Feeling Young
Helen and I went to school together sixty years ago. Our paths separated only to join again fifty five years later when we were in our seventies. Our children protested but we calmed them down by handing over all our assets to them except a little we needed to supplement our meager pensions. We did not marry for money nor for the looks because at our age one has learnt that appearances never fail to deceive. I can assure you dear reader, that we did not marry for sex either because none of us had forgotten the miserable experience on the back seat of my Dad’s car and had no desire to recompense for it at our age.
So what was it that prompted two introverted bookish individuals with six children, twenty five grandchildren and eight great grandchildren between them, to tie the knot when well past the prescribed three scores and ten? I can’t speak for Helen except to say that it was not my culinary skills that persuaded her; I have never dared to eat what little I have ever cooked. I can only tell you what there was in it for me. It was the rush of Dopamine to the right centres of my feeble brain when I saw her, even thought of her. But what caused this rush. It is the story that I want to tell you. Please bear with me, it is not long. Younger readers please don’t laugh. Older readers will understand; some of them may even envy me.
After the fate snatched away from me the beloved wife of fifty years, I liquidated my home in the suburbs and moved to a small apartment downtown. I could walk to a hole in the wall that called itself Jim’s Pizza House but served excellent Moussaka cooked by his charming wife in the kitchen you could see through the window. Along with a side dish of Greek salad and Baklava with Espresso to round it up, I had enough to eat for the day. I usually dosed through the dinner hour in front of the TV with an open book in my lap and when I woke up I never could remember whether I had had the dinner or not. If I felt peckish I ate a few chocolate chip cookies with some chamomile tea. Otherwise I brushed my teeth with the fancy electric toothbrush my dentist grand daughter had given me a few birthdays ago and rolled into a cold bed. When I woke up, I read the National Post (or was it Mail?) with occasional sips from a cup of Darjeeling tea and then had resin bran for breakfast, in the same bowl I had used the previous day because I had forgotten to wash it. I hardly did anything all day because I could not remember what it was that I should have done.
Then I met Helen in the Pizza House. When I entered the restaurant on a beautiful day, one of the three faces on the table on my right seemed familiar somehow although, no surprise there, I couldn’t quite place it. I went to my usual table and sat down. After a few minutes Jim walked over. I was expecting him to say, “The usual sir” but I heard instead, “The lady over there has asked me to offer to you an appetizer of your choice. What will be your pleasure sir?”
I did not usually order gin and tonic, although, if I remember it right, I never had a meal without it in my young days. So I ordered it and trudged over to the lady in a blue dress, a gold necklace and diamond earrings sitting with her back to the wall, sunlight streaming from the window on her happy face.
“Thank you very much for the drink. I know I should remember you, the face is familiar but the memory has gone the way of so many other things in my old age. Please save me from sleepless nights for the rest of my life.”
“Hello David. I am Helen. We went to Jim Lloyd High together.”
A billion watt bulb flashed.
“Of course! How stupid of me. Now I remember it as if it was yesterday. How have you been?
“I have been fine except that I lost my husband of forty five years. I moved here a couple of months ago to be near two of my children.”
She introduced me to her son and the daughter who were with her. We arranged to meet for lunch the following week to share what life had thrown at us.
I made notes with red ink on white stickies and placed them at key points in the apartment to make sure I remembered the appointment. When the day arrived at long last I polished my shoes, dressed carefully in a white shirt, blue suit and the matching red tie and combed my remaining hair carefully covering the bald patches as well as it could be done. The jacket hanged loose, pants dragged along the ground and the collar of the shirt was a little big but it was better than any thing else in my antiquated wardrobe. I walked over to the Pizza House half an hour before the appointed time. While waiting my thoughts went back to the teen years. Helen was the bright kid in the class; I was the macho sports kid. To no one’s surprise we got together. I was lost in the reverie when I heard the voice that hadn’t changed much, “Sorry, I am late. I missed the stop and had to walk back.”
“I hadn’t noticed the time. Glad to see you and note that you still look the same.”
“Stop flattering me. It won’t get you anywhere now.”
The lunch lasted almost till the dinner time. I was amazed at how much she remembered of our years together. We arranged to meet again, and again. It didn’t take long for us to fall in love, properly this time.
What made me fall for her? I can assure you it was more than the loneliness of a widower. I was blown away by how sharp the brain of Helen still was in spite of us being of the same age. She remembered where we had met, what we had eaten at all our previous meetings and how it tasted, every word I had spoken while I couldn’t recall any detail about the previous rendezvous, even what she had just asked. She pointed out that the glasses were in my pocket when I was going berserk looking for them but she always knew where the pen in her handbag was; leave alone the whereabouts of the bag. She knew the exact time for the bus when I had forgotten where the stop was.
I felt in my bones that Helen would resolve all my problems if she became part of my life. There was nothing I could contribute towards her welfare but I asked for her hand anyway. I am bewildered whenever I think of it that she accepted. Of course all the hell broke loose when we told our plans to our respective children. However, the things worked out after some give and take, give from us and take from our families. We had a small wedding celebration with our local families followed by a short honeymoon – stroll on the Sandy Beach in Calgary – and settled down in an apartment not far from Helen’s son to make it easy for him to drop the kids when other care was not available. My hopes were realized as well. Thanks to all kinds of neurotransmitters now circulating in my brain my memory circuits revived and Helen’s patience is not tested as often as it used to be when we were courting. I am feeling young in so many other ways too that who knows; we may even be able to consummate our marriage one day.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Fall From the High Point
1
Extroverts have all the fun. So they say. But introverts know that it is not true. Only our idea of fun is different. Getting drunk and boisterous without knowing why and cheering in a concert hall or a sports stadium till we are hoarse is not our game. We enjoy intense discussions on serious topics plaguing the mankind with or without reaching an agreement. The idea of fun is one where the twains – introverts and extroverts – will never meet.
The discussions are usually held over lunch. We set the topic of discussion in advance, read all we can get hold of on the subject, mull over the material, come to some conclusions and prepare arguments to support them. The discussions are often heated, certainly hotter than the tepid bisque served in the “always open” modest diner we meet in. In younger days I had a large number of friends and such meetings were frequent. In recent years, retirement has claimed many of them and I am lucky if I can find a guest once a month. In some ways it is good. It helps me lose weight as I lose height with growing years.
Ravi is the person I lock horns with most often. I first met him thirty five years ago when he moved a few doors away from where I lived in a community of middle class young professionals and hopeful business managers. He had a lovely wife who got along well with mine, perhaps because they were both from Peru and could talk to each other in Spanish. Each of the families had two girls of similar ages who played well together. I worked then, as I do now, with two other architects specializing in renovations and small buildings. Not much has changed, not in my professional career any way. Ravi, on the other hand, had a remarkable career. He was brought to Canada by a small service company with big plans. His expertise was in designing innovative software to help in exploration of oil and gas. Ravi had big plans for himself too. For a change from my other stories this one is not about me. This is about Ravi, his rise and fall.
We had our last meeting a couple of weeks ago. We resolved the housing crisis south of the border and disagreed about the impact it will have on the price of our homes. We were heading for the cars when Ravi looked at my truck and asked whether I could help in moving his desk and chair from his office to the basement of his home. I agreed without the slightest hesitation and the date and time convenient to both of us was readily agreed upon. On my drive back to work his amazing career occupied my thoughts.
Much happened to Ravi during the years and I have watched it with some amazement. A year or two after we had met he came over for coffee one weekend morning. When we had made ourselves comfortable in the den with mugs of steaming Kona coffee in our hands he threw the opening gambit in the conversation, “You won’t believe what I have done.”
“I don’t know whether I will or not. You have to tell me first.”
“I have resigned from my job. I am starting a consulting business in oil industry.”
“No I don’t believe it. You can’t do something so foolish. You couldn’t have considered it fully. Monica is a full-time homemaker, you have two little girls in elementary school, you have just moved into an expensive home. I guess you have a big mortgage.”
“You are right on the details. To add to these we have very little in the bank.”
“Not only that, you have been in the country only two years and I don’t imagine you have all that many business contacts. You don’t seem to be the type to have a mentor. You being brown does not help in this country either.”
“You are bang on with the negatives. Mind you, there are a few positives too.”
“Tell me. I am all ears.”
“I have worked in five countries and my broad international experience is an asset. Unlike most consultants in business I have studied and worked in all aspects of geophysical exploration. Published research has given me some exposure.”
