Professionalism

This story is an excerpt from Prof. Balaram's new book "Design Values".

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Designers think they are professionals; often without thinking what professionalism really means. Ask any student or even a professional, and you get conflicting answers. I narrate an experience here which I feel explains professionalism very eloquently.

One Dusty morning while I was at NID as Chairman PEP(“Professional” Education Programme) the security at the main gate called me to let me know that a cobbler wanted to meet me on some personal matter. I was puzzled. It couldn’t be that he wanted to put his daughter in NID! Or was I biased against poor people? Soon, a man was brought to my office whose expression was like a child entering a lavish Bhansali film set. How foolish it was of me to think that design schools did not have glamour? After his “Ram Ram Saab” with a grin, I recognized him. I did not know his name but he was the same guy who used to sit under a small neem tree opposite Delight Bakery, close to NID. But he and his little wooden box had been missing from that spot for one month. I daily cycled that way, to and from NID and noticed it. He took out from his pocket some money, counted carefully and placed 15 rupees on my table. He explained, noticing my questioning looks. ‘Saab, a month ago your chappal broke and you came to me for mending it. I did so and my charge was five rupees. But you had only a twenty rupee note and other higher value notes. I did not have the change either and you left in a hurry on your cycle saying you were from NID nearby and you would collect the change the next day. But that very evening I received a message that my mother had passed away. I had to rush to my native village in Rajasthan. I came to return your change.’ I was astonished. My pragmatic instinct (call it Gujarati instinct if you like) told him, ‘Come on Bhai. This trip must have cost you more than the amount you owed me. After all, it is just 15 rupees. I almost forgot about it.’ ‘No, saab,’ he explained to me in a serious tone. ‘It is not the amount or trouble involved. Nor is it about your affordability. It is about professionalism. If I do not return the balance I owe you, you would certainly think that all the cobblers sitting under a tree, working like me, are cheats who run away. Removing that kind of impression is very important for the good of the whole community. And that is worth any amount of trouble to an individual. Once a reputation is doubted, the profession is gone.' That day I learnt a big lesson in professionalism from a poor, illiterate guy who had never stepped into or even heard of a management school.

Professionalism is not just delivering on time; it is much more than that. It is how much a service provider cares for the client and how much he keeps the whole group of co-practitioners above himself.

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To buy a copy of Prof. Balaram's new book "Design Values", you can email him at s.balaram43@gmail.com

-Vedant Sharma

Indian design stories; An anecdotal history of Indian design

Preamble
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Stories are fun way of understanding profound philosophies. They work in our minds subconsciously.

I grew up listening to stories and then started writing and telling them, not only as fiction but also as part of my conversation or my lecture. Friends and students who love me asked me many times to write them down and share with all.
As 2017 resolution, I am taking a plunge and promising them that I shall write one anecdote every Sunday through out the year. These Indian Design Stories are dedicated to them who include- Jagjot, Shalini, Suresh Immanuel, Anjani, Deepthi, Tania, Suvarna, Vikas, Radha, Neha, Neetu etc. for a story belongs to the audience than to the story teller.

These incidents took place while I was a Designer-Teacher at National Institute of Design, between 1966 - 2006. I Changed the names only where the story reflected negatively on the person mentioned. The incidents however authentic.

Each story is a learning and a reflection on Indian Design.
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 WK 1: Presence of Design: Dalai lama
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It was a hot afternoon in Ahmedabad.

I was officiating Director of NID as the Director Vinay Jha was away.

I suddenly get a telephone call from ISRO that his highness Dalailama is in transit through Ahmedabad that day and generously agreed for a brief meeting with the heads of the prestigious institutions in the city. The meeting was fixed at 4pm with a foot-note 'kindly be in time since his highness has to catch the connecting flight.

I involuntarily looked at my watch which showed 3.50pm.

I did not want to miss this opportunity nor bring bad name to NID.

