YOGI THE FISH

It wasn't all roses for Yogi. But he didn't know it was worse for the others. Others  that didn't live in the deep waters of the Poorna Lake. High in the Himalayas, the Mahseer abound. But most of the fish in Poorna die of old age. nothing else.

The few locals who live here are seasoned fishermen. They fish only as much as they need. And for that there was plenty of fish. Mahseer, silver carp, trout and many more kinds. in large numbers.

Yogi's youth was energetic and he swam merrily among rocks and learnt how to hide in the shallows and dive in the deeps of his lake.  He ans the rest of his brood looked up to Chandu and Chandni, two of the biggest fish he had seen in his life. Yogi fantasised that they were his grandparents but who can tell these things... Parents is easy to know. they are the folk who keep swimming close to you without trying to eat you...
Life was all good and the water cool.

Till one day men came. In large numbers  not like the village fishermen. These were lighter coloured creatures and the fishing rod was very different from the bamboo ones Yogi used to see.  Soon enough there were insects of various types floating just below the surface. Not like local critters these were and Yogi danced around a few curiously. He saw Chandu swimming alongside and he seemed absolutely mesmerised. His eyes glassed over and he seemed like in some trance. 'Careful, that might be bait!' shouted Yogi. but it was too late. Chandu with twinkle in his eye bit it and said 'so what? If it is, I will snap the line! And then he swam powerfully away bait in mouth. Till he almost reached  his den. Then the line tightened. Chandu tensed. This was new. No village rod had that long a line.
The line started pulling Chandu back towards the shore. After a while, Chandu went to his classic move. Instead of pulling against the line he swam towards the shore faster than the man could reel and then reversed and jumped in the air before pulling away. But instead of snapping the line held firm. The eagles over head almost got him when he jumped and he realised how stupid he was to so that this early in the day. Yogi was watching all this mesmerised. Waiting for the line to break as it always did. Chandu had swam quite far away this time but the line went taut again and the reeling in began. This continued for quite some time and Yogi popped his head out to see who it was. The pale men were all standing around one fellow who had the rod and was furiously reeling it in. No spring chicken the man had a huge belly and was wearing black eyes. Chandu was furious. More at his inability to break the line than at his stupidity of taking the bait. Chandni always teased him with his penchant for shiny things. The battle raged. And Yogi watched fascinated. Chandu took the line ad zigzagged between the rocks hoping to snag it and get it stuck so that it breaks. But the line came out smoothly from the crevasses.
By now the panicked chandNi got into the act and did the only thing she knew. She went after the line. Bit hard on it. And nothing. Absolutely nothing.
 Bruised she let go. Haplessly watching the huge Chandu lose his strength. It was soon clear that it was just a matter of time before Chandu would be reeled in and made into dinner. Chandu managed a grin when he looked at Chandni his  eyes showed his fatigue yet he smiled crookedly because of the hook. And said. ' see ya on the other side my love.' and he let go. For a while the line didn't move. And he got another wind but the fight had gone out of him. He just wanted there. And just like that he was gone. The line was reeling him in speed.
And then he was out of the water. All the fish just watched. As his body left the Lake and was gone.

Yogi decided he would follow as much as he could. So from under the shade of a shrub overhang he watched as the men pulled Chandu out of the water. Cut the hook and stood around a group.theyball seemed to be looking at the man with a camera. Then they took turns to hold him and finally Big Belly got him back to hold. No one looked like they were in a hurry for a good meal. Big Belly caressed him. And the very dehydrated Chandu looked up. 'what's going on? This is not right' he was thinking.  Yogi instinctively knew what was going to happen. And the second thing he knew was he couldn't stop it from happening. Big  Belly magnanimously returned Chandu to the water. It was too shallow. For far too long. Yogi could only look on as a somewhat dazed Chandu swam for his life. Towards his den. Towards Chandni. But in one fell swoop, two eagles picked him out of the water with pincer claws and flew away from each other, literally tearing him in two. Some bits fell into the water too. And Yogi finished his soundless scream.

Chandni had turned to lead and lay at the bottom like a rock. Her shock was not to go away for long.

Young Yogi went to his mother and asked "why?"

"Why do people hunt us when they do not even want to eat us? They are not hungry. So why hunt? "

His mother looked at her son. She knew he would grow to be as big as Chandu if jot bigger but suddenly didnt feel like he would grow that old. She replied, "Because they can".

Like Water For Concrete

Advertising. Would I have become a part of the industry had I known what I would be doing? Probably not. All I know is that if you did your non-IIM MBA from anywhere outside Mumbai, agencies such as Lintas would say, Don't call us, we'll call you. Possessed with no mean mind but no special literary or artistic affinity except the need to read, I found myself often wondering what I should be doing with my life. I don't have an answer yet. But advertising was something that I had to do. So I did. Did my summer training in it, my dissertation in it and sat home till I found a job in it. I worked in advertising agencies. Started as an account executive and stayed in account management till I joined a manufacturing company with own brands. It was fascinating work. Advertising agencies were not the skeletons they are now (sorry to whoever is offended. but the truth is the truth and it shall offend). The media deptt was still a part of an agency and not a separate agency. Clients paid full commission (15%) and creative charges were separate. In fact when I moved to the brand side (as it was called) it was to retain relationship with both, the media and creative, as they were being split at the agency end.

But account servicing as a function is quite a thankless task. You bring up a baby mostly someone else begat, sometimes you helped with the naming, sometimes it was the creatives who did, and often it was the client's wife. Why the baby cried was supposed to be known to the planners, while the creative and media people were the doctors. People saw you as a kind of go between (I'll get back to you and all that). A salesman. A manager. A coper. Interloper. Jokes were cracked by creative types who smoked too much and had too much coffee while producing too little creative work and that too of suspect quality mostly. Not all, but enough to make that a cliche. They were usually sulking over the last great campaign of theirs that the agency couldn't sell or the stupid client shot down. But you worked. So I did.

During my entire career especially the 10 years in ad agencies, there have been countless instances where the line had been written by me, the logo design dictated by me, event conceptualised by me, name given, this designed, that ideated... but with no credit to me. It's crazy. That's something that I think most account persons have endured. If you think up of something you're just doing your job. And if someone else does, what a wonderful job they've done! The hypocrisy came so easily and naturally that no one minded or objected. Credit has been taken by seniors, juniors, bosses, clients so many times. Everytime it happened with me, I felt charitable and didn't bother, I will get more ideas I thought and so far I always have. Thankfully.

My late mother, was always confused about what I really did. My account group head designation not helping at all here. when I showed her a few campaigns where I had written the copy she got it. But later on, when I showed her the campaigns she asked me what I had done in those. She pointed to the picture. Had I taken that? No. The words? No. Logo design? No. She kept pointing to each possible element. I gave up and started thinking. Then a few days later. thought of a brilliant answer ( I thought). So, I went to her and asked her that did she want to know what I did? She said yes, my sister had told her. So I never got around to telling her. The answer has helped shape my life since. Its simply like water for concrete. No structure possible without it. And after all is built, there is no trace of it. No cement, sand, iron can make a pillar stand without water. Yet when you break it down there is no trace of it. That's the kind of role I had Ma.