“That is all fine. Have you got anything lined up to put food on the table next month? You are always welcome here of course.”
“I hope it won’t come to that. My former employers in Denver have offered a lucrative, though short, assignment. I will use this time to drum up some local work.”
“What does Monica think about it?”
“I explained all this to her. She listened very patiently and agreed. She thought it was worth a try if I wanted to do it so bad.”
“You have a gem of a wife. I know many women who will kill their husbands for less.”
“I know Monica is a treasure.”
2
Monica made a suggestion that Ravi worked out of home office to begin with but he brushed it aside. He subleased a small office space on the ninth floor of the building downtown. It had two rooms, one for him and another for a helper if and when he could afford one. “Farsighted guy, he will go far,” I thought when he told me this. As it turned out, he needed a technical assistant a few months later and I recommended him a good candidate who had applied to our firm. The business expanded rapidly. Four years later I renovated two thousand square feet for his eight employees, five professionals and three support staff. One evening I saw a marvelous view of sunset over the Rockies from his seventeenth floor corner office. I felt sorry for my friend because I did not believe that he had either time or inclination to appreciate such niceties. He occupied that space for five years.
A gas station in our community went out of business. It was an attractive building on a large lot. One evening over beer on his patio Ravi asked whether it would be feasible to convert the existing facility into an office space of four thousand square feet with the mortgage payment about the same as the rent he was paying then. A month later I presented the plans and the cost estimates. I could use the existing facilities almost as they were and add two floors of office space where the gas tank had been. Ravi was delighted and the construction started soon after. He moved into the converted gas station the following year. A year later I built for him another building on the lot where Monica opened her medical practice with two doctor colleagues. Two other doctors and a small lab occupied the upstairs floor. Ravi and Monica had the only ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ pair of buildings in town. At this point, his consulting operation had seven professionals, three technicians and an office manager. His reputation in the industry was such that the size, revenue and profitability of his business stayed at this level for several years with only minor fluctuations in spite of notorious ups and downs in the oil industry. Unbeknown to either of us this was the crest in the trajectory of his business career. Then the gods turned against him and made him proud.
3
I arrived at my cubicle and forgot all about Ravi’s story till the time I helped in his move. After we had set up the desk and chairs and hooked up his computer system, Monica asked whether I had time for a slice of pecan pie she had baked that morning. “Only if it comes with plenty of whipped cream and a cup of Tetley’s tea,” I cheekily replied. Ravi and I sat across the desk waiting for refreshments when he told me some things about his career I had not known before. These filled the holes in the story I had in my mind. It is a long tale. I will spare you the details and only touch the salient points.
Ravi had set up a registered retirement savings plan (RRSP) soon after his arrival in Canada to take advantage of deferred tax on contributions to the plan. At first, his investment activities were restricted to this, “if only because that was the only money I had” he told me. Call it beginner’s luck, his investments did well. A few years later he was buying shares with the money left over from business operations. A few grand failures excepted, these investments were productive too. Then came a point at which investment income was comparable to that from consulting operations. I now quote him because I can not bring myself to believe it. “This is when business sense left me and vanity took over. I began to believe that I could do no wrong and it was time to diversify the operations into fields I only had superficial knowledge of” He acquired exploration rights over two large areas, one for oil and gas and the other for iron ore. I remember his excitement at that time and him telling any body who would listen all the technical reasons in excruciating detail for expecting huge deposits there. On my wife’s advice I kept the cheque book in the drawer but a few of his other friends with gambling in their blood put some of their retirement funds in the so-called high risk/high reward, in my opinion all risk/no reward, projects. Years later Ravi had this to tell me: “While the ventures were sheer folly they were nothing compared to my decision to give up the lucrative consulting business. With no flow of spare funds from this business the cash eventually ran out. After several years of hard work and an expenditure of considerable amount of money, both ventures had to be folded. Not only did I lose money, I lost face as well, although the generous partners stayed on congenial terms.”
When the consulting business was put to bed, the building was too large for the remaining operations. An accounting firm made a reasonable offer for the property which, after much heartache, Ravi accepted. He first leased a two thousand square feet space with five offices for five years, then moved to twelve hundred square feet with three offices for two years and relocated again to eight hundred square feet with two offices for four years shedding employees at each stage. Let me use his words for the final stroke of fortune, “2008 stock market meltdown heaped the ultimate ignominy on me. The account with the money leftover in my corporation and Monica’s medical practice was entirely wiped out. I laid off my last employee, the long term office manager, and now I have had to move my desk and computer to the basement of our home.”
I should have been more understanding of the weight of melancholy my dear friend was under. Instead I was inwardly gloating about the wisdom of staying in the same cubicle doing the same job till my days were done. “How does it feel to fall from the high point in the trajectory to the prospect of working on retirement funds in the basement?” I asked.
“Even though I will not miss the grind of daily commute, I can not get rid of the sense of failure. If any of my operations had succeeded and I had retired to the basement after handing the business over to a successor, I would have an upbeat sense of having created something which outlasted me. Now when I look in the mirror I see a man who thought he was great only to discover that greatness is not assumed but bestowed by proven success.”
“This is all so sad. I am really sorry for you.”
A smile lit up Ravi’s face, “No need to be sorry dear friend. The sense of failure is ephemeral. In spite of everything I have love and respect of a wife and two daughters, high achievers all.That makes up for my business failures and I am content.”
1
Extroverts have all the fun. So they say. But introverts know that it is not true. Only our idea of fun is different. Getting drunk and boisterous without knowing why and cheering in a concert hall or a sports stadium till we are hoarse is not our game. We enjoy intense discussions on serious topics plaguing the mankind with or without reaching an agreement. The idea of fun is one where the twains – introverts and extroverts – will never meet.
The discussions are usually held over lunch. We set the topic of discussion in advance, read all we can get hold of on the subject, mull over the material, come to some conclusions and prepare arguments to support them. The discussions are often heated, certainly hotter than the tepid bisque served in the “always open” modest diner we meet in. In younger days I had a large number of friends and such meetings were frequent. In recent years, retirement has claimed many of them and I am lucky if I can find a guest once a month. In some ways it is good. It helps me lose weight as I lose height with growing years.
Ravi is the person I lock horns with most often. I first met him thirty five years ago when he moved a few doors away from where I lived in a community of middle class young professionals and hopeful business managers. He had a lovely wife who got along well with mine, perhaps because they were both from Peru and could talk to each other in Spanish. Each of the families had two girls of similar ages who played well together. I worked then, as I do now, with two other architects specializing in renovations and small buildings. Not much has changed, not in my professional career any way. Ravi, on the other hand, had a remarkable career. He was brought to Canada by a small service company with big plans. His expertise was in designing innovative software to help in exploration of oil and gas. Ravi had big plans for himself too. For a change from my other stories this one is not about me. This is about Ravi, his rise and fall.
We had our last meeting a couple of weeks ago. We resolved the housing crisis south of the border and disagreed about the impact it will have on the price of our homes. We were heading for the cars when Ravi looked at my truck and asked whether I could help in moving his desk and chair from his office to the basement of his home. I agreed without the slightest hesitation and the date and time convenient to both of us was readily agreed upon. On my drive back to work his amazing career occupied my thoughts.
Much happened to Ravi during the years and I have watched it with some amazement. A year or two after we had met he came over for coffee one weekend morning. When we had made ourselves comfortable in the den with mugs of steaming Kona coffee in our hands he threw the opening gambit in the conversation, “You won’t believe what I have done.”
“I don’t know whether I will or not. You have to tell me first.”
“I have resigned from my job. I am starting a consulting business in oil industry.”
“No I don’t believe it. You can’t do something so foolish. You couldn’t have considered it fully. Monica is a full-time homemaker, you have two little girls in elementary school, you have just moved into an expensive home. I guess you have a big mortgage.”
“You are right on the details. To add to these we have very little in the bank.”
“Not only that, you have been in the country only two years and I don’t imagine you have all that many business contacts. You don’t seem to be the type to have a mentor. You being brown does not help in this country either.”
“You are bang on with the negatives. Mind you, there are a few positives too.”
“Tell me. I am all ears.”
“I have worked in five countries and my broad international experience is an asset. Unlike most consultants in business I have studied and worked in all aspects of geophysical exploration. Published research has given me some exposure.”