I immediately asked Maharaj, our driver (don't ask me why a driver is called Maharaj, that is another story) to drive me to the venue, the Gandhi Ashram in Paldi. This was where gandhi stayed before moving to Sabarmati Ashram. It was not far from NID but became such a neglected place that I took a lot of time locating the meeting hall.Assuming it would be a talk by the great man, i took with me nothing but a pen and a scribbling pad.

Since it was already 4pm, I rushed inside, only to find that I was the first person to arrive.A couple of Khadi clad men rolled a dhurrie on the floor and I sat cross legged in the middle under the fan. The fan cooled me and made me grasp my foolishness and the organisers cleverness: The 'Indian punctuality'.

Gradually the heads of other prestigious institutions started pouring soon I found myself in the middle of a sea of 'Heads".

Around 5pm his highness arrived and sat cross legged on a Khadi Gaddi in the front.

Some one welcomed and thanked his highness for this opportunity and then started calling the name of each institution. The head of that institution would then go with a garland or huge bouquet of flowers, offer it to his highness and receive his blessings.

There was no talk.

Then to my shock I realised that I came without any garland or bouquet and there was no time to go out. NID name would be called any time. I would look a damn fool to go to his highness empty handed. I needed some quick innovative thinking. 

I looked around!

The 'Heads' sitting all around me had very huge garlands made of delicate roses which they are throwing around as a show off. I felt like chopping those heads off!

Then my eyes fell on the dhurrie where these garland were kept and scuttled around. A lot of petals came out. I waited with bated breath till their names were called, and as soon as each one was called and went to meet Dalailama, I quietly gathered the flower petals dropped from their over thick garlands.

NID and my name was called.

I got up confidently and went with my cupped hands brimful with rose petals and poured at the feet of his highness, humbly muttering "Design is different, Sir!".

He gave such a wonderful smile which stayed with me all my life!
.........5.2.17

Mind your language please!

POWER OF THE WORD

seeing darkness

it was late night.
a deafening thunder and a blinding lightening.
power went off and there is pitch darkness everywhere.
i screamed in joy.
"why??" some one asked from some where in the dark.
what a question??
why? because now i can see the pure darkness!
the darkest of the dark. only in that darkest of the dark, i can see the rain better.
pure darkness?? darkness will show the rain better.
yes. how can one see the darkness with lights? how can you search silence with talks?
you can only see the darkness with no-lights.
when you go with darkness, it will show itself to you.
what an ammazing black !
inetially it is all pitch dark.
hold on for a while, give her time to dress up, and then mysteriously she emerges - revealing one by one her different shades of black.
first you see the vast sky in dark grey.
then, against this vast gray, graphically dotted by the lines of rain, are the huge black shapes of trees, moving wildly like possessed devils with flowing hair.
and then you will see the dead lamp posts standing like children frozen with fear.
focus your gaze further and you will see the main gate of your house closer to you in middle gray .
then slowly emerge the walls of your parapet and the handrails of stairs in light gray.
finally the wall closest to will appear in thee lightest gray.
the depths of darkness they produce together is unequal to anything you have ever seen.
the rhythmic sound of the rain falling through the leaves of the coconut tree on to my roof top provide such a musical accompanyment which beats thousand tanpuras.

and suddenly.....
there is electrifying lightening.
in that fraction of a second, the whole scene at once transforms as if lit by thousand suns, a totally different magical experience!!
your senses are ignited.
the heart pounding thunder follows.
you will be hit by the hair raising chill and the fresh aroma of the earth, just like a beautiful young woman rushing naked out of the bath room.
now i know why earth is always termed as woman , not man.
it is an unforgettable multisensory experience!!
lights would have been such an intrusion in this romance.
and you ask me 'why'?
........ a thud.
i jump, startled.
two sparks of eyes. and a black mass. the cat!!
huh!
i close my eyes and immeddiately i become attuned, like the radio tuner, to distant sounds far away- the clanking in the kitchen, the dog bark on the street and the drowning of the traffic far away.
(to be continued by you.....)

