 Watching 120 Bahadur — a film that brings to life the extraordinary bravery of Indian soldiers at Rezang La — leaves one stirred and proud. It should. The men of C Company, 13 Kumaon, fought against impossible odds and earned a permanent place in India’s military memory. But courage on the battlefield and clarity in national strategy are not the same thing. If remembrance ends at valor alone, it risks obscuring the failures that made such sacrifice inevitable.
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 It began over a cup of chai on a balcony in Hawaii.
I was visiting my aunt Shyamala and uncle Sankaran at their apartment overlooking Honolulu. My uncle was teaching at the University of Hawaii at Mānoa, and we were enjoying one of those lazy afternoons that drift from family gossip to world affairs. Almost in passing, my aunt said, "My friend's brother is running for president." "President of the university?" I asked. "No," she replied matter-of-factly. "President of the United States." I laughed. "Really? What's his name?" "Barack Obama." I remember grunting dismissively. "No chance. It'll be Hillary Clinton versus Rudy Giuliani." That was the end of that conversation. Or so I thought.  Prejudice doesn’t vanish with time. It reincarnates. Not in the mystical sense of souls migrating, but in the social sense of ideas reborn. What one generation whispers, the next repeats, and the third shouts. Biases, stereotypes, and values that harm society — greed, selfishness, exclusion — live on because we pass them on. Caste: The Hidden Inheritance India abolished caste discrimination in law decades ago, yet it thrives in practice. Dalits are still barred from temples, denied equal relief in disasters, and treated as outsiders in schools and workplaces. Children don’t need lectures to learn this; they see who is excluded, who is demeaned, and they absorb it. Caste prejudice reincarnates not through scripture but through silence, through everyday normalization. I remember when I had just graduated from business school and started working. I was seeing a girl, and my father — in what seemed like a casual remark — said, “Oh, she’s Iyengar.” Iyengars are another sub‑caste of Tamil Brahmins; we are Iyers. That single comment carried weight. It signaled to me that they weren’t too happy I was dating her, not because of who she was, but because of what she represented in the caste hierarchy. It was a moment when I realized how deeply these divisions live on, even in families that consider themselves educated and liberal. Religion: Division Disguised as Tradition History offers moments of tolerance — Ashoka’s Dhamma, Akbar’s Sulh‑i‑Kul. Yet prejudice persists. The 1984 anti‑Sikh riots, the 2002 Gujarat riots, and countless smaller acts of exclusion show how religion can be weaponized. And often, it’s passed on in subtler ways. How many Hindu boys and girls have been told by parents — parents who thought they were being liberal — “You can marry anyone, any caste, as long as it’s not a Muslim.” That single sentence reincarnates suspicion, ensuring division survives another generation. The Buddha’s Reincarnation Reimagined Perhaps this is what the Buddha meant by reincarnation. Not that the soul lives on in another body, but that our thoughts, our prejudices, our values — good or bad — live on in others. Every stereotype repeated, every bias reinforced, every prejudice left unchallenged is reborn. The wheel of samsara spins not only spiritually but socially, until someone chooses to break it. Breaking the Cycle The challenge is not awareness alone, but courage. To ask: What am I passing on? Am I teaching dignity as universal, or conditional? Am I modeling compassion as strength, or selfishness as survival? Am I reinforcing caste hierarchies and religious suspicion, or dismantling them through example? Prejudice persists because it feels invisible. But once seen, it cannot be unseen. The hope lies in ensuring the next generation does not merely inherit our biases, but learns to question them. To reincarnate not prejudice, but compassion. A Message to Mentors If you guide a younger person — as a parent, teacher, coach, or elder — pause. Every word, every gesture, every silence is instruction. Ask yourself: Am I unconsciously passing on prejudice? The values we hand down today will shape the society of tomorrow. Let us choose empathy over exclusion, fairness over bias, humility over greed. For in mentoring, we are not just shaping individuals — we are shaping the future. And perhaps, in doing so, we redefine reincarnation: not as the rebirth of prejudice, but as the rebirth of compassion.  I watched Whiplash yesterday. Like many great films, it is ostensibly about one thing while actually being about something much larger. On the surface, it is about a young jazz drummer and an obsessive music instructor. Beneath that, it is about excellence, ambition, grit, and the uncomfortable role that other people sometimes play in helping us discover what we are capable of.