“That is all fine. Have you got anything lined up to put food on the table next month? You are always welcome here of course.”
“I hope it won’t come to that. My former employers in Denver have offered a lucrative, though short, assignment. I will use this time to drum up some local work.”
“What does Monica think about it?”
“I explained all this to her. She listened very patiently and agreed. She thought it was worth a try if I wanted to do it so bad.”
“You have a gem of a wife. I know many women who will kill their husbands for less.”
“I know Monica is a treasure.”
2
Monica made a suggestion that Ravi worked out of home office to begin with but he brushed it aside. He subleased a small office space on the ninth floor of the building downtown. It had two rooms, one for him and another for a helper if and when he could afford one. “Farsighted guy, he will go far,” I thought when he told me this. As it turned out, he needed a technical assistant a few months later and I recommended him a good candidate who had applied to our firm. The business expanded rapidly. Four years later I renovated two thousand square feet for his eight employees, five professionals and three support staff. One evening I saw a marvelous view of sunset over the Rockies from his seventeenth floor corner office. I felt sorry for my friend because I did not believe that he had either time or inclination to appreciate such niceties. He occupied that space for five years.
A gas station in our community went out of business. It was an attractive building on a large lot. One evening over beer on his patio Ravi asked whether it would be feasible to convert the existing facility into an office space of four thousand square feet with the mortgage payment about the same as the rent he was paying then. A month later I presented the plans and the cost estimates. I could use the existing facilities almost as they were and add two floors of office space where the gas tank had been. Ravi was delighted and the construction started soon after. He moved into the converted gas station the following year. A year later I built for him another building on the lot where Monica opened her medical practice with two doctor colleagues. Two other doctors and a small lab occupied the upstairs floor. Ravi and Monica had the only ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ pair of buildings in town. At this point, his consulting operation had seven professionals, three technicians and an office manager. His reputation in the industry was such that the size, revenue and profitability of his business stayed at this level for several years with only minor fluctuations in spite of notorious ups and downs in the oil industry. Unbeknown to either of us this was the crest in the trajectory of his business career. Then the gods turned against him and made him proud.
3
I arrived at my cubicle and forgot all about Ravi’s story till the time I helped in his move. After we had set up the desk and chairs and hooked up his computer system, Monica asked whether I had time for a slice of pecan pie she had baked that morning. “Only if it comes with plenty of whipped cream and a cup of Tetley’s tea,” I cheekily replied. Ravi and I sat across the desk waiting for refreshments when he told me some things about his career I had not known before. These filled the holes in the story I had in my mind. It is a long tale. I will spare you the details and only touch the salient points.
Ravi had set up a registered retirement savings plan (RRSP) soon after his arrival in Canada to take advantage of deferred tax on contributions to the plan. At first, his investment activities were restricted to this, “if only because that was the only money I had” he told me. Call it beginner’s luck, his investments did well. A few years later he was buying shares with the money left over from business operations. A few grand failures excepted, these investments were productive too. Then came a point at which investment income was comparable to that from consulting operations. I now quote him because I can not bring myself to believe it. “This is when business sense left me and vanity took over. I began to believe that I could do no wrong and it was time to diversify the operations into fields I only had superficial knowledge of” He acquired exploration rights over two large areas, one for oil and gas and the other for iron ore. I remember his excitement at that time and him telling any body who would listen all the technical reasons in excruciating detail for expecting huge deposits there. On my wife’s advice I kept the cheque book in the drawer but a few of his other friends with gambling in their blood put some of their retirement funds in the so-called high risk/high reward, in my opinion all risk/no reward, projects. Years later Ravi had this to tell me: “While the ventures were sheer folly they were nothing compared to my decision to give up the lucrative consulting business. With no flow of spare funds from this business the cash eventually ran out. After several years of hard work and an expenditure of considerable amount of money, both ventures had to be folded. Not only did I lose money, I lost face as well, although the generous partners stayed on congenial terms.”
When the consulting business was put to bed, the building was too large for the remaining operations. An accounting firm made a reasonable offer for the property which, after much heartache, Ravi accepted. He first leased a two thousand square feet space with five offices for five years, then moved to twelve hundred square feet with three offices for two years and relocated again to eight hundred square feet with two offices for four years shedding employees at each stage. Let me use his words for the final stroke of fortune, “2008 stock market meltdown heaped the ultimate ignominy on me. The account with the money leftover in my corporation and Monica’s medical practice was entirely wiped out. I laid off my last employee, the long term office manager, and now I have had to move my desk and computer to the basement of our home.”
I should have been more understanding of the weight of melancholy my dear friend was under. Instead I was inwardly gloating about the wisdom of staying in the same cubicle doing the same job till my days were done. “How does it feel to fall from the high point in the trajectory to the prospect of working on retirement funds in the basement?” I asked.
“Even though I will not miss the grind of daily commute, I can not get rid of the sense of failure. If any of my operations had succeeded and I had retired to the basement after handing the business over to a successor, I would have an upbeat sense of having created something which outlasted me. Now when I look in the mirror I see a man who thought he was great only to discover that greatness is not assumed but bestowed by proven success.”
“This is all so sad. I am really sorry for you.”
A smile lit up Ravi’s face, “No need to be sorry dear friend. The sense of failure is ephemeral. In spite of everything I have love and respect of a wife and two daughters, high achievers all.That makes up for my business failures and I am content.”
Friday, October 15, 2010
God Works in Mysterious Ways.
Wife Monica and teenage son David decided to have a bash to celebrate my fiftieth birthday. They told me about it because they know I don’t like surprise celebrations. I was allowed to make suggestions on the guest list and help with the arrangements. Dinner was to be catered, held in the lawn of our modest bungalow. Fifty guests were invited and most accepted. Three days before the party, Monica said to me, “I have a surprise guest coming on your birthday.”
“Who is he? Someone I know!” I asked.
“Yes you know him. No more questions please. Let us keep it a surprise,” Monica put a tight lid on the issue and to please her I agreed to let her have her way for once.
The day arrived in its own time. Sun rose at seven as usual, scattered white clouds sparkled against the bright blue sky and a gentle breeze promised to keep heat at bay. Forecast of a pleasantly warm sunny day seemed to hold again. Monica prepared a sumptuous breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. I opened first the cards telling me how wonderful I was and then the presents, a pure wool cardigan from Monica and a book by Pastor John of our church from David. Monica and David hung Happy Birthday balloons in green, red, blue and purple. To humour me on my special day my dear wife and son played games of Scrabble and Monopoly with me. In between the games we arranged tables and chairs for the guests, one long table for the caterer to set and serve the food, another for drinks to be served by David. I was instructed to let them do all the entertaining. I was to enjoy the adulation of the guests for having survived the rigours of the life of a college teacher. If the surprise guest was on my mind it was far back and no one mentioned him.
Guests started arriving in twos and fours after six. Half an hour later when most of the guests were on their second drink and Monica was beginning to look nervous the door bell rang. Monica’s face lit up and she rushed to welcome the guest. A few moments later I heard a voice from my youth and then saw the face of my friend from our formative years thirty years ago.
Ravi and I studied Chemistry for five years in the same school in India. We lived in the same hostel and spent much of our time in each other’s company. However, to say that we were like two peas in a pod would be exaggerating more than a bit. Ravi was the top student in our years there and I scraped the bottom. It was not that I goofed around and he worked hard. In fact it was the other way. I had to work day and night to barely average C while he spent most of his time playing Romeo with girls from Art faculties. Yet he won the best scholarships and graduated with the gold medal. If my memory serves me right he was a proud young man quick to put others in their place.
After graduation we ended up at opposite ends of Canada. Although we lost contact, I knew about him because his work at the research lab of a drug company often hit the headlines in the media. He married the daughter of a former Prime Minister. It would be more accurate to say that she married him in spite of threats of disinheritance by her irate parents. To prove himself worthy of her he worked hard and made best use of his talents. He won all the honours a scientist can win. He rose to become the youngest ever director of a major lab in North America and was invited to join the boards of some of the largest corporations in the country. His estate in Montreal was often featured in popular magazines for the excellence of its design and furnishings. I, on the other hand, married a kindergarten teacher from a working class family and struggled as a teacher in the local technical college. Our paths couldn’t have diverged further.
