Some Gyan


I saw this in an old movie. There is a ranger, sitting in shooting position on a woolen loft, furiously waiting for a wild tiger to come to his target. The ranger is well dressed up, in military like uniform with khaki look. He is belted with adequate bullets and with a riffle filled for one shot at a time. He sets this in time around mid day, when tiger starts its search for food. He also sets this in nearby lake location, which tiger and other animals use in thirst. The wooden loft is cushioned with crop leftovers and covered with green leaves to create illusion. He sets his own direction of target which he has discovered in good research. In all probability the tiger must come from that anticipated point only. And then there is a sheep tied in a peg to attract tiger that is looking for a food. What do think the accuracy of this ranger if tiger actually comes?

Then I saw this in discovery channel. A tiger searches a flock of deer. The tiger uses his unique skills to find a place to hide himself before attack. He targets one in the flock. Not random one. The gifted tool he uses is his teeth, power of jaw and nails in his paw. What do you think the accuracy of this tiger when he actually attacks the flock?

I thought of two simple strategies derived from above settings. To get an opportunity converted into our favor we have two options. 1) If opportunity comes, we would be able to hit only if we are fully prepared for it. Even luck favors preparedness. 2) Develop natural skills like tiger and find your target.

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Full Smile


Today I came home little early when I saw Prisha sitting over Shweta’s lap and staring at me.Her eyebrows suggested that she is surprised but still trying to recognize. It take a fraction of second when she gives a full smile, with a modest shy and with a crow’s-feet. This time too, it was same. I recalled, how fast last five and half month past watching Prisha, in the process of change from an infant to a toddler. I recalled the day I first took my baby in my hands.

When Angel of My Life Arrived


I get my deepest sleep in earliest part of morning. In similar time of that morning, Shweta touched my feet to wake me up with a concern and fear on her face. For a fraction of second I could not understand anything. In another fraction of second all the concern on her pregnancy ran through my mind. And then I decoded what she was saying; “I am bleeding”.

In few minutes we were at hospital; the Origin Center, the first thing doctor advised nurse (over phone) to record heart rate of baby. Heart rate? yup..regular practice before delivery of child. We could only see the machine, some wavy fluctuation, some beeps, with weird and frightened face and with an ear open to listen what nurse would just say. I do not know what my baby’s heart was feeling at that time. But I know one thing for sure, that out hearts were beating abnormally. Finally nurse smiled and we took some breath.

After observation Doctor advised immediate operation. Operation was expected earlier because of known complications with Shweta but the word IMMEDIATE was little shocking. Immediate? Much before due date? Well no other option.

I was not prepared. Lot of thoughts and suggestions started appearing into my mind. I recalled Atul’s suggestion, to keep some clothes, camera etc in a bag in advance which I never did. I had to arrange all these things in few minutes. I drove quickly to my house, picked up some essentials that came into my mind along with camera. My mausi (maternal aunty) asked me for some breakfast. I took some. And then Shweta called me, “I am going into operation theater”

I hurriedly entered the area near operation theater thinking and cursing of being late. There was pin drop silence. One nurse and one sweeper were moving around. One day before in a ward near to operation theater twins born. And I thought its my turn to get get my baby. In few minutes from then, I heard a voice, a baby voice, crying in full. ‘Is it mine? ..It could be one of the twins in near ward..could be mine as well..’. Then the sweeper appeared for her regular activity who is not supposed to give such good news but I could not control my curiosity and I  asked, “who’s crying?”. Well the answer was something which both of us, Shweta and me, waited for long.  “Your baby” she said with a congratulatory smile without mentioning the gender of my baby. She was born. And I was born as well as father. Then nurse in operation theater called me to come inside.

Dr Gokhle is a child specialist. I never met him before. Hospital arranges such specialist at the time of delivery of baby. He introduced me to my baby, a baby girl. Prisha (Prisha is named later), was in a typical shape of new born, crying in full when nurse was cleaning her body with cotton. A delighted feeling with a little concern of how she must be doing while coping with new world. Then nurse gave one small injection to the baby that time I actually realized what fullest cry mean for a baby just born. Before I could see, touch or feel my baby in my hand, doctor bombed me by saying “Baby s slightly underweight, we need to keep her in NICU for a min of 2 days”

That was the time when first pick my baby in my own hands. And soon she was in NICU when I took her first photographs. 1

About


Prisha is my angel came in my life beginning of this year.

