“No, Jojo may not be back for the Christmas cake, but he is surely going to be with his other friends, soaring up in the sky and enjoying the sunny sky their own way. Maybe he comes back again and surprises you with gifts from Santa”. My 3 year old daughter, Mansi – lays back again; resting her back on the sofa. She covered her toes and pulled the blanket up till her shoulders, but still keeping her eyes open just to stare the empty portico and of course, to shoot me with another set of questionnaire on her friendship with the baby pigeon Jojo. Yes, he was also given a name after quite a discussion – last night only.
Our house was closed for a couple of days, while we were away visiting her grandparents. When we came back, we happened to see pigeons had built a small corner in our portico. They used the old wrapped up cable wire as a strengthened wall for their nest and had already been blessed with two young hens. That day, the bed time story for her went about – a pigeon and a princess.
Since mid November, Mansi used to get up in the morning, come out of the bedroom and stand still next to the safety door, watching the old hens (parent pigeons) bringing food for their young ones. The babies were too young to yet fly on their own but we could always hear their aspirations.
While she used to stand next to the safety door, she could only hear the sound of baby wings, but, could never see them. After a while she used to come back to the dining table for a glass of milk and tell us all about what kind of sound she hears and mimics them back. She also had starting knitting her own stories around baby pigeon. No matter she could not see them directly, but she knew the biscuit thrown out in the terrace would surely reach the babies somehow.
Then one fine day, she saw a small pigeon standing on the portico fence, looking right at her. “Papa, see the baby pigeon came down” – A million stars glittering in her eyes, seeing her friend in front of her. She told him all the stuff she used to throw out for him and sound she used to hear when he was a small.
Last night, we discussed a lot about the baby pigeon over various flavors of chocolates and finally settled for the name “Jojo”. It was the name she had given way back to her toy, when her monthly birthdays were celebrated.
This morning, it was a bit cold and a little frosty too. Even the sliding doors to the portico had collected frost. Mansi did stand for a few minutes watching the portico but somehow came back to the dining quickly. “What happened, buddy?” – I asked her. With sadness in her eyes, she said, “Jojo is not there!” I came out with her, to see if the nest was still there. It was – but surprisingly there was no one around. May be they have left; May be they found it cold to stay in this “yet to chill” winters. May be they are all out in search of food. And all my answers were starting with “May be…”
It was still cold and so, I brought a blanket to the living room. Mansi and I both slipped inside the blanket and she started with her “where’s, why’s and what’s” – all bombing on me like never before. And like always, I was trying my very best to score on all, while she was looking out of the window to trace him somewhere, … anywhere.
I could sense the remains of an everlasting friendship, which probably had come to an end. I don’t know how much I could manage but after listening to all my verdicts on why Jojo might have flown away, she looked at me again, came out of the blanket, and walked all across the living room to the window, carelessly stepping over her other scattered soft toys.
She stood in front of the frosted glass pane holding the curtain from becoming an obstacle and whispered – “Goodbye Jojo, see you soon!”.
Work addiction or being workaholic is in general used to describe someone, in a not so pleasent context. However, seems like, it perhaps a reputation undeserved. If one is stimulated to work an extremities by some external force, as even a financial reward, then it is more akin to being a slave. But, if one is driven to work extremes by the desire to make something truly great and innovative, his motivation becomes his soul achievement.
I think money can only lead people so to an extent. However, the pursuit of happiness, as in achievement, is a far more powerful force that can drive people beyond their known limits – rather own limits.
So from tomorrow if anyone calls you a workaholic, identify what is motivating you? Factors which are External or Internal. There is no one else who can take this decision or guide you through this road-map of eternal consciousness, but yourself.
Actually if you ask me it does not matters to me, for me work is both worship and workmanship. The better you do your job, the more you start worshiping it – and so, much more motivation to do something better tomorrow.
Around 10 years back, I used to work for a small start up. Back then, Ashish ( a close friend of mine) was a real crazy – for whom being at work until 11:30PM, was pretty normal. According to him, he use to have fun working late in the night. Working late gave him a little extra time to give finishing touch to his work and at the same time also to enjoyed working when there was less noise around. This creature of the nights was not after money – his soul purpose was to do something extra ordinary.
So, though not exactly, but akin to workaholic, I would say, people who study a lot during their college are also not very different. Not all book worms are only after good marks, there are students who just like studying (for me studying is different than reading and cramming paragraphs or theorems from mathematics/mechanics) and they do it because they find subjects interesting.
So the next time, feel good about being workaholic…
Everyone wants to be the one messaging app that rules them all — but there’s no such thing, and never will be
I think this is very informative… Reblogging your thoughts
If you were engaged in something worthwhile on Thursday rather than paying attention to technology blogs, you might have missed the fact that photo-sharing app Instagram — now a subsidiary of social behemoth Facebook Inc. (s fb) — launched a new feature the company calls Instagram Direct, as Om predicted it would several weeks ago. The new feature essentially turns Instagram into a messaging app, allowing users to send the equivalent of direct messages to friends along with a picture or video.
This feature obviously pits Instagram against a horde of other messaging apps and micro-social networks, including Twitter (s twtr) — which just launched a new photo-enhanced direct-messaging feature of its own — as well as Snapchat, Kik, WhatsApp, and Facebook’s own branded messenger service. It’s getting so smartphone users could probably fill up an entire screen with just apps that involve photo-sharing and/or messaging of some kind.
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I was looking at a small boy riding bicycle just outside my office building, I leaned over and got my head struck to the window next to my office cube. It was at that very moment, I happen to realize, that I too had promised my little girl out for a ride in the evening. A few minutes after the sun decided to shine on another continent, I was all set to leave the premises, but had a long pendings list of things pinned on to my task wall staring at me. As if going to eat me half, if I don’t complete attend them today. Rather worse.
I decided to shortlist 2 of those, which could be completed in half an hour, and got my royal ass back on the chair. By the time I completed that stuff, it was already dark and was quite sure that I would never be able to make it to home for my promise I made to little angel.
I leaned back on the chair, watched the list again and very softly said – “Sorry buddy, its happening again!”. I could literally hear someone laughing at me – I guess it was me as a father.
It was Monday, and realized we also have another late night planning meeting. Had no other choice, than to get back on the rest of the task, and finish as much as I could – Anyway, had to stay back for another 2 – 3 damn hours.
After the meeting I rushed back home as fast as I could, but forgot another thing in this hurry – her chocolate request from morning.
I was on the door and had realized that I had done the blunder again; I was expecting the questions even before she could have open the door. I knew she would ask about the chocolates and would have no answers, I was very afraid. She opened the door, but to my surprise she didn’t asked for anything! Instead, she took out my empty tiffin from my bag and queried if I finished it or not. I went to my bedroom to change and overheard my daughter asking her mom as to why am I working so late in the office. My wife was making every effort to answer her, but was failing each time.
Responsibilities have become priorities in my life, although, the vice-versa is something everyone aspires for.
Hope I live up to my promise tomorrow.
Does this happens to you as well? If yes, please share your experience…