To say I was surprised to see him standing there is an understatement of the magnitude only I can make. I looked at him with my mouth wide open. There was my friend of teen years, looking wiser and older but not any different than twenty two year old Ravi I had last seen. Not one of his long hair had turned grey, same wheatish complexion, not a pound more on the slim figure, short by Canadian standards but still impressive. Only thing odd was his dress, white loin cloth and a long cotton tunic in pale orange. He looked like a monk on the bank of River Ganges. I, on the other hand, had lost most of my hair and quite a few teeth, gained fifty pounds and stooped a little. I was dressed as a pretend cowboy for the Stampede season. It took a pat on the back by David to bring me back to Earth and move forward to greet my friend.
As we shook hands vigorously and then hugged other guests cheered. Somehow they had known about the surprise. He asked what I was up to and I told him of my good fortune in Monica and David and a job that paid enough for us to live in some comfort. I asked him about his unusual dress. “We will talk about it later,” he answered.
The party was a great success. Ravi was a hit. When people asked him how new drugs were invented he told them interesting tales from his lab. Now that I think of it, he said only the minimum about himself. He asked every one about their families and interesting events in their lives, listened attentively and paid due compliments. I noticed that he drank only water and avoided meat. Every one had good words for my old friend. I basked in reflected glory with delight.
After the other guests had left, Ravi and I headed for the den. He refused the glass of wine but encouraged me to have one. After some small talk I asked him again what was behind his monkish appearance. Here is what he said, as well as I can remember it.
“You know about the scholarship every gold medalist from our college was offered. I accepted it gladly and came to Montreal to do a doctorate in Pharmaceutical Chemistry. Even before I was half way through, several drug companies offered me attractive positions. I accepted one where I would have the most independence and have stayed with them ever since. They have been kind to me and the association has been good for both, the company and me, as well as for public at large because we were able to discover treatments for some common diseases.
“I met Brenda at a colleague’s reception. If I had known her pedigree I would have avoided her but I did not know and we fell in love. In spite of her parents’ bitter opposition, may be because of it, we got married. Her parents came around when Brenda was expecting our first baby. We had a comfortable life. Brenda looked after the family, we ended up with a boy and a girl by the way, supported the Arts as much as we could afford and gloried in my professional success.
“Life was good till three years ago. Then the house collapsed as if it was made of cards. Perhaps it was. Brenda told me she was in love with the Premier of the province whose romances in his gay life as a bachelor kept the local tabloids in business. She wanted a divorce so she could marry her lover and help him become the Prime Minister of Canada.
“I was shattered. I was never an emotional person, won’t say I really knew what loving a human being was. Friends said my Emotional IQ was zero and that is why I was such a success in the profession. The children were in college, the boy at Harvard, the girl at Wharton. The distance had made the relations with family at home quite tenuous. Brenda was the only person I really cared for in this world. Now she wanted no part in my life.
“I did the only thing I could think of. I went to the roof of my lab and jumped off. Six storey building wasn’t tall enough and after a few months in hospital my bones were as good as they were before the fall. The huge stink in the newspapers made the Premier change his mind but Brenda filed for divorce any way. She did make sure though that I was looked after during the recovery. When I was walking again, she did something for which I will always be grateful to her.
“She found out from some article in a San Francisco publication about the ashram – what they call retreat here - of Swami Dharyanand in Rishikesh, not far from where I grew up. Rishikesh is a beautiful little town in North India located in the foothills of Himalayas on the Ganges before it has been polluted by the discharge from the millions who live in the cities along the river and its tributaries. This swami is unique; he is an atheist and his ashram is for atheists who are suffering emotional distress. It costs a pretty penny but that was not a problem, thanks to the Premier’s sense of guilt. I spent six months at the ashram. There were thirty disciples, as they were called. Every month a few of them left and were replaced by the new ones. Those six months with Swami changed my life and I can not thank him enough.
“The disciples were of all ages – from late teens to sixties, from all walks of life and from all over the world. We lived in dormitories, one for men and one for the ladies. Intermingling of sexes was encouraged and there were a couple of private rooms available to couples for occasional rendezvous. We had two things in common, we did not believe in omnipotent God and all of us were emotionally distressed. Our lives were quite regimented. The diet was strictly vegetarian, alcohol was not permitted and consumption of coffee and tea was limited to two eight oz cups a day. Our day started with the sun rise. We had half an hour to prepare ourselves for the day. After a breakfast of oatmeal and milk, we worked in the garden for an hour. Then we headed for the morning discourse.
“Discourse was the best part of the day. Swami and swamini, his partner, sat cross-legged on the carpet on a raised platform. We sat on the bare floor facing them, ladies on the left, men on the right. Swami spoke in heavily accented English and often asked swamini for appropriate English words. He set the ball rolling by wishing every one a good day and asking if there were any questions on previous discussions or suggestions on topics we would like to study. There were many questions from the floor, mostly of personal nature and some suggestions based on what had been bothering the individuals. Swami responded with patience and answered questions in detail. Once in a while swamini nudged him and he allowed her to say her piece.
“The sermon came next. There was no mention of any superpower, not even Darwin, or of any holy book In fact there was nothing holy in swami’s books. But he talked for an hour or more on how human beings should live and the principles that should guide them. After more than two years most of his sermons have receded to the back of my memory but one principle he enunciated stands out. For me, this was the foundation of all other principles and I vowed to practice it for the rest of my life. I knew there would be times I would fail but every failure would be followed by greater effort. I have much to be grateful to the Swami for, but his illumination of this simple rule, which all religions preach and all saints have practiced, is what transformed my life from a stressed to the breaking point existence to a succession of peaceful and harmonious days.”
He stopped to take a few sips from the glass of water. It broke the reverie I was in and I picked up my wine glass and a handful of salted lightly roasted peanuts. Our smiles reflected our renewed affection for each other. We enjoyed a few moments of silence. Then I asked him to tell me all about the teaching that guides him now. He continued from where he had left off.
“It is something so obvious I have often wondered why I had to return to my birth place and go to a swami to learn it. Let us face it; Hindu swamis have the image of self-serving, money grabbing individuals educated Indians despise. Yet here I was under a swami’s wing, although not a Hindu but an atheist, yet a swami all the same. After being accustomed to luxury of a Montreal mansion, it was tough, particularly for the first few weeks. Yet, there was something there which gave me an inner peace I had never known. Swami and swamini talked in soothing tones, never raised their voice and answered even the stupidest queries gently although a faint smile could sometimes be noted by a careful observer. Hard physical labour in the fields before and after the morning session must have contributed too as did the lack of stimulants in the diet. As you must have noticed, I have continued Swami’s diet regimen although I sleep longer and work in the lab rather than on a farm. I have managed to retain the peace swami helped me acquire and stresses, whether from negative results at the lab or news of Brenda’s complaints about our lives together or the kids demanding ever bigger allowances, last no longer than a few minutes. In any event, I have kept away from the roof and any inclination to go there has been fleeting.”
Monica came in the den to check we were still awake and asked if we needed a snack. Instead of answering her query I suggested, “Come and join us. Ravi is telling me what changed him from an upward mobile stressed to the hilt yuppie to a man at peace with his inner self. He spent six months in an atheist ashram in India and he is just getting to the point of telling me his swami’s key teaching.”
“It won’t mean much to me without the context. I will go and finish putting the house back in order. You can tell me all about it later,” Monica said tactfully leaving old friends on their own.
Ravi picked up the thread, “As I was saying I stay away from the dreadful roof. Only time, and it is only momentary, I feel that way is when the word gets to me of Brenda telling our common friends my numerous shortcomings, particularly how deficient I was in bed. She never forgave me and invented some new blemishes in my personality, how much of it is due to my action which made her love for the debonair Premier a melancholic memory is hard to tell. Regardless, I am completely focused on observing the principle and the failures, when they occur, make me try harder.
“Okay, I have kept you in suspense long enough. The new principle in my life, and you will be surprised to hear it because it is diametrically opposite to what I followed when we were at college, is amazingly simple to state and immensely difficult to practice. But just trying to do it washes away the accumulating dirt in my soul; it makes me feel good all over. Here it is: In all your contacts make the other person feel better than he or she did before meeting you. Easy to say and to some it comes naturally. But it is hard for me and I have to constantly remind myself. I am getting better at it though.”
Ravi stopped and looked at me waiting for a reaction. I was a little confused by his short statement after such a lengthy introduction. But words were expected of me and this is what I mumbled, “You are right; it is simple to say and hard to do. In our own ways we all try to do it without really realizing it but our ego gets in the way. Problem is equally simple to state and just as hard to solve: How do we put the other before self.”
