on the TV or loud music and partied often at our flat. I could study with complete focus at those times too. Sometimes, when there were too many people around, I would go and sit in the balcony that faced the very busy Banjara Hills Road Number 3 (Hyderabad) and studied under the streetlight that lit a part of the balcony as well (the balcony itself had no bulb/tubelight). I could easily concentrate and study even with all the noise on the road.

How do you feel? I have no answer to this question. It is a seesaw. On one day I feel good, on the other very low. One day I have no perceptible issues, the very next day, I feel that there is a faint ache in my heart that needs investigation. Yesterday, I was laughing and joking with everyone, today, I just want to be quiet. I don’t know how to answer this question.

One of my all-time favorite movies is Hrithik Roshan and Preity Zinta starrer Lakshya (2004). Javed Akhtar wrote these lyrics that seemed more like a conversation with a best friend rather than a song and were beautifully given music to by Shankar, Ehsan and Loy.

अब मुझको ये है करना, अब मुझे वो करना है

आख़िर क्यूँ मैं ना जानूँ, क्या है कि जो करना है

लगता है अब जो सीधा, कल मुझे लगेगा उल्टा

देखो ना मैं हूँ जैसे, बिल्कुल उल्टा-पुल्टा

These lines play in my head every time someone asks me, “How are you feeling now?” or “How’s your recovery?” In my mind even my expressions are similar to those of Hrithik’s as he is dancing to this song. However, I keep a straight face and say, “I am doing quite well. Thank you.”

Covid Conversations: The most difficult part of recovery is to stay positive. Unfortunately, the time around which I had Covid, the cases were at their peak across the country. There were depressing news of people losing the battle, shortage of oxygen, medicines, beds, and deaths of people too close to home. Each day, the conversations around the morning tea inevitably shifted to Covid updates even though we started out saying that we will not talk about Covid. It had an impact on the mood at home, it seemed like there was nothing to look forward to and there was the survivor’s guilt as well as the reckoning that I had come so close to becoming “news” myself. From the time the number of cases has started coming down, there is a distinct positivity in my attitude and a desire to get well sooner. Even though it is difficult, staying positive helps.

Many songs of Kishore Kumar are brilliant. However, this one from Safar (1970) is perhaps one of his best (debatable of course).

ज़िन्दगी का सफ़र, है ये कैसा सफ़र

कोई समझा नहीं, कोई जाना नहीं

[The journey of life is incomprehensible. Nobody has been able to understand it]

The unpredictability of life has been amply demonstrated to us by Covid. However, it has also shown the helplessness of the humankind and made us accept life the way it is…

ये जीवन है, इस जीवन का

यही है, यही है, यही है रंगरूप

थोड़े ग़म हैं, थोड़ी खुशियाँ

यही है, यही है, यही है छाँव धूप

-      Piya Ka Ghar (1972), sung by Kishore Kumar

I hope this will be the concluding part of my experiences with Covid and nothing major, worth writing about, happens hence forth. I would like to end with a word of caution. I still see many people relying on cloth masks. I too wore them. In fact, I have them in all variety; Pochampally, Ikat, Madhubani, Kalamkari, with embroidery, in all colours to match my dresses. They are not at all adequate. Don’t let your guard down. Double mask up. Because it’s worth it! 

Laws of human stupidity and the coronavirus

This article was first published in Yahoo.com on July 22, 2020; https://ca.sports.yahoo.com/news/laws-of-human-stupidity-and-the-coronavirus-101909061.html

Carlo M. Cipolla’s 1988 classic in Italian, translated and published in English in 2011, “The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity” is one of the best books that I have read in 2020, so far. The late author, an Italian economic historian, Fulbright fellow and professor at the University of California, Berkeley, wrote that the book is for “those who on occasion have to deal with such (stupid) people.”

The author further writes, “our daily life is mostly made of cases in which we lose money and/or time and/or energy and/or appetite, cheerfulness and good health because of the improbable action of some preposterous creature who has nothing to gain and indeed gains nothing from causing us embarrassment, difficulties or harm. Nobody knows, understands or can possibly explain why that preposterous creature does what he does.” The book is a masterpiece. Thoroughly enjoyed reading it. The five basic laws of human stupidity enumerated in the book are bang on!

