Nithin Kamath’s Weblog

Sudha was livid when a job advertisement posted by a Tata company at the institution where she was completing her post graduation stated that”Lady candidates need not apply”. She dashed off a post card to JRD Tata, protesting against the discrimination. Following this, Sudha was called for an interview and she became the first female engineer to work on the shop floor at Telco (now Tata Motors). It was the beginning of an association that would change her life in more ways than one.

“THERE are two photographs that hang on my office wall. Everyday when I entered my office I look at them before starting my day. They are pictures of two old people. One is of a gentleman in a blue suit and the other is a black and white image of a man with dreamy eyes and a white beard.

People have often asked me if the people in the photographs are related to me. Some have even asked me, “Is this black and white photo that of a Sufi saint or a religious Guru?” I smile and reply “No, nor are they related to me. These people made an impact on my life. I am grateful to them.” “Who are they?” “The man in the blue suit is Bharat Ratna JRD Tata and the black and white photo is of Jamsedji Tata.” “But why do you have them in your office?”" You can call it gratitude.” Then, invariably, I have to tell the person the following story.

It was a long time ago. I was young and bright, bold and idealistic. I was in the final year of my Master’s course in Computer Science at the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) in Bangalore, then known as the Tata Institute. Life was full of fun and joy. I did not know what helplessness or injustice meant. It was probably the April of 1974. Bangalore was getting warm and gulmohars were blooming at the IISc campus. I was the only girl in my postgraduate department and was staying at the ladies’ hostel. Other girls were pursuing research in different departments of Science. I was looking forward to going abroad to complete a doctorate in Computer Science. I had been offered scholarships from Universities in the US. I had not thought of taking up a job in India.

One day, while on the way to my hostel from our lecture-hall complex, I saw an advertisement on the notice board. It was a standard job-requirement notice from the famous automobile company Telco (now Tata Motors). It stated that the company required young, bright engineers, hardworking and with an excellent academic background, etc. At the bottom was a small line: “Lady candidates need not apply.” I read it and was very upset. For the first time in my life I was up against gender discrimination. Though I was not keen on taking up the job, I saw it as a challenge. I had done extremely well in academics, better than most of my male peers. Little did I know then that in real life academic excellence is not enough to be successful.

After reading the notice I went fuming to my room. I decided to inform the topmost person in Telco’s management about the injustice the company was perpetrating. I got a postcard and started to write, but there was a problem: I did not know who headed Telco. I thought it must be one of the Tatas. I knew JRD Tata was the head of the Tata group; I had seen his pictures in newspapers (actually, Sumant Moolgaokar was the company’s chairman then). I took the card, addressed it to JRD and started writing.

To this day I remember clearly what I wrote. “The great Tatas have always been pioneers. They are the people who started the basic infrastructure industries in India, such as iron and steel, chemicals, textiles and locomotives. They have cared for higher education in India since 1900 and they were responsible for the establishment of the Indian Institute of Science. Fortunately, I study there. But I am surprised how a company such as Telco is discriminating on the basis of gender.”

I posted the letter and forgot about it. Less than 10 days later, I received a telegram stating that I had to appear for an interview at Telco’s Pune facility at the company’s expense. I was taken aback by the telegram. My hostel mate told me I should use the opportunity to go to Pune free of cost and buy them the famous Pune saris for cheap! I collected Rs 30 each from everyone who wanted a sari.

When I look back, I feel like laughing at the reasons for my going, but back then they seemed good enough to make the trip. It was my first visit to Pune and I immediately fell in love with the city. To this day it remains dear to me. I feel as much at home in Pune as I do in Hubli, my hometown. The place changed my life in so many ways.

As directed, I went to Telco’s Pimpri office for the interview. There were six people on the panel and I realised then that this was serious business. “This is the girl who wrote to JRD,” I heard somebody whisper as soon as I entered the room. By then I knew for sure that I would not get the job. The realisation abolished all fear from my mind, so I was rather cool while the interview was being conducted. Even before the interview started, I reckoned the panel was biased, so I told them, rather impolitely, “I hope this is only a technical interview.” They were taken aback by my rudeness, and even today I am ashamed about my attitude.

The panel asked me technical questions and I answered all of them. Then an elderly gentleman with an affectionate voice told me, “Do you know why we said lady candidates need not apply? The reason is that we have never employed any ladies on the shop floor. This is not a co-ed college; this is a factory. When it comes to academics, you are a first ranker throughout. We appreciate that, but people like you should work in research laboratories.”

I was a young girl from small-town Hubli. My world had been a limited place. I did not know the ways of large corporate houses and their difficulties, so I answered, “But you must start somewhere, otherwise no woman will ever be able to work in your factories.” Finally, after a long interview, I was told I had been successful.

So this was what the future had in store for me. Never had I thought I would take up a job in Pune. I met a shy young man from Karnataka there, we became good friends and we got married. It was only after joining Telco that I realised who JRD was: the uncrowned king of Indian industry. Now I was scared, but I did not get to meet him till I was transferred to Bombay.

One day I had to show some reports to Mr. Moolgaokar, our chairman, who we all knew as SM. I was in his office on the first floor of Bombay House (the Tata headquarters) when, suddenly JRD walked in. That was the first time I saw “appro JRD”. Appro means “our” in Gujarati. This was the affectionate term by which people at Bombay House called him. I was feeling very nervous, remembering my postcard episode.

SM introduced me nicely, “Jeh (that’s what his close associates called him), this young woman is an engineer and that too a postgraduate. She is the first woman to work on the Telco shop floor.” JRD looked at me. I was praying he would not ask me any questions about my interview (or the postcard that preceded it). Thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he remarked. “It is nice that girls are getting into engineering in our country. By the way, what is your name?” “When I joined Telco I was Sudha Kulkarni, Sir,” I replied. “Now I am Sudha Murthy.” He smiled a kindly smile and started a discussion with SM. As for me, I almost ran out of the room.

After that I used to see JRD on and off. He was the Tata Group chairman and I was merely an engineer. There was nothing that we had in common. I was in awe of him. One day I was waiting for Murthy, my husband, to pick me up after office hours. To my surprise I saw JRD standing next to me. I did not know how to react. Yet again I started worrying about that postcard. Looking back, I realise JRD had forgotten about it.