Ravi replied, “Swami Dharyanand devoted several mornings to this problem. Sages have emphasized humility as the most important characteristic in a noble human being. Humility means being aware of our shortcomings as much as the goodness in others. It means living for others; putting self after that of the person you are in contact with. It means relieving the suffering of others and replacing it with joy. It means providing a source of strength to the down and out individual whatever the cost. It means letting go of the ego. It is hard, very hard. I fail more often than I succeed. I have to constantly remind myself of my vow to the Swami. That is why I wear the humble apparel of a disciple – to remind me of my primary responsibility. It might sound phony but I do get great satisfaction in trying.”
“How do you control your natural reaction to fire back when some one near and dear to you is harshly critical of you on a regular basis?" I asked.
“Swami covered that too in one of his sermons. It is difficult but by no means impossible. One has to realize that getting upset does not improve the situation. I would look at my recent actions and try to identify the one that may have prompted the criticism. There is no smoke without fire. If one finds the fire and puts it out, the smoke disappears.”
Clock in the hall struck twice. Ravi stood up, “Time to say goodbye. It was kind of Monica to think of me and it was a joy to renew the old friendship. I am sorry if I bored you with my monologue. I do get carried away. Please convey my thanks to your charming wife and best wishes to your delightful son. I will write to you when I am back in Montreal.”
We walked to his rented car and shook hands firmly before he got into the driver’s seat. I turned back towards the front door with moist eyes wondering where an atheist gets the strength from to take such a vow and to work so hard to keep it.
Monica was awake when I crept into bed. I told her my dear friend’s strange story. In spite of the late hour, she listened to it without falling asleep and did not interrupt me once. When I finished she looked at the ceiling, perhaps through it, and mumbled, “God works in mysterious ways”.
Wife Monica and teenage son David decided to have a bash to celebrate my fiftieth birthday. They told me about it because they know I don’t like surprise celebrations. I was allowed to make suggestions on the guest list and help with the arrangements. Dinner was to be catered, held in the lawn of our modest bungalow. Fifty guests were invited and most accepted. Three days before the party, Monica said to me, “I have a surprise guest coming on your birthday.”
“Who is he? Someone I know!” I asked.
“Yes you know him. No more questions please. Let us keep it a surprise,” Monica put a tight lid on the issue and to please her I agreed to let her have her way for once.
The day arrived in its own time. Sun rose at seven as usual, scattered white clouds sparkled against the bright blue sky and a gentle breeze promised to keep heat at bay. Forecast of a pleasantly warm sunny day seemed to hold again. Monica prepared a sumptuous breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. I opened first the cards telling me how wonderful I was and then the presents, a pure wool cardigan from Monica and a book by Pastor John of our church from David. Monica and David hung Happy Birthday balloons in green, red, blue and purple. To humour me on my special day my dear wife and son played games of Scrabble and Monopoly with me. In between the games we arranged tables and chairs for the guests, one long table for the caterer to set and serve the food, another for drinks to be served by David. I was instructed to let them do all the entertaining. I was to enjoy the adulation of the guests for having survived the rigours of the life of a college teacher. If the surprise guest was on my mind it was far back and no one mentioned him.
Guests started arriving in twos and fours after six. Half an hour later when most of the guests were on their second drink and Monica was beginning to look nervous the door bell rang. Monica’s face lit up and she rushed to welcome the guest. A few moments later I heard a voice from my youth and then saw the face of my friend from our formative years thirty years ago.
Ravi and I studied Chemistry for five years in the same school in India. We lived in the same hostel and spent much of our time in each other’s company. However, to say that we were like two peas in a pod would be exaggerating more than a bit. Ravi was the top student in our years there and I scraped the bottom. It was not that I goofed around and he worked hard. In fact it was the other way. I had to work day and night to barely average C while he spent most of his time playing Romeo with girls from Art faculties. Yet he won the best scholarships and graduated with the gold medal. If my memory serves me right he was a proud young man quick to put others in their place.
After graduation we ended up at opposite ends of Canada. Although we lost contact, I knew about him because his work at the research lab of a drug company often hit the headlines in the media. He married the daughter of a former Prime Minister. It would be more accurate to say that she married him in spite of threats of disinheritance by her irate parents. To prove himself worthy of her he worked hard and made best use of his talents. He won all the honours a scientist can win. He rose to become the youngest ever director of a major lab in North America and was invited to join the boards of some of the largest corporations in the country. His estate in Montreal was often featured in popular magazines for the excellence of its design and furnishings. I, on the other hand, married a kindergarten teacher from a working class family and struggled as a teacher in the local technical college. Our paths couldn’t have diverged further.
To say I was surprised to see him standing there is an understatement of the magnitude only I can make. I looked at him with my mouth wide open. There was my friend of teen years, looking wiser and older but not any different than twenty two year old Ravi I had last seen. Not one of his long hair had turned grey, same wheatish complexion, not a pound more on the slim figure, short by Canadian standards but still impressive. Only thing odd was his dress, white loin cloth and a long cotton tunic in pale orange. He looked like a monk on the bank of River Ganges. I, on the other hand, had lost most of my hair and quite a few teeth, gained fifty pounds and stooped a little. I was dressed as a pretend cowboy for the Stampede season. It took a pat on the back by David to bring me back to Earth and move forward to greet my friend.
As we shook hands vigorously and then hugged other guests cheered. Somehow they had known about the surprise. He asked what I was up to and I told him of my good fortune in Monica and David and a job that paid enough for us to live in some comfort. I asked him about his unusual dress. “We will talk about it later,” he answered.
The party was a great success. Ravi was a hit. When people asked him how new drugs were invented he told them interesting tales from his lab. Now that I think of it, he said only the minimum about himself. He asked every one about their families and interesting events in their lives, listened attentively and paid due compliments. I noticed that he drank only water and avoided meat. Every one had good words for my old friend. I basked in reflected glory with delight.
After the other guests had left, Ravi and I headed for the den. He refused the glass of wine but encouraged me to have one. After some small talk I asked him again what was behind his monkish appearance. Here is what he said, as well as I can remember it.
“You know about the scholarship every gold medalist from our college was offered. I accepted it gladly and came to Montreal to do a doctorate in Pharmaceutical Chemistry. Even before I was half way through, several drug companies offered me attractive positions. I accepted one where I would have the most independence and have stayed with them ever since. They have been kind to me and the association has been good for both, the company and me, as well as for public at large because we were able to discover treatments for some common diseases.
“I met Brenda at a colleague’s reception. If I had known her pedigree I would have avoided her but I did not know and we fell in love. In spite of her parents’ bitter opposition, may be because of it, we got married. Her parents came around when Brenda was expecting our first baby. We had a comfortable life. Brenda looked after the family, we ended up with a boy and a girl by the way, supported the Arts as much as we could afford and gloried in my professional success.
“Life was good till three years ago. Then the house collapsed as if it was made of cards. Perhaps it was. Brenda told me she was in love with the Premier of the province whose romances in his gay life as a bachelor kept the local tabloids in business. She wanted a divorce so she could marry her lover and help him become the Prime Minister of Canada.
“I was shattered. I was never an emotional person, won’t say I really knew what loving a human being was. Friends said my Emotional IQ was zero and that is why I was such a success in the profession. The children were in college, the boy at Harvard, the girl at Wharton. The distance had made the relations with family at home quite tenuous. Brenda was the only person I really cared for in this world. Now she wanted no part in my life.
“I did the only thing I could think of. I went to the roof of my lab and jumped off. Six storey building wasn’t tall enough and after a few months in hospital my bones were as good as they were before the fall. The huge stink in the newspapers made the Premier change his mind but Brenda filed for divorce any way. She did make sure though that I was looked after during the recovery. When I was walking again, she did something for which I will always be grateful to her.
“She found out from some article in a San Francisco publication about the ashram – what they call retreat here - of Swami Dharyanand in Rishikesh, not far from where I grew up. Rishikesh is a beautiful little town in North India located in the foothills of Himalayas on the Ganges before it has been polluted by the discharge from the millions who live in the cities along the river and its tributaries. This swami is unique; he is an atheist and his ashram is for atheists who are suffering emotional distress. It costs a pretty penny but that was not a problem, thanks to the Premier’s sense of guilt. I spent six months at the ashram. There were thirty disciples, as they were called. Every month a few of them left and were replaced by the new ones. Those six months with Swami changed my life and I can not thank him enough.