In the times of Corona Virus, when the world is clearly divided into those who are extra cautious and those who believe in Que Sera Sera, it is very easy for one group to feel that the other group is being unreasonable. Those who are extra cautious argue in favour of extended lockdowns, complete isolation and total shut down of all movement and economic activity. They argue that it is required to break the chain and prevent its further spread. The flip side of this argument is that there are many daily wage workers who will die of hunger, especially in countries that have large unorganised workforce. There will be many job losses even in the organised sector, it’s already happening. The extra cautious set of people argue that economy can be revived if we are alive. However, even if we don’t talk of the economy, and just about saving lives, people prefer to die of a disease rather than hunger, as CNN mentioned in a report (https://edition.cnn.com/videos/world/2020/04/21/nigeria-africa-coronavirus-covid-19-lockdown-restrictions-livelihood-busari-lkl-intl-ldn-vpx.cnn).

The que sera sera group of people argue that life must come back to some semblance of normality. We cannot be in a state of perpetual lockdown. We need to make sanitisers, masks and social distancing a part of our lives and start living again. They argue that the risk of spread may be more but ultimately most people will get Covid19 and by being in extended lockdown we are only postponing it. The idea is to flatten the curve to prevent overburdening our healthcare system but beyond that it is not possible to be in lockdown till the virus is eradicated completely or till a vaccine comes to the market. The flip side of this argument is that there are chances of exponential growth again if the lockdown is eased. Not everyone may have access to preventive measures and the healthcare system may be better prepared but will not be absolutely prepared.

Based on the above arguments posed by both sides, each side feels that the other side is being “stupid”. The “extra precautious” group [EPG] feels that because of the other group [the que sera sera group (QSSG)] more people will get the virus and even QSSG will not be spared. The QSSG feel that the EPG is suffering by being in a state of paranoia and making the QSSG suffer too because of all the restrictions. Since one group feels that the other group is stupid, according to one group, they themselves are non-stupid. But the other group feels that the other group is stupid. Making both the groups stupid in the process. This validates the first law of stupidity that says: “Always and inevitably everyone underestimates the number of stupid individuals in circulation”.

What has happened is that two otherwise educated, qualified and well-read group of people who are perfectly capable of taking intelligent decisions are also found to be at the two ends of the spectrum when discussing the ways to deal with this virus. Consequently, one intelligent person seems stupid to the other intelligent person, justifying the second law of stupidity: “The probability that a certain person be stupid is independent of any other characteristic of that person”.

Now coming to the 3^rd basic law of human stupidity, “A stupid person is a person who causes losses to another person or to a group of persons while himself deriving no gain and even possibly incurring losses.” Let us look at an example: A person hell bent on not maintaining social distance and “forgetting” to not touch or pat or hug can give anxiety to the other person while herself being in danger of contracting the virus or spreading it if she is an asymptomatic carrier. But this person is a carefree person and will never realise the gravity of the situation. Take another example: There are volunteers working across the world to keep people safe, providing for food and essentials and educating people. Some people abuse them rather than appreciating them. As a result, they lose well-wishers, lose supplies and may contract the virus too. In return, they also succeed in lowering the morale of those who were working relentlessly for their safety and well-being. Everyone loses in this scenario.

Law 4 states that “Non-stupid people always underestimate the damaging power of stupid individuals. In particular non-stupid people constantly forget that at all times and places and under any circumstances to deal and/or associate with stupid people infallibly turns out to be a costly mistake”. It is infact being experienced by many of the well-wishers, administrators and leaders. Under pressure from the abusive, damaging and demoralising comments from stupid people, the non-stupid people are taking a back seat, leaving things to fate or giving in to the demands that are compromising on safety. However, in times of Corona, giving in may result in dire consequences that the stupid people never imagine or are unwilling to accept, and the non-stupid people underestimate.

When the non-stupid people give in to the demands of the stupid people, they should remember the fifth law of stupidity, “A stupid person is the most dangerous type of person. A stupid person is more dangerous than a bandit”. Before acquiescing to the stupid people, the non-stupid people must think of the consequences of pleasing stupid people. Stupidity or should we say “Covidity” will spell doom for everyone. Non-stupid people must beware and take charge!

The need of the hour is “Balance”. Being a part of EPG may work for some time but these people risk running out of patience when it might be needed the most, when then governments eventually lift all restrictions on movement. The QSSG group put themselves and all others at risk by not taking adequate precautions. Adopting a balanced approach by taking adequate precautions is required. As the number of Covid cases in India have raced past the five-lakh mark, remember that Covidity cannot be controlled. We cannot control what others do and neither should we. We can only control our own actions. So, take adequate precautions. Be safe yet balanced to maintain your own sanity.

Reading is akin to breathing

This post is inspired by Oneknitatatime:

https://oneknitatatime.com/2020/07/08/knitting-versus-reading/?fbclid=IwAR2MAT4obzDzuTqyEw47IFAblyvjFmMhiw8cGhMSN1IMC424LXnqwUDY9DQ

Dear Kni-der,

Your post brought back memories of the times when I used to borrow comics, magazines and books on rent in the small town of Ramgarh as it lacked a library. I remember making a trip to this small store called the “Shreeji Stores” with Rs 2 or 3 in one fist while carrying the pile of read treasure in the other almost daily. In those days, even those Rs 2 or 3 were not easy to get and I had to beg (well, not literally, but it wasn't easy) for them many a times.