It must have been a small incident for him, but not so for me. “Young lady, why are you here?” he asked. “Office time is over.” I said, Sir, I’m waiting for my husband to come and pick me up.” JRD said, “It is getting dark and there’s no one in the corridor. I’ll wait with you till your husband comes.” I was quite used to waiting for Murthy, but having JRD waiting alongside made me extremely uncomfortable. I was nervous. Out of the corner of my eye I looked at him. He wore a simple white pant and shirt. He was old, yet his face was glowing. There wasn’t any air of superiority about him. I was thinking, ”

Look at this person. He is a chairman, a well-respected man in our country and he is waiting for the sake of an ordinary employee.” Then I saw Murthy and I rushed out. JRD called and said, “Young lady, tell your husband never to make his wife wait again.”

In 1982 I had to resign from my job at Telco. I was reluctant to go, but I really did not have a choice. I was coming down the steps of Bombay House after wrapping up my final settlement when I saw JRD coming up. He was absorbed in thought. I wanted to say goodbye to him, so I stopped. He saw me and paused.

Gently, he said, “So what are you doing, Mrs Kulkarni?” (That was the way he always addressed me.) “Sir, I am leaving Telco.” “Where are you going?” he asked. “Pune, Sir. My husband is starting a company called Infosys and I’m shifting to Pune.” “Oh! And what will you do when you are successful.” “Sir, I don’t know whether we will be successful.” “Never start with diffidence,” he advised me. “Always start with confidence. When you are successful you must give back to society. Society gives us so much; we must reciprocate. I wish you all the best.” Then JRD continued walking up the stairs. I stood there for what seemed like a millennium. That was the last time I saw him alive.

Many years later I met Ratan Tata in the same Bombay House, occupying the chair JRD once did. I told him of my many sweet memories of working with Telco. Later, he wrote to me, “It was nice hearing about Jeh from you. The sad part is that he’s not alive to see you today.”

I consider JRD a great man because, despite being an extremely busy person, he valued one postcard written by a young girl seeking justice. He must have received thousands of letters everyday. He could have thrown mine away, but he didn’t do that. He respected the intentions of that unknown girl, who had neither influence nor money, and gave her an opportunity in his company. He did not merely give her a job; he changed her life and mindset forever.

Close to 50 per cent of the students in today’s engineering colleges are girls. And there are women on the shop floor in many industry segments. I see these changes and I think of JRD. If at all time stops and asks me what I want from life, I would say I wish JRD were alive today to see how the company we started has grown. He would have enjoyed it wholeheartedly.

My love and respect for the House of Tata remains undiminished by the passage of time. I always looked up to JRD. I saw him as a role model for his simplicity, his generosity, his kindness and the care he took of his employees. Those blue eyes always reminded me of the sky; they had the same vastness and magnificence.

Sudha Murthy is a widely published writer and chairperson of the Infosys Foundation involved in a number of social development initiatives. Infosys chairman Narayan Murthy is her husband.

Article sourced from: Lasting Legacies (Tata Review- Special Commemorative Issue 2004), brought out by the house of Tatas to commemorate the 100th birth anniversary of JRD Tata on July 29, 2004. [Received as a forward to me]

I just got a nice mail; I am posting it here for all of you. This is the way we should move forward. Otherwise, it is a ‘dog eats dog’ situation today.

“A few weeks ago NIMH (National Institute of Mentally Handicapped, Hyderabad, INDIA) had conducted a sports meet for all the Physically & mentally handicapped children at National Stadium Hyderabad.

In one race.., Nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to the finish and win.

All, that is, except one little boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times, and began to cry. The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and looked back. Then they all turned around and went back……every one of them.

One girl with Down’s Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said, “This will make it better.” Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line. Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story.

Why?? Because deep down we know this one thing: What matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What matters in this life is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.

We know that “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle” So please tell others about it - at least to the people who will understand the meaning of the message.

I was born in a secluded village of a mountain. Days by days my parents plowed the yellow dry soil with their backs facing the sky.

I have a younger brother, 3 years younger than me. Once, to buy a handkerchief which all girls around me seemed to have, I stole 50 cents from my father’s drawer. Father known about it right away.

He made my younger brother and me kneeled against the wall, with a bamboo stick in his hand.

“Who stole the money?” he asked.

I was stunned, too afraid to talk. Father didn’t hear any of us admit, so he said, “Fine, if nobody wants to admit, you two should be beaten!”

He lifted up the bamboo stick.

Suddenly, my younger brother gripped father’s hand and said,” Dad, I was the one who did it!”

The long stick smacked on my brother’s back repeatedly.

Father was so angry that he kept on whipped my brother until he lost his breath.

After that, he sat down on our stone bed and scolded my brother, “You have learnt to steal from your own house now, what other embarrassing things you will do in the future?? You should be beaten to death! You shameless thief!”

That night, mother and I hugged my brother. His body full of injuries, but he didn’t shed a single tear.

In the middle of the night, all of sudden I cried out loudly.

My brother covered my mouth with his little hand and said, ” Sis, now don’t cry anymore. Everything has happened.”

I still hate myself for didn’t have enough courage to admit what I had done.

Years gone by, but the incident still looked like it just happened! yesterday.

I will never forget my brother’s expression when he protected me.

That year, my brother was 8 years old; I was 11 years old.

When my brother was in his last year of his lower secondary school, he was accepted in an upper secondary school in the central. At the same time, I was accepted into a province’s university.

That night, father squatted in the yard, smoking, packet by packet.

I could hear him said, “Both our children have good results? very good results?”

Mother wiped off her tears and sighed,” What is the use? How can we possibly finance both of them?”

At that time, my brother walked out, he stood in front of father and said,”Dad, I don’t want to continue my study anymore, I have read enough books.”

Father swung his hand and slapped brother on his face.

“Why do you have a spirit so damn weak? Even if it means I have to beg for money on the streets, I will send! you two to school until you both finish your study!”

And then, he started to knock on every house in the village to borrow money.

I stuck out my hand as soft as I can to my brother’s swollen face, and said, “A boy has to continue his study; If not, he will not be able to leave this depths of poverty.”

Me, on the other hand, had decided not to further my study to university.

Who knows on the next day, before dawn, my brother left the house with a few pieces of worn-out clothes and a few dry beans. He sneaked to the side of my bed and left a note on my pillow; “Sis, get into an university is not easy. I will go find a job and send money to you.”