“The disciples were of all ages – from late teens to sixties, from all walks of life and from all over the world. We lived in dormitories, one for men and one for the ladies. Intermingling of sexes was encouraged and there were a couple of private rooms available to couples for occasional rendezvous. We had two things in common, we did not believe in omnipotent God and all of us were emotionally distressed. Our lives were quite regimented. The diet was strictly vegetarian, alcohol was not permitted and consumption of coffee and tea was limited to two eight oz cups a day. Our day started with the sun rise. We had half an hour to prepare ourselves for the day. After a breakfast of oatmeal and milk, we worked in the garden for an hour. Then we headed for the morning discourse.
“Discourse was the best part of the day. Swami and swamini, his partner, sat cross-legged on the carpet on a raised platform. We sat on the bare floor facing them, ladies on the left, men on the right. Swami spoke in heavily accented English and often asked swamini for appropriate English words. He set the ball rolling by wishing every one a good day and asking if there were any questions on previous discussions or suggestions on topics we would like to study. There were many questions from the floor, mostly of personal nature and some suggestions based on what had been bothering the individuals. Swami responded with patience and answered questions in detail. Once in a while swamini nudged him and he allowed her to say her piece.
“The sermon came next. There was no mention of any superpower, not even Darwin, or of any holy book In fact there was nothing holy in swami’s books. But he talked for an hour or more on how human beings should live and the principles that should guide them. After more than two years most of his sermons have receded to the back of my memory but one principle he enunciated stands out. For me, this was the foundation of all other principles and I vowed to practice it for the rest of my life. I knew there would be times I would fail but every failure would be followed by greater effort. I have much to be grateful to the Swami for, but his illumination of this simple rule, which all religions preach and all saints have practiced, is what transformed my life from a stressed to the breaking point existence to a succession of peaceful and harmonious days.”
He stopped to take a few sips from the glass of water. It broke the reverie I was in and I picked up my wine glass and a handful of salted lightly roasted peanuts. Our smiles reflected our renewed affection for each other. We enjoyed a few moments of silence. Then I asked him to tell me all about the teaching that guides him now. He continued from where he had left off.
“It is something so obvious I have often wondered why I had to return to my birth place and go to a swami to learn it. Let us face it; Hindu swamis have the image of self-serving, money grabbing individuals educated Indians despise. Yet here I was under a swami’s wing, although not a Hindu but an atheist, yet a swami all the same. After being accustomed to luxury of a Montreal mansion, it was tough, particularly for the first few weeks. Yet, there was something there which gave me an inner peace I had never known. Swami and swamini talked in soothing tones, never raised their voice and answered even the stupidest queries gently although a faint smile could sometimes be noted by a careful observer. Hard physical labour in the fields before and after the morning session must have contributed too as did the lack of stimulants in the diet. As you must have noticed, I have continued Swami’s diet regimen although I sleep longer and work in the lab rather than on a farm. I have managed to retain the peace swami helped me acquire and stresses, whether from negative results at the lab or news of Brenda’s complaints about our lives together or the kids demanding ever bigger allowances, last no longer than a few minutes. In any event, I have kept away from the roof and any inclination to go there has been fleeting.”
Monica came in the den to check we were still awake and asked if we needed a snack. Instead of answering her query I suggested, “Come and join us. Ravi is telling me what changed him from an upward mobile stressed to the hilt yuppie to a man at peace with his inner self. He spent six months in an atheist ashram in India and he is just getting to the point of telling me his swami’s key teaching.”
“It won’t mean much to me without the context. I will go and finish putting the house back in order. You can tell me all about it later,” Monica said tactfully leaving old friends on their own.
Ravi picked up the thread, “As I was saying I stay away from the dreadful roof. Only time, and it is only momentary, I feel that way is when the word gets to me of Brenda telling our common friends my numerous shortcomings, particularly how deficient I was in bed. She never forgave me and invented some new blemishes in my personality, how much of it is due to my action which made her love for the debonair Premier a melancholic memory is hard to tell. Regardless, I am completely focused on observing the principle and the failures, when they occur, make me try harder.
“Okay, I have kept you in suspense long enough. The new principle in my life, and you will be surprised to hear it because it is diametrically opposite to what I followed when we were at college, is amazingly simple to state and immensely difficult to practice. But just trying to do it washes away the accumulating dirt in my soul; it makes me feel good all over. Here it is: In all your contacts make the other person feel better than he or she did before meeting you. Easy to say and to some it comes naturally. But it is hard for me and I have to constantly remind myself. I am getting better at it though.”
Ravi stopped and looked at me waiting for a reaction. I was a little confused by his short statement after such a lengthy introduction. But words were expected of me and this is what I mumbled, “You are right; it is simple to say and hard to do. In our own ways we all try to do it without really realizing it but our ego gets in the way. Problem is equally simple to state and just as hard to solve: How do we put the other before self.”
Ravi replied, “Swami Dharyanand devoted several mornings to this problem. Sages have emphasized humility as the most important characteristic in a noble human being. Humility means being aware of our shortcomings as much as the goodness in others. It means living for others; putting self after that of the person you are in contact with. It means relieving the suffering of others and replacing it with joy. It means providing a source of strength to the down and out individual whatever the cost. It means letting go of the ego. It is hard, very hard. I fail more often than I succeed. I have to constantly remind myself of my vow to the Swami. That is why I wear the humble apparel of a disciple – to remind me of my primary responsibility. It might sound phony but I do get great satisfaction in trying.”
“How do you control your natural reaction to fire back when some one near and dear to you is harshly critical of you on a regular basis?" I asked.
“Swami covered that too in one of his sermons. It is difficult but by no means impossible. One has to realize that getting upset does not improve the situation. I would look at my recent actions and try to identify the one that may have prompted the criticism. There is no smoke without fire. If one finds the fire and puts it out, the smoke disappears.”
Clock in the hall struck twice. Ravi stood up, “Time to say goodbye. It was kind of Monica to think of me and it was a joy to renew the old friendship. I am sorry if I bored you with my monologue. I do get carried away. Please convey my thanks to your charming wife and best wishes to your delightful son. I will write to you when I am back in Montreal.”
We walked to his rented car and shook hands firmly before he got into the driver’s seat. I turned back towards the front door with moist eyes wondering where an atheist gets the strength from to take such a vow and to work so hard to keep it.
Monica was awake when I crept into bed. I told her my dear friend’s strange story. In spite of the late hour, she listened to it without falling asleep and did not interrupt me once. When I finished she looked at the ceiling, perhaps through it, and mumbled, “God works in mysterious ways”.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Cure of an Addiction
I loved to receive letters but hated writing them. In old days in India when I was young and foolish, several sheets of neat rounded words from my female cousins were eagerly looked forward to and I spent more time on my response than I could afford. In later years, my fiancée and I exchanged frequent letters which were treasured till the hurried evacuation from a war torn country caused them to be turned into indecipherable ash. However, there were also the letters from my mother that I dreaded to open. The content was always the same; “You never tell me what you have been doing. I want to know all about your hostel life…. .” The complaint was fully justified. The letters home were exactly the same every time, “Things are fine here, lot of home work….,” you get the idea. These were the days before copying machines were common, otherwise I would have sent a copy from the master draft and saved some time for letters to my fair cousins.
After I got married and settled down in the pleasant life of the head of a growing family, cousins went by the wayside. For decades all my correspondence was related to the business; formal, short, to the point, dry as a bone. Being a man of few words – if you keep your mouth shut the foot stays out – this format suited me and I became quite good at it. Then all of a sudden it came to an end. I was booted upstairs and others wrote the letters for me to sign.
After some thrashing about, a new outlet for my talent for concise expression of opinion dawned on me – Letter to the Editor. I am a man of many interests, none all consuming but enough to read the variety of articles in the newspapers and magazines. A person once dear to me compared me to a wide and shallow lake – I can express an opinion on any topic under the sun, under the clouds on a rainy day, but can not write a well argued essay on anything. So what can be better than to write a couple of lines about a news story or an editorial? Sometimes I would commend, sometimes find faults. It was always brief – no wasted words. And it was always prompt – the letter was in Editor’s inbox within an hour or two of my receiving the newspaper or the magazine. Many of my letters were accepted – perhaps because they were short and ideal space fillers.