I became more academic oriented and slowed down on reading as I went to a boarding school and during the 11^th and 12^th classes. After that, I do not remember a day when I have not read. When pursuing my CA exams, I would place books inside the accounting and auditing books and read them while pretending to study. It was important that I passed the exams in the first attempt and I could not give the impression that I did not study well just in case I failed. Thankfully, I did not fail.

Book purchases became the largest expense category on my credit card. I especially got bookshelves designed when we bought the house in which we currently live. The shelves were designed to accommodate books bought over the next 25 years but are already overflowing. Meeting authors, getting first editions, author signed copies and going for book readings all made me excited. The importance of books in my life is so profound that on my first birthday after marriage, my husband gifted the complete collection of Jeffrey Archer’s books to me, signed and addressed to me, by him.

As recently as in 2018, on a trip to Ramgarh, I went to Shreeji Stores and asked the bhaiya, who  was perhaps a teenager when I used to borrow the comics and magazines, if he still had that collection. I was interested in buying the entire lot if he did. Sadly, he did not. He did not exactly recall it but guessed that it was sold off to the scrap dealer during one of the store revamps. I was left with a feeling of emptiness for a few days at least.

I have never wanted to be a librarian. The thought never crossed my mind. But the quest to open a “chai aur kitaabein” parlour where people come, settle themselves down with a book, regular and unlimited supply of tea and snacks as they keep reading, no hurry to leave and conversations revolving around books, is a retirement plan that I keep mulling upon. Tea being the other love of my life.

Netflix and Prime became the prime contenders for the scarce time in the last few years. And like you, I did not like it. I do not like it. I started exploring audiobooks then and hated it. I would miss entire paragraphs, would go blank at times, kept rewinding, and missed the feel and smell of paper. For the record, I never enjoyed reading on the Kindle or e-books on iPad too. Coming back to audiobooks, after trying a couple of books, I gave up audiobooks as well as Netflix and Prime. I lived happily ever after for many months, just reading, and reading whenever I could during the day and compulsively at night.

I have been driving to work for 14 years now. I bought my first car in 2006. Since then, listening to music to and from my workplace became a ritual. I would spend hours updating my playlists at least one weekend in a month, adding new songs, organising old ones, making folders like “most favourite”, “just favourite”, “okay”, “not-so-good”, “latest”, and so on. About two years back, I started to get bored of listening to pretty much the same songs since 2006 for the “not-so-good” and “okay” hardly ever got played and very few songs from latest made it to the “favourite” or “most favourite” lists. Once again, I decided to listen to an audiobook. Dan Brown’s Origin had just released, and I downloaded the book on audiobooks.com with the free credit available with the trial version. The rest as they say is history.

I bought the Bose wireless, noise cancellation, sweat-proof, earbuds. They have been my constant companions for all non-car listening to audiobooks. I have subscriptions for audible, audiobooks.com and storytel. I mix paper books and audio books. From cooking to cycling, driving to dusting and shopping to sanitising, I listen.

A key takeaway from “hate at first listen” to “love of my life” now, is that the first book should always be one that is fast paced, is a thriller and one that you want to get to the end as fast as possible. I do not recall the book that led to the “hate” experience. But I do recall sitting in the parking lot of my office a bit longer so that a chapter of Origin gets over. I do remember going back to my car to get my earphones during the lunch time so that I could listen to the book when eating. I do remember avoiding friends during the evening walk so that I could listen some more. So, to all those who are still trying to get used to audiobooks, listen to some recommended crime fiction initially or a genre that you enjoy the most. Once you get used to listening, there is no looking back.

The number of books that I read/listen to has increased manifolds with audiobooks complimenting the paper books. I do miss listening to music at times. But let us face it. There are hardly any good new songs getting released now a days. I switch to music occasionally to revisit the old favourites. Netflix and Prime have entered a rationalised zone and there are rare spells of binge watching. Overall, to quote you dear Kni-der, “Life is good again!”, my old friend is the center of my universe again!

Happy reading/listening.