I held the note while sitting on my bed, and cried until I lost my voice.

That year, my brother was 17 years old; I was 20 years old. With the money father borrowed from the whole village, and money my brother earned from carrying cement on his back at construction site,finally, I managed to get to the third year of my study in the university.

One day, I was studying in my room, when my roommate came in and told me,”There’s a villager wait for you outside!”

Why is there a villager looking for me? I walked out, and saw my brother from afar, His whole body is dirty, covered by dust, cement and sands. I asked him, “Why don’t you tell my roommate that you are my brother?”

He replied with a smile,” Look at my appearance. What will they think if they know that I am your brother? Don’t they laugh at you?”

I felt so touched, and tears filled my eyes. I swept away dusts from my brother’s body. And said with a lump in my throat, ” I don’t care of what people say! You are my brother no matter what your appearance is”

From his pocket, he took out a butterfly hair clip. He wore it on me, and said, “I saw all the girls in town are wearing it. So, I think you should also have one.”

I could not hold back myself anymore. I pulled my brother into my arms and cried and cried.

That year, my brother was 20 years old; I was 23 years old.

The first time I brought my boyfriend home, the broken window had been repaired.And it looked so clean inside the house.

After, my boyfriend went home, I danced like a small girl in front of my mother, “Mom, you don’t have to spend so many time cleaning the house!” But she said with a smile,” It was your brother who went home early to clean the house. Didn’t you see the wound on his hand? He was injured while replacing the window.” I went into my brother’s small bedroom. Looking at his thin face, I felt like there are hundreds of needle pricked in my heart.

I put some ointment on his wound and bandaged it, “Does it hurt? ” I asked him.

“No, it doesn’t hurt. You know, when I was working in the construction site, stones falling on my feet all the time. Even that could not stop me from working and”

In the middle of the sentence, he stopped. I turned my back on him and tears rolling down my face.

That year, my brother was 23 years old; I was 26 years old.

After I got married, I lived in the city. Lots of time my husband invited my parents to come and live with us, but they didn’t want.

They said, once they left the village,they didn’t know what to do.

My brother also didn’t agree, he said, “Sis, you just take care of your parents-in-law. I will take care of mom and dad here.”

My husband became the director of his factory. We wanted my brother to get the job as the manager in the department of maintenance. But my brother rejected the offer. He insisted on starting to work as a reparation worker.

One day, my brother was on the top of a ladder repairing a cable, when he got electrocuted, and was sent to the hospital.

My husband and I visited him. Looked at the white gypsum on his leg, I grumbled,”Why did you reject to be a manager? Manager will not do something dangerous like this. Look at you now, such a serious injury. Why you didn’t want to listen to us?”

With a serious expression on his face, he defended on his decision, “Think of brother-in-law?he just became the director, and I almost uneducated. If I became the manager, what kind of rumors will fly around?”

My husband’s eyes filled up with tears, and then I said, “But you lack in education also because of me!” “Why talking about the past?” My brother held my hand.

That year, he was 26 years old and I was 29 years old. My brother was 30 years old when he married a farmer girl from the village.

In his wedding reception, the master of ceremonies asked him, “Who is the one you respect and love the most?”

Without thinking, he answered,” My sister.” He continued by telling a story I could not even remember.

“When I was in primary school, the school was in different village.Everyday, my sister and I walked for 2 hours to go school and go home. One day, I lost one of my pair of gloves. My sister gave me one of hers. She only wore one glove and walked for so far. When we got home, her hand was so trembled because of the weather that was so cold that she could not even hold her chopsticks. >From that day on, I swore that as long as I live, I would take care of my sister and be good to her.”

Applause filled up the room. All guests turned their attentions to me.

Words were so hard to come out from my mouth, “In my whole life, the one I would like to thank the most is my brother,”

And in this happy occasion,in front of the crowd, tears rolling down my face again.

Love and care for the one you love every single days of your life. You may think what you did is just a small deed, but to someone, that may mean a lot.

Source: [Forwarded by Sheshagiri Shenoy]

There are many things that you can do to strengthen your relationships. Often the most effective thing you can do involves saying just three words.

When spoken sincerely, these statements often have the power to develop new friendships, deepen old ones and even bring healing to relationships that have soured.

The following three-word phrases can be tools to help develop every relationship.

Let me help
Good friends see a need and then try to fill it. When they see a hurt they do what they can to heal it. Without being asked, they jump in and help out.

I understand you
People become closer and enjoy each other more when the other person accepts and understands them. Letting your spouse know - in so many little ways - that you understand them, is one of the most powerful tools for healing your relationship. And this can apply to any relationship.

I respect you
Respect is another way of showing love. Respect demonstrates that another person is a true equal. If you talk to your children as if they were adults you will strengthen the bonds and become closer friends. This applies to all interpersonal relationships.

I miss you
Perhaps more marriages could be saved and strengthened if couples simply and sincerely said to each other “I miss you.” This powerful affirmation tells partners they are wanted, needed, desired and loved. Consider how important you would feel, if you received an unexpected phone call from your spouse in the middle of your workday, just to say “I miss you.”

Maybe you’re right
This phrase is very effective in diffusing an argument. The implication when you say “maybe you’re right” is the humility of admitting, “maybe I’m wrong”. Let’s face it. When you have an argument with someone, all you normally do is solidify the other person’s point of view. They, or you, will not likely change their position and you run the risk of seriously damaging the relationship between you. Saying “maybe you’re right” can open the door to explore the subject more. You may then have the opportunity to express your view in a way that is understandable to the other person.

Please forgive me
Many broken relationships could be restored and healed if people would admit their mistakes and ask for forgiveness. All of us are vulnerable to faults, foibles and failures. A man should never be ashamed to own up that he has been in the wrong, which is saying, in other words, that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.

I thank you
Gratitude is an exquisite form of courtesy. People who enjoy the companionship of good, close friends are those who don’t take daily courtesies for granted. They are quick to thank their friends for their many expressions of kindness. On the other hand, people whose circle of friends is severely constricted often do not have the attitude of gratitude.

Count on me
A friend is one who walks in when others walk out. Loyalty is an essential ingredient for true friendship. It is the emotional glue that bonds people. Those that are rich in their relationships tend to be steady and true friends. When troubles come, a good friend is there indicating “you can count on me.”