The central question the film raises is one that most of us encounter sooner or later in our own lives. When someone pushes us hard—harder than we would choose to push ourselves—should we accept it and grow, or walk away? How do we distinguish between a mentor who is helping us become better and one who is simply making us miserable? And if the person doing the pushing happens to be brilliant, does that change the answer?  On a Monday morning in December 2001, I opened my email and found a message from a school counselor.
The subject line contained just three words: One Happy Boy The counselor went on to explain that one of her students had arrived at school unable to stop smiling. He had spent the entire morning talking about his weekend adventure, telling classmates and teachers about it whenever he got the chance. Apparently, the grin hadn't left his face since Saturday. I have remembered that email for nearly twenty-five years.  There are many noble paths to the priesthood. Some people spend years in seminaries studying theology, philosophy, and the mysteries of the human soul. I spent about seven minutes on the internet. My journey into the clergy began when my friend and colleague, Dean Whiteside of Infosys, walked over to my cubicle with a request. "Would you officiate my wedding? I’d rather you do it than some random priest I don’t know.” Now, there are moments in life when a sensible person asks questions. Questions like: "Why me?" "Are you sure?" "Is this legal?" I asked none of these. Instead, I said, "Sure." A few clicks later, I was ordained through the Universal Life Church. Somewhere in cyberspace, a server processed my request, and I was instantly transformed from corporate executive and amateur golfer into a fully qualified minister of matrimony. If Joey Tribiani could officiate over the wedding of Monica and Chandler, I figured I could. When I informed my father of this development, he reacted with considerably less enthusiasm than I had expected. "You're what?" "An ordained priest." There was a long silence. "What's wrong with Hinduism, kanna?" I explained that I wasn't actually converting religions. I wasn't joining a monastery. I wasn't renouncing worldly possessions. In fact, I had barely finished the online application. This did not seem to help. I explained that the organization had a long and colorful history. During the Vietnam era it became famous for ordaining people en masse, allegedly helping some young men establish ministerial status while trying to avoid the draft. What had begun as a counterculture religious movement had evolved into something even more American: A mail-order business. My father remained unconvinced. A few days later, I received a catalogue welcoming me to my new profession. Apparently, ordination was merely the first step. The catalogue offered everything a modern clergyman might require: rosary beads, ceremonial stoles, purple surplices, bottles of rose water, ministerial identification cards, wedding certificates, and enough ecclesiastical accessories to launch a medium-sized denomination. All at a price, of course. The transformation was astonishing. One week earlier I was shopping for golf clubs. Now I was apparently in the market for liturgical garments. Martin Luther had the Protestant Reformation. I had a catalogue and a Visa card. --- Naturally, before I could unite two souls in holy matrimony, I had to participate in the sacred rituals leading up to the event. Specifically, Dean's bachelor party. Now Dean's defining personality trait is golf. This is partly my fault. Years earlier, I had introduced him to the game. What I thought would be a pleasant recreational activity evolved into a full-blown obsession. Most bachelor parties involve bars. Dean's involved a golf course. Most golf courses feature golfers. This one featured strippers. Not in the clubhouse. Not after the round. On the golf course. Imagine standing over a delicate seven-foot birdie putt while a lap dance is taking place beside the green. The Rules of Golf are surprisingly silent on this situation. Dean, meanwhile, seemed perfectly happy. His two great passions in life—golf and questionable decision-making—had finally merged into a single event. --- A few weeks later, we arrived at Pajaro Dunes. There I stood. A brown-skinned Indian man who had become a priest via the internet. Waiting to officiate the wedding of a Scotch-American groom in a kilt. Who would be led down the aisle by a bagpiper. To marry a first-generation Chinese immigrant bride dressed in a traditional Cheongsam. Meanwhile, her parents had been staying with the couple for a month before the wedding, which every Asian person considered completely normal and every American considered a hostage situation. (Dean had been sufficiently indoctrinated by my company to take it in his stride.) The audience was equally remarkable. Many