After a few years my name became familiar to the serious readers of Canadian media. I came across strangers who had seen my name in the paper although they could not remember in what context. Once in a while they did remember it and an unpleasant debate ensued. On occasions my letters displeased the family members. However they are forgiving individuals and I escaped with an apology for offending statements. But the urge to have the name in the media every week was hard to overcome. Let us face it, Letters had become an addiction.
There is no Letter Writer Anonymous for poor addicts like me; we have to struggle on our own. We don’t even have the sympathy of our families in this battle. There were times I managed to go without submitting a letter for a few days but even before a full week had gone by my resolve would crumble and letters would start flowing from my computer to esteemed editors again. During one withdrawal period my good wife suggested that if I worked on longer pieces, say stories or essays, my focus would shift and I may even write something of enduring interest. Well, I did write short and not so short stories and essays. A reputed publisher published a collection of stories that sold a thousand copies. I even wrote a novel. Yet the flow of letters continued unabated. Till one day a couple of months ago!
Our national newspaper has a policy of publishing just one letter from any individual in any thirty day period. Once a letter is accepted, submissions hit the delete button for next twenty nine days irrespective of their content and quality. When I became aware of this policy I sent the next letter on the due date – thirty days after the publication. If it did not please the editor I sent another the next day. It was rare that I needed to try for the third time.
After a decade of letters in the Canadian media at regular intervals my contribution has not appeared any where for long ten weeks. At first it was not for the lack of trying. After my third letter failed to appear in the aforementioned national newspaper I sent the fourth, then the fifth and so on. After ten letters I stopped to take stock of the situation. The writing on the wall became clear after staring on the blank screen for a while. My style had gone out of date, there were too many young bright writers for my contribution to stand out, my opinions were becoming like an old LP stuck in the groove. Could be any of these reasons or could be a combination. In any event one thing was clear – my letter writing days were over.
It is six weeks since the last letter left my computer. Good bye addiction, good bye Editors. You won’t have my letters to delete any more. Sorry readers – if you really miss my letters, sincere apologies.
I loved to receive letters but hated writing them. In old days in India when I was young and foolish, several sheets of neat rounded words from my female cousins were eagerly looked forward to and I spent more time on my response than I could afford. In later years, my fiancée and I exchanged frequent letters which were treasured till the hurried evacuation from a war torn country caused them to be turned into indecipherable ash. However, there were also the letters from my mother that I dreaded to open. The content was always the same; “You never tell me what you have been doing. I want to know all about your hostel life…. .” The complaint was fully justified. The letters home were exactly the same every time, “Things are fine here, lot of home work….,” you get the idea. These were the days before copying machines were common, otherwise I would have sent a copy from the master draft and saved some time for letters to my fair cousins.
After I got married and settled down in the pleasant life of the head of a growing family, cousins went by the wayside. For decades all my correspondence was related to the business; formal, short, to the point, dry as a bone. Being a man of few words – if you keep your mouth shut the foot stays out – this format suited me and I became quite good at it. Then all of a sudden it came to an end. I was booted upstairs and others wrote the letters for me to sign.
After some thrashing about, a new outlet for my talent for concise expression of opinion dawned on me – Letter to the Editor. I am a man of many interests, none all consuming but enough to read the variety of articles in the newspapers and magazines. A person once dear to me compared me to a wide and shallow lake – I can express an opinion on any topic under the sun, under the clouds on a rainy day, but can not write a well argued essay on anything. So what can be better than to write a couple of lines about a news story or an editorial? Sometimes I would commend, sometimes find faults. It was always brief – no wasted words. And it was always prompt – the letter was in Editor’s inbox within an hour or two of my receiving the newspaper or the magazine. Many of my letters were accepted – perhaps because they were short and ideal space fillers.
After a few years my name became familiar to the serious readers of Canadian media. I came across strangers who had seen my name in the paper although they could not remember in what context. Once in a while they did remember it and an unpleasant debate ensued. On occasions my letters displeased the family members. However they are forgiving individuals and I escaped with an apology for offending statements. But the urge to have the name in the media every week was hard to overcome. Let us face it, Letters had become an addiction.
There is no Letter Writer Anonymous for poor addicts like me; we have to struggle on our own. We don’t even have the sympathy of our families in this battle. There were times I managed to go without submitting a letter for a few days but even before a full week had gone by my resolve would crumble and letters would start flowing from my computer to esteemed editors again. During one withdrawal period my good wife suggested that if I worked on longer pieces, say stories or essays, my focus would shift and I may even write something of enduring interest. Well, I did write short and not so short stories and essays. A reputed publisher published a collection of stories that sold a thousand copies. I even wrote a novel. Yet the flow of letters continued unabated. Till one day a couple of months ago!
Our national newspaper has a policy of publishing just one letter from any individual in any thirty day period. Once a letter is accepted, submissions hit the delete button for next twenty nine days irrespective of their content and quality. When I became aware of this policy I sent the next letter on the due date – thirty days after the publication. If it did not please the editor I sent another the next day. It was rare that I needed to try for the third time.
After a decade of letters in the Canadian media at regular intervals my contribution has not appeared any where for long ten weeks. At first it was not for the lack of trying. After my third letter failed to appear in the aforementioned national newspaper I sent the fourth, then the fifth and so on. After ten letters I stopped to take stock of the situation. The writing on the wall became clear after staring on the blank screen for a while. My style had gone out of date, there were too many young bright writers for my contribution to stand out, my opinions were becoming like an old LP stuck in the groove. Could be any of these reasons or could be a combination. In any event one thing was clear – my letter writing days were over.
It is six weeks since the last letter left my computer. Good bye addiction, good bye Editors. You won’t have my letters to delete any more. Sorry readers – if you really miss my letters, sincere apologies.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Investing in Tough Times: An Update
The stock market indices show that an average investor suffered a huge loss of almost 50% during September 2008 and recovered about half of this drop over the following twelve months. For this year so far, the market indices have moved sharply both upwards and downwards but in a narrow range. The change of two to three percent in one day’s trading happens at least once a week. Traders have made and lost money but the buy-and-hold types have stayed put at a level one third to a quarter below the peak achieved in the summer of 2008. Investors feel a general sense of relief but there is still a lot of anxiety over what is in store. The questions most often asked are:
1. What does the future hold?
2. How should one invest such that the investment is not wiped out in the next collapse?
The crystal ball I acquired in the Tripoli souk in 1969 is wearing out and the picture it projects is rather fuzzy. For what it is worth, my view of the short and middle terms is more of the same as the last twelve months – volatility governed by the news (or the perception derived from it) but within a range of 10 to 15%. In a move that has been repeated ten times so far this year, indices give up five to eight percent over a few days, then pick up the same amount over an equally short duration. I fear that this volatility is here to stay for a few years.
In the long term the future is clear – gross overpopulation of the planet and rising consumption are not compatible with limited resources which can be grown or extracted with acceptable risk. A disaster in form of a series of natural calamities or a major war is almost inevitable. In reality this is beside the point for investors; one can not invest today based on the danger of a catastrophe sometime in the next decade.
Given the interest rates below the rate of inflation, and even that nominal income being subject to income tax at the highest rate, it does not make sense to stay in cash for an extended period. Sky high debt levels of consumers and all levels of governments in the West and low savings rates make inflation at some point in time very likely, particularly if the economic growth does not resume soon. I would not wish to be trapped in the bonds when inflation is rising. I am not a gold bug but there are many who believe that gold breaking record levels almost every day is an indicator that inflation is not far away.
The opposite of inflation, the deflation, is also a possibility although most economists do not believe it is likely. In a deflation economy borrower businesses and consumers find their debt ballooning in real terms and many are unable to keep up with the payments. . This is what is happening with Real Estate in the U.S. and it is the main cause of the stagnating economy. Deflation puts the financial institutions under great pressure and increases the likelihood of them going broke. Cash under the mattress would perhaps be the best investment in this situation so long as the mattress does not catch fire or attract undue attention.
The basic reason for stable prices in last decade was the fixed Chinese currency even when the manufacturing of consumer goods was shifting to China and the country was accumulating huge trade surpluses. One way to reduce the prospect of deflation and grow Western economies again would be to convince China to let the currency float and reach its proper level, about a third higher than it is at now. This would increase the price of Chinese goods and help the industry in the West grow again. Hopefully the rising prices would be offset by higher employment and wages in private sector will improve after staying flat in real terms for last twenty years. The recession and deflation would be avoided and with some wise management by central banks this would be achieved with an acceptable rate of inflation.
