I Bought The Monk's Ferrari (4 page)

The airport was crowded. Four Air Deccan flights were delayed. All the passengers converged around the small Air Deccan counter manned by two junior staff-members, who were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The Air Deccan staff had absolutely no clue about the arrival and departure schedules.

The waiting lounge was full. An elderly couple sat down on the floor in the middle of the hall. They were too tired to stand. Other passengers, too, were getting restless. It was hot and humid and despite the air-conditioning, everyone was sweating profusely. The clock was approaching midnight at a feverish pace.

To be fair, Air Deccan could not be held responsible. Due to heavy monsoon showers in Kerala, flights could not take off on time, throwing the entire connecting schedule out of gear.

As the passengers started getting impatient, a security guard stepped in,
'Aap logon ko to pata hai, yeh roz ka haal hai. Phir ap isme ticket kyon lete hain
(You all know, this is a daily affair. Then why do you buy tickets on this airline?).'

The guard had intended to help by being sympathetic. Instead, he ended up instigating the crowd. A heated debate started on whether low-cost actually meant low service levels.

Air Deccan,
Hai ... Hail
Air Deccan,
Hai ... Hail!!'
The chants started reverberating in the entire airport. The counter staff, sensing trouble, disappeared.

Suddenly, amidst the loud din and the crowd frenzy, I heard a tiny, delicate voice. Air Deccan,
Hai ... Hai!
Air Deccan,
Hai ...
Hai!!!!' It sounded like a sacred chant in a noisy pub, a sprinkle of cold water in the midst of a desert storm.

I turned to look behind me. Standing there holding her beautiful mother's right hand with her left, pumping her right hand in the air, as she joined the crowd in screaming, was a small, tiny little cherub. At most, she would have been six years old. Oblivious of the public gaze, she seemed to be enjoying herself, screaming herself hoarse.

Flashback to the year 2000:
The setting—Chennai airport. It was two in the afternoon. I was waiting outside the airport, waiting for the flight from Delhi to arrive. Thankfully, I was not made to wait in the sun for long. The flight was on time. Within fifteen minutes, a pretty young face made her way out of the airport holding a newborn, wrapped in a soft quilt. As she approached me, I stepped out from where 1 was standing, walked towards her and gave her a warm lingering hug. I bent down to look at the angel, blissfully asleep, gave her a peck on the cheek and then took her over from her mother and walked towards the parking lot where
my
Maruti 800 was parked.
My
wife and newborn, Anusha, had returned home from Delhi, where Dharini had gone for giving birth to our first child.

Standing beside me at the Mumbai airport holding my daughter's hand firmly was my wife of twelve years, trying unsuccessfully to control my daughter as she continued with her chant 'Air Deccan,
Hai ... Hai'.
This was my daughter's first exposure to a public display of anger—though she was screaming more out of fun than anger.

Somehow, the flight took off at 1.30 a.m., and by the time we reached the hotel in Thiruvananthapuram, it was 4.00 a.m. We slept for a couple of hours and then caught the flight to Male, the next morning.

At the Thiruvananthapuram airport, as we were getting off the taxi to head inside, Anusha asked me, 'Appa, which flight are we taking now?'

'Indian Airlines, Anusha. That's the only one which goes to Maldives.'

Thank God!
Appa,
from now on, we'll not go by Air Deccan. I will only come by Jet or Kingfisher.' These were the leading airlines in the country. My wife looked at me and smiled.

'That's clever; for a six-year-old to know the good airlines from the bad ones.' She was thrilled.

I was not. For me the statement held a different meaning, something which made me uncomfortable, something way more serious than the battle between the low-cost and the luxury airlines, much more disturbing than the deterioration of Indian Airlines and Air India. Something, that evolved faster than the pace at which new airlines were entering the Indian air space.

I travelled by air for the first time when I was twenty-three years old. I was the first in my family to do so. My daughter travelled by air when she was twenty-three days old. And by six, she developed an idea about the airline company to select and the one to reject.

We always overestimate the change
that will occur in the next two years
and underestimate the change that
will occur in the next ten. Don't let
yourself be lulled into inaction.