of the guests were Dean's and my colleagues. These were people who knew exactly how I had become ordained. They had watched the entire process unfold. A week earlier I had been discussing software contracts, golf handicaps, and quarterly business reviews. Now I was standing in front of them officiating over a wedding. As the bagpipes began to play, I looked around and realized that absolutely nobody in this scene was where history expected them to be. A Scotch-American groom in a kilt. A Chinese-American bride in a Cheongsam. Saree wearing guests. An Indian internet priest. A bagpiper. A beach in California. Somewhere a Scottish ancestor was wondering why an Indian minister was marrying one of his descendants. Somewhere a Chinese grandmother was wondering why nobody had started serving food yet. And my father was probably still wondering: "What's wrong with Hinduism, kanna?" There was, however, one person who seemed entirely unfazed by any of this. Dean's father. A blue-eyed Scotch-American who had served in the Merchant Marine during World War II, carrying supplies across the Atlantic while German U-boats attempted to send him to the bottom of the ocean. This was a man from a generation that regarded hardship as a normal Tuesday. He just looked at me and said: "You better make sure the marriage works." --- The ceremony itself was beautiful. I had spent days rehearsing my remarks, practicing my look,and trying very hard not to accidentally marry the wrong people. When you're standing in front of family and friends, nobody cares that your theological education consisted primarily of filling out an online form. They expect confidence. So I delivered the vows with all the dignity I could muster. The bride said yes. The groom said yes. Nobody objected. Most importantly, nobody asked to see my credentials. As I pronounced them husband and wife, I reflected on the absurd chain of events that had brought me there. One friendship. One golf addiction. One bachelor party that should probably never be discussed in detail. One internet ordination. And one unforgettable wedding. -- I have held many titles in my life: CEO, President, Co-Founder, Golfer, Commercial Pilot, Father. But none of them quite compares with the one bestowed upon me by the Universal Life Church. According to the certificate lying somewhere in a folder I can no longer locate, I am officially: Reverend Palamadai Ramachandran Ganapathy. It is difficult to describe how improbable those four words look when placed together. The title suggests a man who has spent decades studying theology in a monastery. Not someone who became ordained between conference calls. To this day, Dean and his wife remain happily married. Which means my batting average as a priest remains a perfect 1.000. More importantly, it means I successfully met the only professional standard ever established for me. Dean's father has not complained. My father, meanwhile, eventually accepted my brief dalliance with the clergy as a momentary lapse of reason, also because I had resisted buying the $250 Deluxe Baptism Kit from the Universal Life Church catalogue. So if you're getting married in California and want to save $150 on a priest, call me. Reverend Palamadai Ramachandran Ganapathy is available for weddings, although theological depth, doctrinal consistency, and long-term marital outcomes cannot be guaranteed.  Winning at all costs has officially broken sports. The ancient, unwritten rule that honor matters more than the scoreboard is fading away. Even golf, the historic bastion of etiquette and self-regulation, is losing its grip on decency. When we sacrifice fairness for a trophy, we corrupt the very reason sports exist.
From the PGA Tour to the Local Club This rot isn’t confined to television screens; it has trickled down into our weekend friendly rounds. I experienced this firsthand during a casual game with a long-time friend. He sliced his tee shot deep into the rough and lost his ball. We all searched, but the mandatory three-minute clock ran out. Just as it did, he magically "found" it. When I pointed out the time limit, the excuses started: first, he argued that the three minutes weren't up; then, he claimed he hadn’t started searching yet—only his caddie had. I had to pull out Rule 18.2 to show him that the search time begins when the player or caddie looks. All of this bitter lawyering was over a measly ₹200 pot. He won the argument in his own mind, but it cost him a friendship. I have never played a competitive round with him since. Weaponising the Crowd at the Ryder Cup This petty mindset mirrors what we see at the absolute pinnacle of global sport. Consider the hostile spectacle at the 2025 Ryder Cup at Bethpage Black. In a bygone era of true sportsmanship, an American player facing a European opponent being actively heckled by a hostile home crowd might have stepped forward