N

Pandemic Prescription: Resolve, Resources and Resetting of Beliefs

This article was first published in GARP Risk Intelligence on April 17, 2020. Co-author: V.P. Jyotsna

https://www.garp.org/#!/risk-intelligence/operational/people/a1Z1W000005C9jjUAC

What India’s Xennials, and their history, bring to the battles ahead

A recent GARP Risk Intelligence article, A View from South Asia: This Time Is Different, looked back from the pandemic crisis to how India’s Xennial generation experienced the evolution in technology, economy, business, sports, movies and fashion, and bore witness to terrorism, war and politics over four to five decades. In this article, we would like to consider the difference that this generation can make in the fight against COVID-19 and the need to reset some of our beliefs.

The Dichotomy: The Xennials bridged the gap between the Baby Boom-Gen X and Generation Y and Z cohorts, and from analog to the tech-savvy Millennials. We grew up believing that the Industrial Revolution was the greatest thing to have happened to society; and that globalization, free trade and free movement of goods, services and people was the present and the future. Now, increasingly, there is evidence that that’s what might damage the planet irrevocably, with severe consequences for the human species.

The work done by previous generations and taken forward by ours has helped unravel the puzzle of genes: The Human Genome Project and artificial intelligence have made tremendous progress in understanding human biology. Yet, this pandemic has brought the world to its knees. And it is hitting home the message that a microscopic protein sac containing one strand of RNA can destroy a whole species – that nothing that we thought mattered all this while really matters.

Changes in lifestyles, income levels and awareness introduced us to a sea change in cultures and values as to varying health conditions that we were not prepared for. Luckily (or unluckily) for us, advancements in the use of technology in healthcare research, pharma and genetics helped us cope to some extent in maintaining the physical health. And we continued to ignore the warnings.

Unbalancing Nature: A November 2019 National Geographic article was prophetic in describing how deforestation was causing bats to have “no other option than to fly elsewhere in search of food, carrying with them a deadly disease.” The article warned: “Whether such diseases stay confined to forest fringes or if they gain their own foothold in people, unleashing a potential pandemic, depends on their transmission.”

Within a couple of months of that publication, the world was gripped by the novel coronavirus. The steps required to contain the virus, like lockdowns and social distancing, are testing our mental and spiritual health, and we, as a conscious species, need to adapt quickly to a new order. So maybe the Xennials, who are in the prime of their productive lives, can now take charge and put to good use all the technology and administrative abilities developed, all the ways to approach data analysis and the math that we have learned, and we may yet be able to come out triumphant. But certainly, by then, we would have lost a lot.

This period should be used to develop the moral and ethical compass to keep pace with the progress of humankind. To do away with the arrogance that we can improve on nature. To evolve as a conscious species. And to reset the definitions of heroism.

Heroism: We are fond of role models and heroes. The image and words of a Spanish biological researcher on WhatsApp stuck with us: “You give footballers one million euros a month and biological researchers 1,800 euros. You are looking for a treatment now. Go to Cristiano Ronaldo or Messi and they will find you a cure”. Have we not created an imbalance in the way we idolize some and neglect the others?

Another WhatsApp forward doing the rounds showed doctors in white coats and referred to them as “Gods.” What immediately came to our minds were assaults and acts of violence against doctors that are not only on the rise, but also a significant challenge for healthcare providers. When we were younger, Indians grew up being told that there were two noble professions: teaching and treating people. In their late 30s and 40s, none of our doctor friends want their kids to be doctors. There is no work-life balance, burnout is very high, payoff is not commensurate with the stresses and challenges, and the satisfaction of serving people is at times difficult with corporatization of healthcare to a great extent.

Yet, with a pandemic now threatening to impact every person on the planet, we must pause to think if we chose our heroes wisely, and did we hold them accountable? When we complained that the facilities provided at our public hospitals was not up to standards, did we stop to think how that happened? Did we hold our politicians and public servants responsible?

If nothing else, let this pandemic teach us to choose our heroes wisely. Like wars and terrorism taught us to regard “army (wo)men” as heroes. People have started to realize that the army keeps our borders safe. We sleep peacefully because they stay awake for us in harsh climates and conditions.

While the stars of entertainment had been ruling our minds and lives all these years, we forgot who really deserves our respect and attention. It is time we recognize the people working behind stethoscopes, microscopes and hazmat suits as real, sustainable heroes, and not go back to abusing them once the storm of this pandemic subsides. And not just doctors, but every single nurse, ancillary healthcare worker, public officials who monitored the epidemic, philanthropists, and anyone who did anything to keep the system running to battle this unseen monster.

We Can: For the first time in history, an infectious disease, smallpox, was declared eradicated in 1980. Rinderpest was eradicated in 2001. Polio is near eradication. The Xennials have grown up believing that wars against deadly diseases can be won. They can with a never-give-up attitude, each of us doing the best that we can do in the circumstances, by not being a “covidiot,” and extending complete support to those on the frontlines.