A Bend in the Lane

For our Leadership & Accountability Class, we had to read a chapter of Ian McEwan's book "Enduring Love". In true McEwan style, this paragraph was captivating - "I didn't know, nor have i ever discovered, who let go first. I'm not prepared to accept that it was me. But everyone claims not to have been first. What is certain is that if we had not broken ranks, our collective weight would have brought the balloon to earth .. But as Ive said, there was no team, there was no plan, no agreement to be broekn. No failure. So can we accept that it was right, everyman for himself? Were we all happy afterward that this was a reasonable course? We never had that comfort, for there was a deeper covenant, ancient and automatic, written in our nature. Cooperation - the basis of our earliest hunting successes, the force behind our evolving  capacity for language, the glue of our social cohesion. Our misery in the aftermath was proof that we knew we had failed ourselves....

Me [in a whiny mood, with fervent passion] : I don't want to study no more. I WANT to be a house wife. The Man [without skipping a beat] : And I WANT to be a bachelor.

Me: What do you want for your birthday, tell na? The Man: Mental peace. [pause] The Man: So don't call me on that day.

There are some books you grow too old for. And then, there are books that you are never too old for. I unabashedly enjoy reading and re-reading L M Montgomery's classic, no not Anne of Green Gables, but Emily of New Moon. Dont get me wrong, I was/am a devoted fan of the entire Anne of Green Gables series and practically devoured all 5 books. But Emily of New Moon has a special place. I still remember exactly when I finished reading it - St Catz library, Oxford, an afternoon in November 2003, in my 20s! - I shut the book, traipsed down the spiral staircase, literally skipping here and there and promising myself that I shall be like Emily in terms of retaining my childish passion for life for ever and ever. Old promises have a way of coming back and biting you. Where has it all gone? It all reminded me of the Old English poem, The Wanderer, that my Olde English professor made us memorize. My memory does not do justice to the entire peom, but i remember the most poignant which I have...

How do you you right old wrongs? There havent been many, fortunately. But the few gnaw, bit by bit, inch by inch, at your peace of mind. They linger and fester. Mock at you. They shant be silenced till you have the courage to go back and right the wrong. Even if the other person(s) has moved on and can scarce remember what you are talking about. I am feeling reckless today. One of my biggest and oldest wrongs was when I refused to walk to the medical shop to fetch my sister pain killers when she was in agony. This was when I was in 6th grade. They say children can be cruel. But I was no child. It cannot be explained away. I still am frightened about my capacity then to be cruel. I have never apologized to my sister. But I have, ever since, tried to never let my sister down. But an apology is long overdue. I am sorry.

spoke at Burden Auditorium an hour ago. The ex Secretary of the Treasury of USA spoke about leadership, ethics and his decisions during the global meltdown. He also spoke about his most important skill he picked up at HBS ( he was class of 79 if I remember correctly, and was from my section!)  was the ability to convince and influence people through oral communication. Which isnt very different from what I thought would be the most important skill I need to learn before I am out of here.

I needed a dose of humor over the weekend, and who else do i turn to but Yes, Minister, in my opinion, the finest jewel of British comedy. Saw the episode where MP Jim Hacker tells about who reads the papers as below - Hacker:  Don't tell me about the press. I know exactly who reads the papers: the  Daily Mirror  is read by people who think they run the country;  The Guardian  is read by people who think they ought to run the country;  The Times  is read by people who actually do run the country; the  Daily Mail  is read by the wives of the people who run the country; the  Financial Times  is read by people who own the country;  The Morning Star  is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country; and  The Daily Telegraph  is read by people who think it is. Sir Humphrey:  Prime Minister, what about the people who read  The Sun ? Bernard:   Sun  readers don't care who runs the country, as long as she's got big t@*s