and conceded the hole. Conceding would say: "I want to beat you on merit, not because my fans sabotaged your swing." It may have also quietened the crowd. Instead, the modern approach is the exact opposite. Players like Bryson DeChambeau actively riled up the crowd, weaponising a "tsunami" of partisan noise to rattle his opponents. Meanwhile, U.S. Captain Keegan Bradley did nothing to intervene. Leadership stood by, absorbing the unfair advantage with a shrug and prioritizing a hostile point over an honorable match. As noted in a blistering New York Times piece on the Ryder Cup's toxic atmosphere, this behavior holds up a mirror to the broader, Trump-driven coarseness overtaking modern public life. The "mob mentality" on the fairway has mirrored our political arenas, where personal insults and a total breakdown of civility are now celebrated as winning strategies. The Indian Arena: Deemaks, Cockroaches, and Crudity We do not have to look to American golf to see this degradation of public grace. India’s public discourse has succumbed to the exact same sickness, flowing directly from the very top of our public institutions:
The IPL Sickness: Mocking Greatness Instead of Celebrating It This cultural decay has naturally poisoned our national religion: cricket. We saw it manifested in its ugliest form during the IPL 2026 Eliminator match between Sunrisers Hyderabad and Rajasthan Royals. A 15-year-old prodigy, Vaibhav Sooryavanshi, played a historic, jaw-dropping innings of 97 runs off just 29 balls. It was a breathtaking masterclass of fearless batting that should have united the stadium in pure awe. Instead, when Praful Hinge finally dismissed the young prodigy just three runs short of a century, Hinge aggressively mocked and taunted the dejected teenager, getting directly in his face with a venomous send-off. When a seasoned bowler's first instinct upon dismissing a child genius is to humiliate him rather than marvel at the carnage he just witnessed, sport has lost its way. To his credit Abhishek Sharma came up to congratulate the young Sooryavanshi. From Self-Regulation to "Whatever You Can Get Away With" To understand why this matters, we have to look at the high human purpose of sport. Humanity possesses deeply ingrained, natural aggressive tendencies. In his foundational work Authority and the Individual, philosopher Bertrand Russell noted that ordinary human beings cannot be happy without competition. He argued that our fierce, primitive impulses must be channeled into forms that are not injurious to society. Sport is that channel—a peaceful surrogate for war. But this safety valve only works if it is governed by a strict contract of fairness. Today, sport has shifted to an era of hyper-policing. Athletes operate on a cynical philosophy of "it's only illegal if the referee sees it." This has forced every major sport to rely heavily on Video Assistant Referees (VAR) and microscopic reviews. We need more referees because players can no longer be trusted to play fair on their own. Glimmers of Hope: The Keepers of the Spirit Yet, the fire of true sportsmanship has not been entirely extinguished. Look no further than golf's Sahith Theegala. During the 2024 FedExCup Playoffs, Theegala called a crucial two-stroke penalty on himself because he felt his club might have touched a few grains of sand on his backswing. Nobody else saw it, but his conscience did. He chose honesty over a higher leaderboard finish. An even more radical antidote can be found in Ultimate Frisbee. At the highest levels, Ultimate operates entirely without traditional referees. Instead, players are responsible for calling their own fouls, settling differences calmly and amicably. It is living proof that intense competition can coexist with mutual respect and self-governance. A Vital Appeal: How We Introduce the Next Generation These examples prove that the "whatever you can get away with" mindset is a choice, not an inevitability. If you are a parent, coach, or friend introducing someone to a sport, you carry a profound responsibility. Do not begin by teaching them how to exploit a loophole or bend a boundary.
You hear the controller say “Cessna 4-3-0-2-Lima, Runway 27, cleared for take off.” Your pilot looks around to make sure you're all belted in and then makes eye contact -- “ready to fly?” he asks. You nod eagerly. The next few seconds are a bit of a blur – the rapidly increasing sound of the engine, racing down the runway and then suddenly all that seems to fade away as the aircraft gracefully leaves the ground beneath it. You look down at the little planes dotting Oakland airport as they get smaller, and then suddenly you hold your breath – just beyond the boundary of the airport, the magnificent structure of the Oakland Arena and Coliseum have come into view – your once-in-a-lifetime experience of a flying tour of San Francisco Bay has begun!
