Inner Battles

Corporate life teaches one a lot of lessons. It’s been close to a year and a half for me in the IT industry and it never stops intriguing me. Here’s an incident that made me look at my office and colleagues from a far  more human perspective.

During our first few days in the company that I work for, we were divided into batches and trained in different areas of technical expertise. Each batch comprised of about 30-40 freshers and fortunately I happen to belong to a very lively and enthu batch with whom I spent three fun-filled months. We were all fresh out of college and became friends almost instantly. This rapport continued even later when we were allotted projects and teams. We often met up at work either in the pantry or cafeteria to spend a few light moments in the otherwise drab and dull work environment

One day when we were in the middle of a conversation I was informed that a friend of ours (from the same fresher batch) lost his own brother to some lung disease (I do not remember exactly which one) and that he was away from work to perform the last rites. We were all shocked to hear the sad news. Unfortunately, this was around the same time that his girlfriend was all set to get engaged to someone else. This boy (let’s just call him Mr BigHeart) was the live wire of our batch, always smiling, always fooling around. There was never a dull moment when he was with us.

Mr BigHeart resumed work within three days of the demise of his brother. The day he came back, he was seated at the same breakfast table with our gang and surprisingly, there wasn’t even the slightest glimpse of grief on his face. He appeared exactly how he was before he knew about his brother’s death. I had no idea how or what to say to him. After all, death of a loved one leaves one with a massive void, a void that never fills. Generally, we have a few clichéd condolences to offer to them but in front of Mr BigHeart I was all tongue tied. Instead of us trying to cheer him up, he was cracking jokes and lightening up the situation.   

Corporate life makes you a slightly selfish person. When you enter the office and sit at your desk, your sole concern is the PC in front of you. The relationship with the PC often becomes more important than your relationship with the colleagues sitting around you. Just one short, observant look is enough to make me realise that everyone out here is fighting a battle of their own. This battle could involve death, rejection, confusion, loneliness or a feeling of absolute helplessness.  Some people wear their emotions on their sleeve while some others like our Mr BigHeart bottle it all up and choose to keep a pleasant mask on all the time. And yes, there is always more than what meets the eye.

Coincidentally, a part of this post was written while I was at my work. Yes, I do get bugged occasionally and that’s when issues such as these creep into my head. Within no time, my mentor dropped in to check my “daily progress” and I have no choice but to get back to my PC. Sigh!

My first and last Coach...

Most of us have that one sport that we used to play during our childhood but never really pursued it so that it reached our adulthood. Somehow, somewhere that sport just lost its sheen in our lives. As we speed through in this crazy, chaotic world, the sport gets left behind, never to be re visited again. Badminton is one such sport for me. Well, this post is not about Badminton but rather the man who introduced me to it- my Mama .

Mama( Mom’s older brother) and I shared a very normal child-adult relationship- full of tender love and playfulness. I used to be very reserved as a child (quite contrary to what I am now) and Mama would do everything he could to make me speak up. A faint smile or a simple nod of the head is all that I managed to give as a response to what he was saying. He lived with his family in Coorg and was a sport enthusiast. His house had a sports room that was overflowing with cricket bats, table tennis rackets, and tennis balls and of course Badminton rackets. He handed over my first ever Badminton racket when I was barely 7 years old. As with any child of that age, I was super excited. He taught me how to hold the racket, how NOT TO hold the racket, how to not injure yourself, how to serve etc. His French beard and an almost bald head somehow gave him a very stern look, and I listened very keenly to all his advices, absorbing every word. He loved me and I loved him back, often sharing this love in a quiet and rather inexpressive way.  That one Badminton racket was what bonded us together and it was our way of communicating to each other.

Soon Mama’s health began to deteriorate. The strong, lean frame was making way for a frail, gaunt one. “He’s ill” is all that my Mom would tell me. Our badminton sessions were reducing in frequency and most of his trips to Bangalore were centred around medical check ups. He could barely support himself and was eventually bed ridden. All of us were counting the last few days of his life, except Mama himself. Our Badminton sessions had stopped by then. Yet, he continued to enquire me about my practise and my exercises.

One day the inevitable happened. All of us were more or less prepared for it. But no matter how prepared you are to face a tragedy, when it actually strikes you, it gets pretty hard to digest the fact that the person is no more. I was just 10 years old then and it was the first time I was seeing death so closely. Honestly, it didn’t really affect me much at that time.

It’s been 15 years since Mama passed away. And here I am, recollecting all those memories in the wee hours of the morning. Most of the time, we bury  a memory or a thought or a person deep within our subconscious mind and never really think of it(him) until one day all the memories suddenly spring back to life. It’s a bitter sweet feeling. I simply cannot fathom why Mama has occupied my thoughts to such an extent today. It’s probably because when you lose someone close to you, that person takes away a part of you with him/her. A part that you will never find in anyone you meet later in life or anything you do. That part is gone. Period. You realise how important a person was to you only long after they are gone and when you are very well aware of the fact that they he/she will never be back again And today, I simply woke up to a feeling of missing him so much, almost like missing a part of myself. As for my Badminton practise, well it died the day Mama died. It died the day, my first and last coach died. I have never seriously picked up the racket since the past 15 years, ever.