I’ll be there

If you have ever had to call a friend in the middle of the night, to take a sick child to hospital, or when your car has broken down some miles from home, you will know how good it feels to hear the phrase “I’ll be there.” Being there for another person is the greatest gift we can give. When we are truly present for other people, important things happen to them and us. We are renewed in love and friendship. We are restored emotionally and spiritually. Being there is at the very core of civility.

Go for it
We are all unique individuals. Don’t try to get your friends to conform to your ideals. Support them in pursuing their interests, no matter how far out they seem to you. God has given everyone dreams, dreams that are unique to that person only. Support and encourage your friends to follow their dreams. Tell them to “go for it.”

I love you
Perhaps the most important three words that you can say. Telling someone that you truly love them satisfies a person’s deepest emotional needs. The need to belong, to feel appreciated and to be wanted. Your spouse, your children, your friends and you, all need to hear those three little words: “I love you.” Love is a choice. You can love even when the feeling is gone.

Source: Received Through Email.

It was the day of my son’s XII results and I was so tensed. I sat beside him while he logged on the website with his registration no. “ Ma” , he screamed in excitement,” I scored 1191, with centum in 4 subjects. I cant believe it. “ I kinda became numb in my excitement. My eyes became wet.

I kissed him on his forehead and smiled . My husband had gone out of station on some business trip and my son immediately called him on his cell and told him of the news.

Soon we realized that he stood first in the state. Oh, my joy knew no bounds when Reporters and media persons soon swamped my house for interviews and photos. I was so honored to join him in the snaps.

I wanted to call my “wrong-number-friend to tell him the news……I was so excited.

He was someone whom I have known for more than 20 years.

I still do not remember when we became friends, but certainly cannot forget the first day he called me when I blasted him for giving me so many wrong calls…..after that he had called up a week later asking apology, for he had now got the right no of his friend whom he wanted to talk to .We spoke for an hour that day…even without knowing each other’s names.Though he kept pestering me to reveal my name I never did and so he kept a name…Sweety. I used to get so shy whenever he called me ‘Sweety’. I was doing first year of BSc. Maths then, and he was a Computer Engineering student.

From then he used to call me very often . We almost discussed everything .

By the final year of my college, we probably we were in love, but I had been cautious. I was in a dilemma whether to tell him. But what if he was of a different religion? Do I have the courage to talk to my parents about it?

….….all these questions ran through my mind.

I decided I’ll not talk to him thereafter. When he called next time I lied to him I that I was going to Delhi for my post graduation. He gave me his office number and asked me to ring him up once I reach there.

I never called …….

A couple of months later my marriage got fixed with a guy of my parent’s choice. I was not happy but I did not complain; rather accepted it as an obedient daughter. At times I felt I missed my wrong- number- friend…….

My hubby was a moody person; I have hardly spent any good time with him- but he was genuine indeed and never bothered my personal space. After 2 years we had a boy…Yet,I was not very happy with my married life…One day I happened to browse through my diary and found I still had my old friend’s office phone no that he had given me. I dialed it and spoke with him. He said he was married and got a kid too. I was happy for him though in the bottom of the heart I felt bad that I could not marry him.

From then I used to occasionally call him on that number. I never gave him mine as I felt that would put me in trouble…

And till today I almost shared everything with him including my relationship with my hubby…..today I was so happy and I wanted to call him.

Just then I got a call.

“Your husband met with an accident and died on the spot”

I banged the phone down. I broke. I did not call my friend…..I somehow started feeling guilty. I have never tried to talk to him properly when he was alive or moved close with him….

I felt I had been a bad wife……..

A couple of years passed and one day my son brought home a Bengali girl and said they wanted to get married. I got them married as I did not want my son to go through what I did.

I decided to give my son his father’s room and started clearing it. There was a phone book. I gently opened it to find, “ Wrong no Sweety -26538887”

God always puts the right numbers together. Its we who interpret it wrong!!!

Source: Forwarded Item

Its worth to read if you really get the best out of it.

Love Story of Narayana Murthy And Sudha (From Sudha’s Autobiography)

It was in Pune that I met Narayan Murty through my friend Prasanna who is now the Wipro chief, who was also training in Telco. Most of the books that Prasanna lent me had Murty’s name on them which meant that I had a preconceived image of the man. Contrary to expectation, Murty was shy,bespectacled and an introvert. When he invited us for dinner. I was a bit taken aback as I thought the young man was making a very fast move. I refused since I was the only girl in the group. But Murty was relentless and we all decided to meet for dinner the next day at 7.30 p.m. at Green Fields hotel on the Main Road,Pune.

The next day I went there at 7′ o clock since I had to go to the tailor near the hotel. And what do I see? Mr. Murty waiting in front of the hotel and it was only seven. Till today, Murty maintains that I had mentioned (consciously!) that I would be going to the tailor at 7 so that I could meet him…And I maintain that I did not say any such thing consciously or unconsciously because I did not think of Murty as anything other than a friend at that stage. We have agreed to disagree on this matter.

Soon, we became friends. Our conversations were filled with Murty’s experiences abroad and the books that he has read. My friends insisted that Murty was trying to impress me because he was interested in me. I kept denying it till one fine day, after dinner Murty said, I want to tell you something. I knew this was it. It was coming. He said, I am 5′4″ tall. I come from a lower middle class family. I can never become rich in my life and I can never give you any riches. You are beautiful, bright, and intelligent and you can get anyone you want. But will you marry me? I asked Murty to give me some time for an answer. My father didn’t want me to marry a wannabe politician,(a communist at that) who didn’t have a steady job and wanted to build an orphanage…

When I went to Hubli I told my parents about Murty and his proposal. My mother was positive since Murty was also from Karnataka, seemed intelligent and comes from a good family. But my father asked: What’s his job, his salary, his qualifications etc? Murty was working as a research assistant and was earning less than me. He was willing to go dutch with me on our outings. My parents agreed to meet Murty in Pune on a particular day at10 a. m sharp. Murty did not turn up. How can I trust a man to take care of my daughter if he cannot keep an appointment, asked my father.