You spend the next 45 minutes looking down on the traffic on the Nimitz Freeway, imagining what a traffic reporter's job would be like, admire the beautiful colors of the spinnakers on the sailboats in the bay, look down on Alcatraz island, as tourists disembark from the tour boat to begin their visit to the island prison, and finally, look down on the wonderful rust-red Golden Gate bridge in a way that few of your friends can. In my own case, there was never any doubt that I'd become a pilot. I grew up on Air Force bases in India, watching my pilot father fly fighter aircraft every day as part of his job as a test pilot in the Indian Air Force. Beside a year of gliding in New Delhi's Safdarjang airport, I never got a chance to pursue my love of flying in India. From friends who became civilian pilots in India, I heard horror stories of the challenges of learning to fly in India – the high cost, limited facilities, unreliable aircraft, unprofessional flying schools and instructors, yada, yada, yada... But when I moved to the US, finally realizing that dream was, truly, a piece of cake. I enrolled in a flying school in Hayward, and within a few weeks, had soloed, and was well on my way to earnings my Private Pilot's License. 5 months later, I passed a 'check-ride' with an FAA examiner, and was rewarded with a typewritten document that authorized me to rent planes and carry passengers. My wife was my first passenger, and our first flight was a lovely day trip around the San Francisco bay, over the Golden Gate bridge, and then to Half Moon Bay for a wholesome brunch at the '30 cafe' at the airport there, named after one of the runways, Runway 30. Over the years, we've taken trips as far South as San Diego, North to Oregon (Crater Lake, with another flying couple – we shared costs and flying responsibilities) and Eureka / Arcata, East to Yosemite, Lake Tahoe / Reno and a number of small places that we otherwise would never have visited. I've taken hundreds of friends on the 'Bay Tour' I described earlier. All of them return with a wow on their lips, plenty of unique photographs, and an overall feeling of awe. Many people ask me about flying and I then realize that there are many myths about earnings a pilots license that serve as a barrier to discovering this truly fascinating sport. I hope to dispel some of them here. Costs The first and most oft-quoted barrier is the cost of flying. A flying license generally costs $5,000, give or take $1,000 – the actual costs depend on how long you take to earn your license, since students generally rent an aircraft and pay instructors by the hour (these represent the largest segment of costs of your training). Since most working folks can only fly weekends, this means it'll take you 5-6 months to complete the necessary hours, which means you'll end up spending $1,000 or so a month. On an ongoing basis, you pay for the time you rent an aircraft and for the fuel you use when you fly it. I fly every other weekend, so it costs me $150-200 a month to maintain my hobby. You'd agree that's a pretty reasonable price to pay for such a wonderful and unique activity. The economics are pretty good on a long trip too. For example, on the trip to San Diego, we flew for a total of 7.5 hours. So although we had the plane for the three days of the labor day weekend, I only paid for hours flown, and the trip therefore cost me around $600. Given that we were four of us, it works out to $150 a head, slightly under the $160 Southwest Airlines would've charged us to get there and back. The best part was, we were in San Diego by 9:30 AM, while on Southwest we would only have been there by 1:00 PM. Safety The second question people ask me is whether it's safe. There's no denying that there is an element of risk involved in flying, like there is in any sport. However, the risks in flying are not significantly greater than lots of other activities that we indulge in on a regular basis, including driving. Risks are minimized by doing things sensibly – training well, staying current, making the right decisions, ensuring that your aircraft is well maintained, being careful about your preflight, and not putting yourself in situations that exceed your ability. Most accidents are caused by pilots who do dumb things – flying into weather that they're not qualified to handle or in situations that are beyond their capabilities. Flying makes you take responsibility for your actions in ways that nothing else does. When you're up there alone, there is nobody else to rely on, nobody to blame, and no Escape button to turn to. It teaches you things about yourself that you didn't know existed. A solo flight on a late evening when the setting sun paints the sky with a truly beautiful and sublime palette, even gets you thinking about god. Why Fly? Of course, if I've convinced you that it's safe and the costs are reasonable, you may still ask me “Why Fly?”