Sparsh

saw sparsh. after long time.
yes. sparsh speaks.
Sparsh speaks more eloquently than words.
i know sai paranjapey as colleague board member at NID.
she would be delighted to know that a new age youth is sensitive to the subtleties of her old forgotten sparsh.
Not everybody likes sparsh. I do.
Last night I was watching ‘nottinghill’ and interestingly, I find lot of similarities to ‘sparsh’at a very deeper level. only the contexts differ. The stories are different but the concerns are the same.

Ironical it may seem, but to me, sparsh is not about the physical touch.
It is not about widow..
it is not about blindness either.
I think, sparsh is about fear.
the fear of entering into a relationship.
the fear of love.
The fear of belonging.
the fear of loosing ones individuality in life. And most importantly,
the fear of loosing ones self- dignity, which is more than life.

the best thing about the film is the way that fear is shown.

i feel that the film has an overall delicacy which only a woman can make me feel. a woman director only can make such film.
look at the way the development of feeling for each other (shabana and shah) is shown: over amjad ali khan's wonderful sarod notes,(the right sound for love);
and the quiet way she expresses her love to him.
remember the scene where shah accidentally touches her dead husbands photo and realises her marital situation. it is depicted so sightlessly, so soundlessly and so briefly, all in a fraction of a second.
that is really cinematic brilliance.

another scene which is worth remembering is this. when shah bursts with anger, shabana does not ask him to cool down. she gently and soothingly comments that how much pain he must be holding inside him. When some one close to me gets angry, that is what exactly I feel.
the film is about love. but the love is shown through not only the main characters but also through the other minor characters too.
the children of the school love shabana too and one of the boys offers his thumb to her. its a very touching moment personally to me because it really happened with a student of mine (except that she is a girl of 26). receiving love is an art and unfortunately most of us are incapable of it.
the little boy paplu almost died because shabana did not bother for his love towards her. her insensitivity hurt him so badly.
there is no greater pain than rejected love. i know people who have died because of such insensitivity.
the duel fight between the two boys to win shabanas love is no way lesser than the classic duels where two suiters fight a duel till death. the most meaningful touch is paplu fighting with closed eyes because his opponent is blind.that is fairness. that is the law in classic duel. and he does it without being told by any one.what heroism in such a little kid!it puts the grown-ups to shame.

the best thing about sparsh is that though it is dealing with such an emotional subject as love, yet it does not make it soapy, sentimental chewing gum. there is maturity in the love shown in the film.
“sacrifice, seva, ‘mein kuch bhi karunga thumhare liye’ “ is all childish rubbish. there should be individuality and equal respect to each other. a true relationship is really ‘give and take’, and not the slave and master relationship. how many people understand this ? for the most Indian men, it is undigestable.

in one scene when shah heatedly proclaims that he can do anything entirely by himself and does not need anybody, shabana jokingly tells him " no, you cannot tie your neck tie" the scene is shown in a light vain but it has serious implications. to me it conveys that ‘ you may be capable of doing many things but its always a form of great security and pleasure that somebody else does it for you, without necessarily making you dependent on her/him.

The last scene tells it all, with the dialogue-“tum sach muuch andhey ho..” true. most of us are blind about others love. It is our incapacity, our disability, our terrible fear to reach and touch the other. The man needed that verbal slap to come to his senses. In ‘nottinghill’ it happens another way.
the film is most emphatic about one thing " kisi ko kami ko bar bar yad math dilao". pitying itself is bad, it pains like a wound. Mocking,which we sometimes do insensitively, is pouring chilli powder and salt on it.

i wish more people will see sparsh and get what it says in their head as well as in their heart.

why should you not be angry, sir?

preface: philosopher j.krishnamurti was once asked by a gentleman, "sir, i often get very angry with my wife.please tell me how can i stop getting angry?"
krishnamurti thundered back. "tell me, why should you not get angry ,sir?"