This blog is Shweta’s idea. We are experiencing new world, new feelings and altogether new experience.

This blog is Prisha’s, her activities, her fun and about all her first experiences, so ours.

Last Man Standing


I was enjoying Ranjan’s brand new Armada Grand  on Grand Trunk road while going from Aurangabad (Bihar) to Sasaram during early monsoon  in year 2000. Ranjan, one of my dealers in south-west Bihar, was on the driver seat. G T Road is busy for more than four centuries now. It becomes even busier in Bihar due to terrific road conditions. Some parts of the road were in pathetic condition and so accumulated huge traffic. We were near Sone Bridge, one of the longest of its time over Sone River, and waiting for our turn to move. Sides of road were filled with new clay in a process of widening before monsoon. But this time with some rain, it was more like a deceiving mud which was looking like a flat and hard surface. We soon realized it when tried to reach an approach road towards a village to avoid traffic. Our vehicle drifted, skidded when tried to stop, and started slipping in an attempt of undoing what we just did. In few seconds we were off the road.

Sometimes I feel that no option is the best option. We looked at each other, and in sync of thought, decided to go towards village and then to see old bridge on Sone River, part of G T Road then, build by Sher Shah Suri in 16th century. Good we decided so; otherwise I would have missed a lifetime opportunity to witness a vanishing Heritage.

Some drive and some walk was enough for us to make it to the place. In low water, at the start of monsoon, the debris of that bridge could be seen. Still standing tall, like waiting for us to tell his story, the time-worn bricks of survivor pillars hosted us.

This is no more a tourist place. No one usually comes except those researching history. Imaging what this entire place had witnessed in history of time; from trade caravan to army troops, change of empires, from monarchy to democracy. This place survived everything but geological changes. Sone River started becoming violent during peak monsoon. That was the time when British decided to build a parallel flyover, taller with more strength.

This is one of the entries from my old diary.

Rain Rain Don’t Go Away


This monsoon is punctual with the sound of big drops falling on still water and with temporary bubbles just diminishing over surface around. A different meaning to everyone, this rain says something.

A farmer waiting for his prosperity in waiting, this rain is another hope. A Mumbaikar, travelling, juggling and wasting time in random but certain traffic, this rain is his precious time. An economist finding reasons on concerns of inflation and growth, this rain is another stats. A cricketer waiting to resume his game, this rain is spoilsport. And A frog, waiting in the deep mud, for ages (as if), to start a new season of breeding with cracking Trrr trrr.

I am no other but yet another Mumbaikar and searching my time in the traffic in same way. But I still love this rain. Hmm.. some memories..few know about that. I love watching the beauty of rain while it flows down the hill (small hills around Sanjay Gandhi National Park) near my residence making its own random way but creating a pattern.

Rain rain don’t go away. Or at least keep up your due punctuality.

Wo Todti Patthar


While surfing through web, I came across one of the best poetries of Suryakant Tripathi Nirala’s “ Wo Todti Patthar”. A poet, who was well aware of hardship of life, explains same of a labor woman working on roads of Allahabad in peak summer. It forced me to say something related with all of us.

We owe something to the woman in Nirala’s poetry for her contribution to our economy. People will argue on socio-economic balance due to financial compensation given for the work done. Because there will always be some or other person for every job. I question, whether its possible to compensate in real terms?

The woman in Nirala poetry gives more than what she receives in the form of money against eight hours of work. Loss of health, loss of age due to loss of health, the opportunity cost for not able to make her next generation more capable due to lack of time and money. Is economic value of eight hours given in the form of minimum wage equal? Imagine the contribution of this women in all the infrastructure we use directly or indirectly; roads, buildings, flyovers, manufacturing etc. All of us are interconnected with this woman.

Irrespective of gender and singularity in this poem, the size of this women is more than 25% population of our country who are below poverty line.

Poetry Link