. There are many reasons, and each pilot probably has his own; I'll give you some of mine. To start, I love the freedom that flying gives me – this might sound like cliché, but getting airborne is like being born again – the bonds fall away as you put more distance between your aircraft and the ground. Second, it gives me the opportunity to visit places that I would never have otherwise considered going to. The beautiful approach into Half Moon Bay airport, for example. Or the view of the Golden Gate from the air. Or the little town of Columbia, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, where a short walk from the airport lies a quaint little mining town where you can rent pans and pan for gold, see people in period costumes and even see a horse drawn fire engine. Lastly, it is an activity that leaves little room for sloppiness – I take pride in staying proficient and current and in the pleasure that a smooth landing in a stiff crosswind gives me. As I mentioned, flying is an activity that demands you take ultimate responsibility for your actions – no excuses or complaints. How do I start? Do I have you hooked? Find a flying school in the airport near you and set up an introductory flight with an instructor. Go up (the instructor will let you handle the controls once you are in the air) and see if you like it. If you think flying is for you, discuss a schedule with that instructor that you can financially support, and get started. There are some great resources on the web for beginner pilots -- www.beapilot.com or www.projectpilot.org, for example. All the best, and happy landings!! A few years ago, I made a resolution to try and do at least 3 Himalayan treks a year. While 2020 was almost a complete wash out, I responded eagerly when my good friend and fellow trekker Gautam Gode invited me to join him for the Kuari pass trek in the winter of 2020. His friend, Gaurav Monga, joined in and the trip was on!   The trail The trail for the Kuari Pass trek is reasonably well marked and clearly delineated. The walk per se is not particularly challenging in normal circumstances, the only thing that was different here was that we were doing it in winter, and when we arrived it had snowed for the previous few days and there was therefore a lot of fresh white powder on the ground, something that made experience all the more beautiful. The trek commences in the village of Kharchi, and the first day is a short 4.5 hour walk , gaining about 1900 feet in altitude, to the Akrotghetta campsite , so called for the beautiful lone Walnut tree [called ‘Akrot’ in Hindi and the local language]. As you reach the Akrotghetta campsite you look around you and see several 6-7000 meter mountain peaks covered in snow and this is what makes the Kuari pass trek especially beautiful -- spectacular views of the snow-capped peaks and the changing character from sunrise to day-time and then sunset. This continues to the next campsite, Khullara. Since it was winter, it was cold in the morning before the sun hit you, and after the sun dipped below the Hills (which typically happened as early as 4:00 PM). While the sun was shining it was actually quite pleasant. One had to make sure that one properly utilized layering techniques to stay warm, and at night, the trek organizer, India hikes, had provided us with 2 sleeping bags and a liner each, which was more than adequate [in fact on the 3rd night I actually found myself sweating inside the sleeping bag]. The views The Trek to the pass itself was on the 3rd day and due to ice and snow on the route some members of the group decided not to take a chance , so 12 out of 18 of us managed to actually climb the summit. The views from the summit were even more spectacular because you could see almost 360 degrees around, peaks like Chaukhamba, Kamet, Haathi Parvat, Dunagiri , etc. You just cannot get tired of the views on this particular trek.  Fellow trekkers The trek group were a mixed bunch -- three TV serial actresses from Bangalore and a good friend of theirs who was a photographer, software engineers from Kerala , a filmmaker from Mumbai and some folks from Delhi. Gautam, Gaurav and I were the three oldest at 52, 50 and 49 years of age, but as I've seen in my half marathons, older people tend to take preparation for such events much more seriously and I do believe the three of us were fitter and therefore typically at the front of the pack when it came to actual walking. We were also amused to see how surprised some of the folks from the south were with the cold (I've lived in Ambala, Delhi and New York, so I don't count). I guess if you haven't experienced -10 degrees C, you have no idea how cold that can be. We also observed how focused people were on getting their photographs taken, and looking good in them. I am guessing that for the Snapchat - Instagram generation, the primary purpose of the trek is to generate enough material to keep their feed busy for the next year or so! Animals Wildlife of Uttarakhand is legendary and this trek was no different. On the drive up we were extremely presently surprised to see a full grown leopard by the side of the road leaping up a rivulet. We got only a flashing glimpse of him but it was sure energising. On the way down I happened to see and take some nice photographs of streak-throated woodpecker who was busy pecking away at an old pine tree. I have a photograph of him with a worm in his mouth. Of course we had several Bhutia dogs following us and hanging around the camp, and one night when I stepped out to relieve my bladder, in a flash one of them snuck into my tent and if it wasn't for the alertness of my half asleep tent mate, he would probably have been comfortably sleeping inside my sleeping bag when I returned a few minutes later!  