Sitting on a High-Chair

As always, around 1pm, the chat window popped up on my laptop screen. It was time for lunch. I got up from my work station and joined what we call the 'lunch group', as it moved towards the cafeteria.

Let me start with a brief introduction. I don't exactly know how this group came into existence. We work in the same organisation albeit in different departments and different areas of the office. Yet everyday at lunch time we come together to share our food and day's updates.

Today as we sat down together Namita noticed that Reema was missing, and she enquired about the absence. Shivani, the youngest in the group, promptly reminded her that today was Dia's farewell lunch. Dia was part of Namita's team, and today was her last day with the organisation. Thus a few team members and friends had planned to take her out for lunch. Reema, though technically not part of the team, had joined as she was at the same position as Dia, and shared good rapport with a few of the team members. 

Namita kept quiet for a minute. And then with a sad note expressed her hurt,    "You know, till today morning I was feeling bad that I forgot to bring a farewell gift for Dia. But when I realised that the team hasn't invited me for the farewell, I was glad that I didn't get her anything." 

Namita is probably the most supporting supervisor one could ask for. She always goes a step further in trying to build a connect with her team. And thus her thought of giving Dia a farewell gift itself, though not surprising for us, was surely commendable. 

All of us on the table were quiet. The younger lot like Shivani, kept their heads down, as if they were being scolded by someone senior for their lack of concern. Rest of us, including me, who were at mid-management level, kept quiet. In some unsaid, unexplained way, we understood and could identify with either side. Thus it was difficult to either support one or oppose the other. 

Finally Vaishali broke the silence. She is the senior-most in our group, both in terms of her experience and hierarchy. She looked at Namita with a 'I know how you feel' smile. And then very patiently explained. "Namita you must not feel bad. It is not possible for these kids to behave with us as friends. And it is not their fault. You know some of them are even younger than my own kids. The age gap, coupled with the requirements of professional etiquettes, make it difficult for them to open up." 

None of us, including Namita, could deny that there was merit in her words. Vaishali too could see the approval in our eyes. She smiled once again, like the smile of one who has solved a complex problem, and is now trying to explain it to others. She got up from her chair, picking up the remaining sandwich in her hand, "I must rush, I have a meeting in 5 minutes. But I must tell you all one thing. It does get lonely as one moves up the ladder. And many of us make the mistake of filling up that space by expanding our own presence."

With these words Vaishali moved back towards her cabin. I am not sure about others, but Vaishali's words surely left me thinking. 

Big is Enchanting, Small is Beautiful

https://www.linkedin.com/today/post/article/20140917174104-18657681-big-is-enchanting-small-is-beautiful?trk=mp-author-card&_mSplash=1

The First Step

Taking the first step is usually the most challenging task. For any new endeavor, we may spend a lot of time planning, preparing, anticipating and then again planning. Yet when the moment of taking that plunge comes, the heart skips a beat, hands go cold and feet go numb.

I had quite a similar feeling as I walked towards the school gate holding my daughter’s hand. She is too young to fully grasp the change that was about to come to her little world. But I, her mother, who had organized all this, knew it too well.

We had planned well and planned long for this day. It was nothing less than a big research project for us. It has been some time since we, the parents, had started discussing about sending our 2 year daughter to a pre-school. We even discussed it with other parents and gathered their experience. This was followed by a thorough search of the neighboring schools.  We compared them on all parameters – hygiene, facilities, student strength, curriculum, activities conducted, staff presence and behavior, space to play, fee structure, travel time, proximity to home etc etc etc. As the next step, we met the administrative and teaching staff of the short-listed schools, to better understand their culture and processes. And it was after all this pre-work, that we decided on a school.

As I stood at the gate, I must admit I was nervous. Earlier, both my husband and I had decided to accompany her. But he could not join as he was called away for work. Thus I was entrusted once again to play the role of both parents. Just to digress a bit, I think it’s just not possible to fill in that gap which only a father can. I only try to expand my presence a little bit more in a vain attempt to cover for his absence.

Coming back to the school gate, I carried my daughter in my arms, just to provide that extra comfort. She was looking at this new place with the curiosity of a toddler, yet clung to me, for her sense of security. Since this was her first day, the principal suggested that I must accompany her to the class.

My daughter was joining the place mid-session, and hence the other kids had already been there for almost two months. They looked up from their toys as we entered the room, with the innocent and wide gaze of a toddler. I tried to step a little away from my daughter, but she kept clinging to me, probably guessing that I was about to leave her there. And then exactly as I had expected, she started crying, refusing to leave me. I, along with the two teachers and the class assistant, were trying hard to cajole her. But our words were falling on deaf ears.

Seeing this commotion a small boy got up from his seat. He must have been of the same age as my daughter. He walked towards her, holding his teddy bear in one hand. He gave me a confused look and asked, “why she crying?” Then without waiting for my response, he turned towards her and extended the hand in which he was holding the teddy, ”you can take my teddy.”

This gesture of love and compassion, coming from so young a child, touched me deeply. I wonder how many of us will have the courage to offer our precious belongings to any stranger.

It is this impromptu, unplanned first step of offering help without any expectation, which I think is the most difficult one.