At 12noon Murty turned up in a bright red shirt! He had gone on work to Bombay, was stuck in a traffic jam on the ghats, so he hired a taxi(though it was very expensive for him) to meet his would-be father-in-law. Father was unimpressed. My father asked him what he wanted to become in life. Murty said he wanted to become a politician in the communist party and wanted to open an orphanage. My father gave his verdict. NO. I don’t want my daughter to marry somebody who wants to become a communist and then open an orphanage when he himself didn’t have money to support his family. Ironically, today, I have opened many orphanages something, which Murty wanted to do 25 years ago. By this time I realized I had developed a liking towards Murty which could only be termed as love. I wanted to marry Murty because he is an honest man. He proposed to me highlighting the negatives in his life. I promised my father that I will not marry Murty without his blessings though at the same time, I cannot marry anybody else. My father said he would agree if Murty promised to take up a steady job. But Murty refused saying he will not do things in life because somebody wanted him to. So, I was caught between the two most important people in my life.

The stalemate continued for three years during which our courtship took us to every restaurant and cinema hall in Pune. In those days, Murty was always broke. Moreover, he didn’t earn much to manage. Ironically today, he manages Infosys Technologies Ltd., one of the world’s most reputed companies. He always owed me money. We used to go for dinner and he would say, I don’t have money with me, you pay my share, I will return it to you later. For three years I maintained a book on Murty’s debt to me. No, he never returned the money and I finally tore it up after my wedding. The amount was a little over Rs 4000. During this interim period Murty quit his job as research assistant and started his own software business. Now, I had to pay his salary too! Towards the late 70s computers were entering India in a big way.

During the fag end of 1977 Murty decided to take up a job as General Manager at Patni Computers in Bombay. But before he joined the company he wanted to marry me since he was to go on training to the US after joining. My father gave in as he was happy Murty had a decent job, now.

WE WERE MARRIED IN MURTY’S HOUSE IN BANGALORE ON FEBRUARY 10, 1978 WITH ONLY OUR TWO FAMILIES PRESENT.I GOT MY FIRST SILK SARI. THE WEDDING EXPENSES CAME TO ONLY RS 800 (US $17) WITH MURTY AND I POOLING IN RS 400 EACH.

I went to the US with Murty after marriage. Murty encouraged me to see America on my own because I loved travelling. I toured America for three months on backpack and had interesting experiences which will remain freshin my mind forever. Like the time when the New York police took me into custody because they thought I was an Italian trafficking drugs in Harlem. Or the time when I spent the night at the bottom of the Grand Canyon with an old couple. Murty panicked because he couldn’t get a response from my hotel room even at midnight. He thought I was either killed or kidnapped.

IN 1981 MURTY WANTED TO START INFOSYS. HE HAD A VISION AND ZERO CAPITAL…initially I was very apprehensive about Murty getting into business. We did not have any business background. Moreover we were living a comfortable life in Bombay with a regular pay check and I didn’t want to rock the boat. But Murty was passionate about creating good quality software. I decided to support him.

Typical of Murty, he just had a dream and no money. So I gave him Rs 10,000 which I had saved for a rainy day, without his knowledge and told him, This is all I have. Take it. I give you three years sabbatical leave. I will take care of the financial needs of our house. You go and chase your dreams without any worry. But you have only three years!

Murty and his six colleagues started Infosys in 1981,with enormous interest and hard work. In 1982 I left Telco and moved to Pune with Murty. We bought a small house on loan which also became the Infosys office. I was a clerk-cum-cook-cum-programmer. I also took up a job as Senior Systems Analyst with Walchand group of Industries to support the house. In 1983 Infosys got their first client, MICO, in Bangalore. Murty moved to Bangalore and stayed with his mother while I went to Hubli to deliver my second child, Rohan. Ten days after my son was born, Murty left for the US on project work. I saw him only after a year, as I was unable to join Murty in the US because my son had infantile eczema, an allergy to vaccinations. So for more than a year I did not step outside our home for fear of my son contracting an infection. It was only after Rohan got all his vaccinations that I came to Bangalore where we rented a small house in Jayanagar and rented another house as Infosys headquarters.

My father presented Murty a scooter to commute. I once again became a cook, programmer, clerk, secretary, office assistant et al. Nandan Nilekani (MD of Infosys) and his wife Rohini stayed with us. While Rohini baby sat my son, I wrote programs for Infosys. There was no car, no phone, and just two kids and a bunch of us working hard, juggling our lives and having fun while Infosys was taking shape. It was not only me but also the wives of other partners too who gave their unstinted support. We all knew that our men were trying to build something good.

It was like a big joint family,taking care and looking out for one another. I still remember Sudha Gopalakrishna looking after my daughter Akshata with all care and love while Kumari Shibulal cooked for all of us. Murty made it very clear that it would either be me or him working at Infosys. Never the two of us together… I was involved with Infosys initially.

Nandan Nilekani suggested I should be on the Board but Murty said he did not want a husband and wife team at Infosys. I was shocked since I had the relevant experience and technical qualifications.

He said, Sudha if you want to work with Infosys, I will withdraw, happily. I was pained to know that I will not be involved in the company my husband was building and that I would have to give up a job that I am qualified to do and love doing. It took me a couple of days to grasp the reason behind Murty’s request. I realized that to make Infosys a success one had to give one’s 100 percent. One had to be focussed on it alone with no other distractions. If the two of us had to give 100 percent to Infosys then what would happen to our home and our children? One of us had to take care of our home while the other took care of Infosys.

I opted to be a homemaker, after all Infosys was Murty’s dream. It was a big sacrificebut it was one that had to be made. Even today, Murty says, Sudha, I stepped on your career to make mine. You are responsible for my success. I might have given up my career for my husband’s sake.

But that does not make me a doormat…

Many think that I have been made the sacrificial lamb at Narayan Murty’s altar of success. A few women journalists have even accused me of setting a wrong example by giving up my dreams to make my husbands a reality. Isn’t freedom about living your life the way you want it? What is rightfor one person might be wrong for another. It is up to the individual to make a choice that is effective in her life. I feel that when a woman gives up her right to choose for herself is when she crosses over from being an individual to a doormat.

Murty’s dreams encompassed not only himself but a generation of people. It was about founding something worthy, exemplary and honorable. It was about creation and distribution of wealth. His dreams were grander than my career plans, in all aspects. So, when I had to choose between Murty’s career and mine, I opted for what I thought was a right choice. We had a home and two little children.