Given that any of these scenarios may present itself, a volatile stock market is to be expected. In an uncertain environment leverage is a dirty word. In 2008 crises highly leveraged investment companies and individuals were wiped out as they have been in every precipitous drop in the market. In current situation, prudent investors will watch the leverage and eliminate it at the first indication of danger. That applies to investment in real estate as well as stocks.
The best performing investments are likely to be the well-balanced portfolios. Incidentally, investment in just one or two stocks is risky. The portfolios with ten or more evenly distributed holdings in diversified industries have the least downside risk and best upward potential. There is no harm in starting with one or two stocks, you have to start somewhere, but the intention must be to expand the portfolio sooner rather than later. A portfolio of $50,000 or more should be divided in four parts:
1. 30 – 35% in income trust units. Hydrocarbon prices are subject to too many non-commercial factors and oil and gas income trusts carry higher risk. The units have to be selected carefully for sustainable payouts and, whenever possible, from different industries. The top performers in my portfolios have consistently been the income trusts, even during the 2008 crisis. After the end of this year almost all income trusts will convert to high dividend paying normal corporations. The dividends are expected to be smaller than payouts now but will be eligible for dividend tax credit. The tax credit is not available in registered plans therefore their desirability in such accounts is somewhat reduced, though not eliminated. Many investors are afraid that the unit price will drop after conversion. However, this has not been the case with most of the companies that have converted so far and these fears do not appear to be justified.
2. 25 – 30 % in high dividend (four percent or higher) common shares in various industries. Preferred shares have the same problems as the bonds and they have no space in my books. The financial sector should be underweighted because the economy is not out of the woods yet and no one knows what the new regulations would do. This part of the portfolio has consistently been a better performer than indices.
3. 20 – 25% in ‘growth’ stocks, either the companies going through hard times which they are likely to survive or the ones with great growth potential. Occasionally some do go under (Nortel) but the survivors make up for the losers. The companies who pay some dividend are preferable. These stocks do relatively well in inflationary environment.
4. A small percentage, no more than 10%, in rank speculative stocks, juniors getting a foothold in businesses with good prospects or former stars which have been written off by other investors. It is crucial that the portfolio has several holdings of this type. Risk level becomes unacceptable with just one or two such holdings. Individual stocks of this type occasionally increase several fold, some go out of business, others stagnate till they boom or bust. Overall, this part of the portfolio provides a great deal of excitement but performs inconsistently. Investors must be careful to avoid the temptation of overloading on these charmers.
In my experience of investing over forty years, portfolios consisting largely of stable companies paying significant dividends are most likely to provide the best returns in good times and bad. Final word of advice, leverage is dangerous in uncertain times and must be carefully watched.
The stock market indices show that an average investor suffered a huge loss of almost 50% during September 2008 and recovered about half of this drop over the following twelve months. For this year so far, the market indices have moved sharply both upwards and downwards but in a narrow range. The change of two to three percent in one day’s trading happens at least once a week. Traders have made and lost money but the buy-and-hold types have stayed put at a level one third to a quarter below the peak achieved in the summer of 2008. Investors feel a general sense of relief but there is still a lot of anxiety over what is in store. The questions most often asked are:
1. What does the future hold?
2. How should one invest such that the investment is not wiped out in the next collapse?
The crystal ball I acquired in the Tripoli souk in 1969 is wearing out and the picture it projects is rather fuzzy. For what it is worth, my view of the short and middle terms is more of the same as the last twelve months – volatility governed by the news (or the perception derived from it) but within a range of 10 to 15%. In a move that has been repeated ten times so far this year, indices give up five to eight percent over a few days, then pick up the same amount over an equally short duration. I fear that this volatility is here to stay for a few years.
In the long term the future is clear – gross overpopulation of the planet and rising consumption are not compatible with limited resources which can be grown or extracted with acceptable risk. A disaster in form of a series of natural calamities or a major war is almost inevitable. In reality this is beside the point for investors; one can not invest today based on the danger of a catastrophe sometime in the next decade.
Given the interest rates below the rate of inflation, and even that nominal income being subject to income tax at the highest rate, it does not make sense to stay in cash for an extended period. Sky high debt levels of consumers and all levels of governments in the West and low savings rates make inflation at some point in time very likely, particularly if the economic growth does not resume soon. I would not wish to be trapped in the bonds when inflation is rising. I am not a gold bug but there are many who believe that gold breaking record levels almost every day is an indicator that inflation is not far away.
The opposite of inflation, the deflation, is also a possibility although most economists do not believe it is likely. In a deflation economy borrower businesses and consumers find their debt ballooning in real terms and many are unable to keep up with the payments. . This is what is happening with Real Estate in the U.S. and it is the main cause of the stagnating economy. Deflation puts the financial institutions under great pressure and increases the likelihood of them going broke. Cash under the mattress would perhaps be the best investment in this situation so long as the mattress does not catch fire or attract undue attention.
The basic reason for stable prices in last decade was the fixed Chinese currency even when the manufacturing of consumer goods was shifting to China and the country was accumulating huge trade surpluses. One way to reduce the prospect of deflation and grow Western economies again would be to convince China to let the currency float and reach its proper level, about a third higher than it is at now. This would increase the price of Chinese goods and help the industry in the West grow again. Hopefully the rising prices would be offset by higher employment and wages in private sector will improve after staying flat in real terms for last twenty years. The recession and deflation would be avoided and with some wise management by central banks this would be achieved with an acceptable rate of inflation.
Given that any of these scenarios may present itself, a volatile stock market is to be expected. In an uncertain environment leverage is a dirty word. In 2008 crises highly leveraged investment companies and individuals were wiped out as they have been in every precipitous drop in the market. In current situation, prudent investors will watch the leverage and eliminate it at the first indication of danger. That applies to investment in real estate as well as stocks.
The best performing investments are likely to be the well-balanced portfolios. Incidentally, investment in just one or two stocks is risky. The portfolios with ten or more evenly distributed holdings in diversified industries have the least downside risk and best upward potential. There is no harm in starting with one or two stocks, you have to start somewhere, but the intention must be to expand the portfolio sooner rather than later. A portfolio of $50,000 or more should be divided in four parts:
1. 30 – 35% in income trust units. Hydrocarbon prices are subject to too many non-commercial factors and oil and gas income trusts carry higher risk. The units have to be selected carefully for sustainable payouts and, whenever possible, from different industries. The top performers in my portfolios have consistently been the income trusts, even during the 2008 crisis. After the end of this year almost all income trusts will convert to high dividend paying normal corporations. The dividends are expected to be smaller than payouts now but will be eligible for dividend tax credit. The tax credit is not available in registered plans therefore their desirability in such accounts is somewhat reduced, though not eliminated. Many investors are afraid that the unit price will drop after conversion. However, this has not been the case with most of the companies that have converted so far and these fears do not appear to be justified.
2. 25 – 30 % in high dividend (four percent or higher) common shares in various industries. Preferred shares have the same problems as the bonds and they have no space in my books. The financial sector should be underweighted because the economy is not out of the woods yet and no one knows what the new regulations would do. This part of the portfolio has consistently been a better performer than indices.
3. 20 – 25% in ‘growth’ stocks, either the companies going through hard times which they are likely to survive or the ones with great growth potential. Occasionally some do go under (Nortel) but the survivors make up for the losers. The companies who pay some dividend are preferable. These stocks do relatively well in inflationary environment.
4. A small percentage, no more than 10%, in rank speculative stocks, juniors getting a foothold in businesses with good prospects or former stars which have been written off by other investors. It is crucial that the portfolio has several holdings of this type. Risk level becomes unacceptable with just one or two such holdings. Individual stocks of this type occasionally increase several fold, some go out of business, others stagnate till they boom or bust. Overall, this part of the portfolio provides a great deal of excitement but performs inconsistently. Investors must be careful to avoid the temptation of overloading on these charmers.
In my experience of investing over forty years, portfolios consisting largely of stable companies paying significant dividends are most likely to provide the best returns in good times and bad. Final word of advice, leverage is dangerous in uncertain times and must be carefully watched.
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