B
ILL
G
ATES

This took me back to the memory of my first flight from Bangalore to Delhi. Just as the plane was disappearing into the clouds, I had caught the fleeting glimpse of a Ferrari. A red Ferrari. And then, it disappeared. After fourteen years of toil and sweat, I was nowhere close to the Ferrari, and here was my daughter making demands of the airlines she wished to travel by.

T
hat night at Hyderabad, when I returned to my hotel room after the enchanting drive in the Ferrari, sleep had deserted me. I desperately wanted the Ferrari for myself. I had tasted blood. I had driven one.... Finally, when my eyes closed involuntarily at 4.00 a.m., I was still dreaming of the Ferrari.

The next day, by a streak of providence I happened to come across a copy of
The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari
by Robin Sharma at the airport. I had heard about the book, picked it up on an impulse, started reading it on the flight and continued reading back at home. I skipped office that day to finish the book. It was about a hotshot lawyer, Julian Mantle, who, one fine day, sold off everything that he possessed—his island, private jet plane, mansion, even his new red Ferrari and headed to the Himalayas, where he met a sage, learnt lessons about life, and became a monk.

You are the person who has to decide.

Whether you'll do it or toss it aside

You are the person who makes up your mind.

Whether you'll lead or will linger behind.

Whether you'll try for the goal that's afar.

Or just be contented to stay where you are.

E
DGAR
A. G
UEST

This made one fact of life appear more blatant to me than ever. In order to give up something you first need to possess it. Julian Mantle could give away his Ferrari because he owned one. He had achieved success in life and hence, could afford to transcend it.

It is true that success, i.e. material success is only one of the several strata of life that needs to be transcended for the fulfilment of the being. But to expand beyond success, to have the guts to discard it for greater realities of life, you must experience success first. The question is not of being a monk or a materialist; it is the question of self-realisation. There are different aspects of the Self, and all these aspects are necessary for self-realisation. Therefore, owning a Ferrari is important. Success, money and the associated lifestyle are important, as they help you to realise yourself, first and foremost, then of course, for your family, near and dear ones.

Before I move on, I would like to emphasise on something here. You must be wondering as to what a six-year-old girl's flying experience has to do with the Ferrari? What does the first flying experience of a twenty-three-year-old tell you?

It is not about flying. It is about changing lifestyles, cultures, expectations and hence, the changing pressures on all. It epitomises the way the world has changed over the last decade. When I passed out from IIM-Bangalore, not having travelled by air ever in life was not strange, but today it definitely will raise a few eyebrows.

Success, money and the associated lifestyles have never been more important. Social pressures, personal requirements, the need for maintaining a standard of living have never been so crucial. Even the pressures from family to maintain a certain status are at an all-time high. The needs and desires of children today are not similar to those when we were young. Today, demands have undergone a radical change. The difference is like chalk and cheese. Let me elaborate this with some instances.

In my school days, neither me, nor any of my friends were ever embarrassed about visiting their hometowns or villages during the summer vacations. In fact, summer vacations were meant to be family reunion sessions. I still remember, in my childhood days, I would trudge with my family all the way from Ludhiana, where we lived, to Trichy in Tamil Nadu, to meet my grandparents. It was partly because exotic vacations were a drain on your finances, and only a few had enough money to afford such luxuries.

But it is not so anymore. Try talking to your children on the first day after their vacations....

The conversations will only be about... 'Dad, Prerna went to Switzerland for her vacations, Aashna went to America ... Kabir's parents took him to Disneyland.' What does this show? Peer pressure starts building up from within the school itself. God help you, if you had taken your child to Matheran, Mahabaleshwar or Nainital. You've had it. How will you live upto the expectations your children and family have of you if you are not successful?

Today, being successful is a pre-requisite for a happy family. Every child wants a successful parent; every spouse wants a successful spouse. If you are not in the league, or not directionally moving towards it, it becomes one of the reasons for conflicts to arise.

If you do not believe what I am saying, do this simple exercise. Ask your children, when they attain a sensible age if they would have preferred their parent to be the managing director of a company with a high pressure job which leaves him little time for the family; or if they preferred the parent to be a clerk with lots of time for their family, but hardly any money to take care of their worldly desires. If the answer is the latter, please do not read further—this book is not for you. I would be surprised if any one of you does that because my experience says that you will never get this answer.