Measles, mumps, fractures, PTA meetings, wants and needs of growing children do not care much for grandiose dreams. They just needed to be attended to. Somebody had to take care of it all. Somebody had to stay back to create a home base that would be fertile for healthy growth, happiness, and more dreams to dream. I became that somebody willingly. I can confidently say that if I had had a dream like Infosys, Murty would have given me his unstinted support. The roles would have been reversed.

We are not bound by the archaic rules of marriage. I cook for him but I don’t wait up to serve dinner like a traditional wife. So, he has no hassles about heating up the food and having his dinner.

He does not intrude into my time especially when I am writing my novels. He does not interfere in my work at the Infosys Foundation and I don’t interfere with the running of Infosys. I teach Computer Science to MBA and MCA students at Christ college for a few hours every week and I earn around Rs 50,000 a year. I value this financial independence greatly though there is no need for me to pursue a teaching career. Murty respects that. I travel all over the world without Murty because he hates travelling. We trust each other implicitly. We have another understanding too. While he earns the money, I spend it, mostly through the charity.

Philanthropy is a profession and an art… The Infosys Foundation was born in 1997 with the sole objective of uplifting the less- privileged sections of society. IN THE PAST THREE YEARS WE HAVE BUILT HOSPITALS, ORPHANAGES, REHABILITATION CENTRES, SCHOOL BUILDINGS, SCIENCE CENTRES AND MORETHAN 3500 LIBRARIES. Our work is mainly in the rural areas amongst women and children. I am one of the trustees and our activities span six states including Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Andhra, Orissa, Chandigarh and Maharashtra.I travel to around 800 villages constantly. Infosys Foundation has a minimal staff of three trustees and three office members. We all work very hard to achieve our goals and that is the reason why Infosys Foundation has a distinct identity. Every year we donate around Rs 5-6 crore (Rs 50 - 60 million). We run Infosys Foundation the way Murty runs Infosys in a professional and scientific way.

Philanthropy is a profession and an art. It can be used or misused. We slowly want to increase the donations and we dream of a time when Infosys Foundation could donate large amounts of money. Every year we receive more than 10,000 applications for donations. Everyday I receive more than 120 calls. Amongst these, there are those who genuinely need help and there are hood winkers too. I receive letters asking me to donate Rs five lakh to someone because five lakh is, like peanuts to Infosys.

Some people write to us asking for free Infosys shares. Over the years I have learnt to differentiate the wheat from the chaff, though I still give a patient hearing to all the cases. Sometimes I feel I have lost the ability to trust people. I have become shrewder to avoid being conned.

It saddens me to realize that even as a person is talking to me I try to analyze them: Has he come here for any donation? Why is he praising my work or enquiring about my health, does he want some money from me? Eight out of ten times I am right. They do want my money. But I feel bad for the other two whom I suspected. I think that is the price that I have to pay for the position that I am in now.

The greatest difficulty in having money is teaching your children the value of it and trying to keep them on a straight line…. Bringing up children n a moneyed atmosphere is a difficult task.

EVEN TODAY I THINK TWICE IF I HAVE TO SPEND RS 10 ON AN AUTO WHEN I CAN WALK UP TO MY HOUSE. I cannot expect my children to do the same. They have seen money from the time they were born. But we can lead by example. When they see Murty wash his own plate after eating and clean the two toilets in the house everyday they realize that no work is demeaning irrespective of how rich you are. I DON’T HAVE A MAID AT HOME BECAUSE I DON’T SEE THE NEED FOR ONE.

When children see both parents working hard, living a simple life, most of the time they tend to follow. This doesn’t mean we expect our children to live an austere life. My children buy what they want and go where they want but they have to follow certain rules. They will have to show me a bill for whatever they buy. My daughter can buy five new outfits but she has to give away five old ones. My son can go out with his friends for lunch or dinner but if he wants to go to a five star hotel, we discourage it. Or we accompany him. So far my children haven’t given me any heartbreak. They are good children.

My eldest daughter is studying abroad, whereas my son is studying in Bangalore. They don’t use their father’s name in vain. If asked, they only say that his name is Murty and that he works for Infosys. They don’t want to be recognized and appreciated because of their father or me but for themselves. I DON’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT HAVING MONEY FOR WE HAVE WORKED HARD FOR IT. BUT I DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE FLAUNTING IT…IT IS A CONSCIOUS DECISION ON OUR PART TO LIVE A SIMPLE, SO-CALLED MIDDLE CLASS LIFE.WE LIVE IN THE SAME TWO- BEDROOM, PARSELY FURNISHED HOUSE BEFORE INFOSYS BECAME A SUCCESS. Our only extravagance is buying books and CDs. MY HOUSE HAS NO LOCKERS FOR I HAVE NO JEWELS. I WEAR A STONE EARRING WHICH I BOUGHT IN BOMBAY FOR RS 100. I don’t even wear my mangalsutra until I attend some family functions or I am with my mother-in-law. I am not fond of jewellery or saris.

Five years ago, I went to Kashi where tradition demands that you give up something and I gave up shopping. Since then I haven’t bought myself a sari or gone shopping. It is my friends who gift me with saris. Murty bought me a sari a long time ago. It was not to my taste and I told him to refrain from buying saris for me in the future. I am no good at selecting men’s clothes either. It is my daughter who does the shopping for us.

I still have the same sofa at home which my daughter wants to change. However, we have indulged ourselves with each one having their own music system and computer. I don’t carry a purse and neither does Murty most of the time. I do tell him to keep some small change with him but he doesn’t. I borrow money from my secretary or my driver if I need cash. They know my habit so they always carry extra cash with them. But I settle the accounts every evening. MURTY AND I ARE VERY COMFORTABLE WITH OUR LIFESTYLE AND WE DON’T SEE THE NEED TO CHANGE IT.

NOW THAT WE HAVE MONEY. Murty and I are two opposites that complement each other… Murty is sensitive and romantic in his own way. He always gifts me books addressed to >From Me to You. Or to the person I most admire etc. We both love books. We are both complete opposites. I am an extrovert and he is an introvert. I love watching movies and listening to classical music. Murty loves listening to English classical music. I go out for movies with my students and secretary every other week. I am still young at heart. I really enjoyed watching “Kaho Na Pyaar Hai” and I am a Hrithik Roshan fan. It has been more than 20 years since Murty and I went for a movie.