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a parable :
......................................................

two young people met on a wonderful morning in a great
city.

she was exquisitely beautiful, fair, with large bright
eyes, long flowing hair, a mellifluous voice and an
unmatched grace and charm.

he was amazingly healthy, slim, with a handsome face,
broad forehead, a well read mind and an unmatched
maturity and manner.

roses have thorns.
mangoes have seeds.
peacocks cant fly.
mona lisa's smile is sickly.
there is no perfection in gods creation,they say.
she had canine teeth.
he had white hair.

the young couples meeting soon developed into a sweet
relationship and they decided to get married.

there was a yogi meditating in an ashram on the
outskirts of the city on a hill. the yogi was crazy. but
the young couple had great reverence for the yogi and
therefore sought his permission and blessings for
their marriage.
they both visited the yogi..

the yogi, on knowing their wish, asked them to meet
him individually and answer one question put by him.

"what do you think of his white hair?" he asked the
girl.
"that is no problem sir, he had agreed to dye it
black, -for me." she said assuredly.
"what do you think of her canine teeth?" he asked the
boy.
"that is no problem sir, she had agreed to remove them
surgically,-for me." he said confidently.

the yogi then addressed them both.
"go away you imbeciles! how dare you think of a
marriage which ought to be enduring and blissful bond.
you are not even true friends yet. i will hit you if
you waste any more of my time."
he raised his hand and threw his stick angrily at
them.

frightened and disappointed, the young couple went
away.

nevertheless, after about an year, they visited the
yogi again.
the yogi put the same questions individually.

"his white hair does not bother me sir. i accept him
as he is. he need not dye his hair." the girl replied
sincerely.
"her canine teeth does not bother me sir. i accept her
as she is. she need not remove her teeth." the boy
replied truthfully.

the yogi then addressed them both.
"go away you fools! marriage is not a magic wand but
an enduring and blissful bond. you are nothing more
than mere friends now. that is not enough. i will hit
you if you waste any more of my time."
he raised his hand and threw his stick angrily at
them.

frightened and disappointed, the young couple went
away.

nevertheless, after about an year, they visited the
yogi again.
the yogi put the same questions individually.

"i adore his silvery white hair sir. it makes his face
so unique ,giving the look of a wise man with a halo.
his best feature is his white hair." the girl said
with a sparkle in her eyes.
"i adore her canine teeth sir. they make her smile so
unique, giving the look of nature's bounty. her best
feature is her canine teeth." the boy said with a
shine in his face.

the yogi then addressed them both.
"come my children. you are now really and truly in
love with each other. your marriage will be blissful
and enduring. i shall bless you with all my spiritual
power and conduct your wedding personally."
he raised his hand. immediately the young girl ducked
and the young boy stepped back.

the unique beauty of rose is its thorns.
the unique beauty of mango is its seed.
the unique beauty of peacock is its non-flying.
the unique beauty of mona lisa is her sickly smile.
what is wrongly called as imperfection is in fact the
beauty spot of gods creation.
a black rose is not an odd rose but a unique rose, a dried leaf is not an ugly leaf but a unique beauty of colour and texture, a wrinkle is simply as beautiful as the dimple, only if we take off our coloured glasses and see.

the yogi raised his hand and said "dont be afraid. i am
not throwing my stick at you this time. i am only
blessing."
"sir, please scold us in your usual feigned anger to
shake us out of our wits. we consider that your scolding is our true
blessing." the young couple said in joyful unison.
and added with a twinkle in their eyes, "the best thing about you sir, is your anger."
the yogi laughed divinely.
a hundred rainbows chimed sweetly in the hearts of everybody in the valley.
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post-face:real love is not merely accepting but admiring even those aspects which appear negative to others. besides, there is as much beauty in the dried old leaves as in the fresh young leaves, as much beauty in the pinched assymetric pot as in the smooth symmetric pot,if only we remove our coloured glasses.

Frozen Time

those who feel with me that there is silent music will readily agree that photography is nothing but a moment frozen in time. besides, a photograph is not just what you see with eyes. you actually see with your mind and heart. you bring all your experience evoked by that image. therefore, two people, you and me, perceive two different images and experiences from the same image.
i see the photographer behind every photograph like i hear the author speaking to me through the pages when i read a book.
i have chosen these two visuals not only to share with you my aesthetic pleasure but also to challenge you to find out what they are. the art of provocation is my way of dialogue.