The Locals The people of Uttarakhand are special - hardy, friendly, and cheerful, despite the tough conditions under which they have to live and work. Interacting with these folks always makes one realize that there's more to life and joy than material comforts or possessions. Another beautiful thing that we were fortunate to experience on this trek was a meteor shower. I've always enjoyed looking at the stars at night, and the Milky Way in particular. I was not aware that a meteor shower was in the offing, and was thankful to the trek leader for the heads up. When I stepped out on the night of the 12th, I saw three meteors at the same time and a few minutes later I saw two other meteors , which was an absolutely delightful experience.  Trek organization The trek organiser, India Hikes, was efficient as usual, and I do think that they have gotten better over the years that I've been trekking with them. We were fortunate this time to have one of their most experienced trek leaders, Dushyant, and he certainly lived up to the reputation that preceded him . Every time I watch a good trek leader in action I have a renewed appreciation of how difficult that job is -- the participants in the trek are customers, and a bad review on Facebook or other social media could have a damming effect on both the career of the trek leader as well as the prospects of the trekking company. But at the same time, they are team members who have to be commanded, disciplined, motivated, entertained, comforted, and sometimes told “no”. To do all this while maintaining an even keel and smiling face requires a unique set of skills, which one does not see often in the same person, but Dushyant certainly had them in more than adequate measure. Due to the snow, uncertain track, and lack of fitness of some team members, he had to modify the itinerary and order some people down by the easier route, which he handled with tact.  Kuari Pass trek was my first winter trek, and I was happy to see that I was able to handle the conditions, the cold as well as the snow, as well as I thought was necessary. I do believe that winter treks are special because of the very clear day and night skies that you get, the sight of snow on the ground, less crowding in general, and the challenge that the conditions provide. I'm not sure if I'll do one again but I'm certainly glad that I did this one and that it brought otherwise bad year to a wonderful end. I remembered my mother, who passed away earlier this year, a lot during this trek, particularly when I was on the summit. After every trek, we would sit down and I would project my best photographs on the TV for her, and walk her through a day-by-day account of what had happened, and she would vicariously experience the trek through my descriptions and photographs. I was acutely aware that this time that would not be the case. But on the other hand, she was probably there with me, on my shoulder, finally experiencing what I could see with her own eyes. During the first workshop of the Stanford Seed Transformation Program, we play a video featuring business leaders from past cohorts, titled "Problem Solvers". One thing they speak about is how often they've failed and how they learned valuable lessons from those failures. It almost seems like they're glorifying failure (you know, the regular clichés: "if you haven't failed you aren't trying hard enough"). This prompted me to think about how we should think about failure.
While there is merit to the idea that an organization shouldn't vilify failure, or punish someone for failing, Jesper Sorenson puts it well when he says "I don't have a problem with well-intentioned failure" (emphasis added). In other words, don't encourage an environment in which people are being reckless, or failing for the sake of failing. The failure must be well-intentioned, in that you thought you had the wrong answer, but it turns out you didn't. Second, make sure that lessons from failure are well learned, throughout the organization. Any mistakes should (as far as possible), be new mistakes. If you shrug off failure, forgive people for failing, but don't adequately learn from the failure, then you've just flushed a lot of time and money down the drain. Have a process to learn from failure and to disseminate those lessons. Some organizations have a "Fail-faire" where they disseminate these lessons. The World Bank has an excellent blog post that covers how to organize such an event. Lastly, make sure that any experiments that are likely to result in failure are circumscribed so that they don't take down the whole organization. SMEs have limited resources, and a significant failure may bring the whole organization crashing down. Don't experiment with that important client who is fussy and demanding; find a smaller client who is forgiving and willing to take a chance. Don't roll out that new initiative throughout the organization before testing it with a smaller part first. By all means, go ahead and fail, but ensure that failure, if it were to happen, gives you the benefits you seek from it. Test new ideas, learn new lessons, create a culture of risk taking, but manage it well. |
About meExecutive, entrepreneur, investor and mentor to social entrepreneurs, golf and squash addict, author of thrillers... In short, an amateur dabbler in new experiences, and provoker of thoughts. Archives
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