My daughter once gave us a surprise by booking tickets for “Titanic”. Since I had a prior engagement that day, Murty went for the movie with his secretary Pandu. I love travelling whereas Murty loves spending time at home. Friends come and go with the share prices… Even in my dreams, I did not expect Infosys to grow like the way it has. I don’t think even Murty envisioned this phenomenal success, at least not in 1981. After Infosys went public in 1993, we became what people would call as rich, moneyed people. I was shocked to see what was happening to Infosys and to us. Suddenly you see and hear about so much money. Your name and photo is splashed in the papers. People talk about you. It was all new to me. SUDDENLY I HAVE PEOPLE WALKING UP TO ME SAYING, OH, WE WERE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS, WE HAD A MEAL 25 YEARS AGO.

THEY CLAIM TO HAVE BEEN PRESENT AT OUR WEDDING (WHICH IS AN UTTER LIE BECAUSE ONLY MY FAMILY WAS PRESENT AT MY WEDDING). I DON’T EVEN KNOW ALL THESE PEOPLE WHO CLAIM TO KNOW MURTY AND ME SO WELL. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have true friends. I do have genuine friends, a handful,who have been with me for a very long time. My equation with these people has not changed and vices versa. I am ALSO VERY CLOSE TO NARAYAN MURTY’S family, especially my sister-in-law KAMALA MURTY, a SCHOOLTEACHER, who is more of a dear friend to me. I have discovered that these are the few relationships and friendships that don’t fluctuate depending on the price of Infosys shares. Have I lost my identity as a woman, in Murty’s shadow? No. I might be Mrs. Narayan Murty. I might be Akshata and Rohan’s mother.

I might be the trustee of Infosys Foundation. But I am still Sudha. I play different roles like all women. That doesn’t mean we don’t have our own identity. Women have that extra quality of adaptability and learn to fit into different shoes. But we are our own selves still. And we have to exact our freedom by making the right choices in our lives, dictated by us and not by the world.

Note: Don’t forget to leave your comments below.
Source: Forwarded Email

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live, for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm-in-arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine he picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window pescribed a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band - he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, “Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.”

Epilogue:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can’t buy.”Today is a gift, that’s why it is called the present.”

I was the last child of a small-time government servant, in a family of five brothers. My earliest memory of my father is as that of a District Employment Officer in Koraput, Orissa. It was and remains as back of beyond as you can imagine. There was no electricity; no primary school nearby and water did not flow out of a tap. As a result, I did not go to school until the age of eight; I was home-schooled. My father used to get transferred every year.

The family belongings fit into the back of a jeep - so the family moved from place to place and, without any trouble, my Mother would set up an establishment and get us going. Raised by a widow who had come as a refugee from the then East Bengal, she was a matriculate when she married my Father. My parents set the foundation of my life and the value system which makes me what I am today and largely defines what success means to me today.

As District Employment Officer, my father was given a jeep by the government. There was no garage in the Office, so the jeep was parked in our house. My father refused to use it to commute to the office. He told us that the jeep is an expensive resource given by the government - he reiterated to us that it was not ‘his jeep’ but the government’s jeep. Insisting that he would use it only to tour the interiors, he would walk to his office on normal days. He also made sure that we never sat in the government jeep - we could sit in it only when it was stationary. That was our early childhood lesson in governance - a lesson that corporate managers learn the hard way, some never do.

The driver of the jeep was treated with respect due to any other member of my Father’s office. As small children, we were taught not to call him by his name. We had to use the suffix ‘dada’ whenever we were to refer to him in public or private. When I grew up to own a car and a driver by the name of Raju was appointed - I repeated the lesson to my two small daughters.They have, as a result, grown up to call Raju, ‘Raju Uncle’ - very different from many of their friends who refer to their family drivers as ‘my driver’. When I hear that term from a school- or college-going person, I cringe. To me, the lesson was significant - you treat small people with more respect than how you treat big people. It is more important to respect your subordinates than your superiors.

Our day used to start with the family huddling around my Mother’s chulha - an earthen fire place she would build at each place of posting where she would cook for the family. There was no gas, nor electrical stoves. The morning routine started with tea. As the brew was served, Father would ask us to read aloud the editorial page of The Statesman’s ‘muffosil’ edition - delivered one day late. We did not understand much of what we were reading.

But the ritual was meant for us to know that the world was larger than Koraput district and the English I speak today, despite having studied in an Oriya medium school, has to do with that routine. After reading the newspaper aloud, we were told to fold it neatly. Father taught us a simple lesson. He used to say, “You should leave your newspaper and your toilet, the way you expect to find it”. That lesson was about showing consideration to others. Business begins and ends with that simple precept.

Being small children, we were always enamored with advertisements in the newspaper for transistor radios - we did not have one. We saw other people having radios in their homes and each time there was an advertisement of Philips, Murphy or Bush radios, we would ask Father when we could get one.Each time, my Father would reply that we did not need one because he already had five radios - alluding to his five sons. We also did not havea house of our own and would occasionally ask Father as to when, like others, we would live in our own house. He would give a similar reply, “We do not need a house of our own. I already own five houses”. His replies did not gladden our hearts in that instant. Nonetheless, we learnt that it is important not to measure personal success and sense of well being through material possessions.

Government houses seldom came with fences. Mother and I collected twigs and built a small fence. After lunch, my Mother would never sleep. She would take her kitchen utensils and with those she and I would dig the rocky, white ant infested surrounding. We planted flowering bushes. The white ants destroyed them. My mother brought ash from her chulha and mixed it in the earth and we planted the seedlings all over again. This time, they bloomed.

At that time, my father’s transfer order came. A few neighbors told my mother why she was taking so much pain to beautify a government house, why she was planting seeds that would only benefit the next occupant. My mother replied that it did not matter to her that she would not see the flowers in full bloom. She said, “I have to create a bloom in a desert and whenever I am given a new place, I must leave it more beautiful than what I had inherited”. That was my first lesson in success. It is not about what you create for yourself, it is what you leave behind that defines success.

My mother began developing a cataract in her eyes when I was very small. At that time, the eldest among my brothers got a teaching job at the University in Bhubaneswar and had to prepare for the civil services examination. So, it was decided that my Mother would move to cook for him and, as her appendage, I had to move too. For the first time in my life, I saw electricity in homes and water coming out of a tap. It was around 1965 and the country was going to war with Pakistan. My mother was having problems reading and in any case, being Bengali, she did not know the Oriya script. So, in addition to my daily chores, my job was to read her the local newspaper - end to end. That created in me a sense of connectedness with a larger world. I began taking interest in many different things. While reading out news about the war, I felt that I was fighting the war myself. She and I discussed the daily news and built a bond with the larger universe. In it, we became part of a larger reality. Till date, I measure my success in terms of that sense of larger connectedness.

Meanwhile, the war raged and India was fighting on both fronts. Lal Bahadur Shastri, the then Prime Minster, coined the term “Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan” and galvanized the nation in to patriotic fervor. Other than reading out the newspaper to my mother, I had no clue about how I could be part of the action. So, after reading her the newspaper, every day I would land up near the University’s water tank, which served the community. I would spend hours under it, imagining that there could be spies who would come to poison the water and I had to watch for them. I would daydream about catching one and how the next day, I would be featured in the newspaper. Unfortunately for me, the spies at war ignored the sleepy town of Bhubaneswar and I never got a chance to catch one in action. Yet, that act unlocked my imagination. Imagination is everything. If we can imagine a future, we can create it, if we can create that future, others will live in it. That is the essence of success.

Over the next few years, my mother’s eyesight dimmed but in me she created a larger vision, a vision with which I continue to see the world and, I sense, through my eyes, she was seeing too. As the next few years unfolded, her vision deteriorated and she was operated for cataract. I remember, when she returned after her operation and she saw my face clearly for the first time, she was astonished. She said, “Oh my God, I did not know you were so fair”. I remain mighty pleased with that adulation even till date. Within weeks of getting her sight back, she developed a corneal ulcer and, overnight, became blind in both eyes. That was 1969. She died in 2002. In all those 32years of living with blindness, she never complained about her fate evenonce. Curious to know what she saw with blind eyes, I asked her once if she sees darkness. She replied, “No, I do not see darkness. I only see light even with my eyes closed”. Until she was eighty years of age, she did her morning yoga everyday, swept her own room and washed her own clothes. To me, success is about the sense of independence; it is about not seeing the world but seeing the light.

Over the many intervening years, I grew up, studied, joined the industry and began to carve my life’s own journey. I began my life as a clerk in a government office, went on to become a Management Trainee with the DCM group and eventually found my life’s calling with the IT industry when fourth generation computers came to India in 1981. Life took me places - I worked with outstanding people, challenging assignments and traveled all over the world. In 1992, while I was posted in the US, I learnt that my father, living a retired life with my eldest brother, had suffered a third degree burn injury and was admitted in the Safderjung Hospital in Delhi. I flew back to attend to him - he remained for a few days in critical stage, bandaged from neck to toe.

The Safderjung Hospital is a cockroach infested, dirty, inhuman place. The overworked, under-resourced sisters in the burn ward are both victims and perpetrators of dehumanized life at its worst. One morning, while attending to my Father, I realized that the blood bottle was empty and fearing that air would go into his vein, I asked the attending nurse to change it. She bluntly told me to do it myself. In that horrible theater of death, I was in pain and frustration and anger. Finally when she relented and came, my Father opened his eyes and murmured to her, “Why have you not gone home yet?” Here was a man on his deathbed but more concerned about the overworked nurse than his own state. I was stunned at his stoic self. There I learnt that there is no limit to how concerned you can be for another human being and what is the limit of inclusion you can create. My father died the next day.

He was a man whose success was defined by his principles, his frugality, his universalism and his sense of inclusion. Above all, he taught me that success is your ability to rise above your discomfort, whatever may be your current state. You can, if you want, raise your consciousness above your immediate surroundings. Success is not about building material comforts - the transistor that he never could buy or the house that he never owned. His success was about the legacy he left, the memetic continuity of his ideals that grew beyond the smallness of a ill-paid, unrecognized government servant’s world.

My father was a fervent believer in the British Raj. He sincerely doubted the capability of the post-independence Indian political parties to govern the country. To him, the lowering of the Union Jack was a sad event. My Mother was the exact opposite. When Subhash Bose quit the Indian National Congress and came to Dacca, my mother, then a schoolgirl, garlanded him.She learnt to spin khadi and joined an underground movement that trained her in using daggers and swords. Consequently, our household saw diversity in the political outlook of the two. On major issues concerning the world, the Old Man and the Old Lady had differing opinions. In them, we learnt the power of disagreements, of dialogue and the essence of living with diversity in thinking. Success is not about the ability to create a definitive dogmatic end state; it is about the unfolding of thought processes, of dialogue and continuum.

Two years back, at the age of eighty-two, Mother had a paralytic stroke and was lying in a government hospital in Bhubaneswar. I flew down from the US where I was serving my second stint, to see her. I spent two weeks with her in the hospital as she remained in a paralytic state. She was neither getting better nor moving on. Eventually I had to return to work. While leaving her behind, I kissed her face. In that paralytic state and a garbled voice, she said, “Why are you kissing me, go kiss the world.” Her river was nearing its journey, at the confluence of life and death, this woman who came to India as a refugee, raised by a widowed Mother, no more educated than high school, married to an anonymous government servant whose last salary was Rupees Three Hundred, robbed of her eyesight by fate and crowned by adversity - was telling me to go and kiss the world!

Success to me is about Vision. It is the ability to rise above the immediacy of pain. It is about imagination. It is about sensitivity tosmall people. It is about building inclusion. It is about connectedness to a larger world existence. It is about personal tenacity. It is about giving back more to life than you take out of it. It is about creating extra-ordinary success with ordinary lives.

Thank you very much; I wish you good luck and Godspeed.

Go, kiss the world.

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman in his 80’s, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat,knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the
needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation I asked him if he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease. As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. “And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?” He smiled as he patted my hand and said. “She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.”

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and
thought, “That is the kind of love I want in my life.” True love is neither
physical, nor romantic.

True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not
be.

With all the jokes and fun that are in e-mails, sometimes there are some that come along that have an important message, and this is one of those kind. Just had to share it with you all.