Make Success Your Way of Living by Ravish Mani

Ravish Mani is well-known in the blogosphere. His insightful comments on blogs reflect his philosophical personality. His own writings are inspiration and food for thought. He has an acumen for reading in between the lines. If you want your work to be critically appreciated, you would want him to read it. And this is no flattery. I make this statement based on the comments I have received for many of the short fictional pieces and poetry I have written.

Make Success Your Way of Living by Ravish Mani is a compilation of personal anecdotes, examples and experiments from the animal world and quotes from famous people. The author philosophically reinforces his ideas by repeatedly stressing on the significance of adopting the right 'attitude' towards success. Doubt and failure are considered stepping stones rather than hindrances. Success is measured against failure, and not along with achievement. It is emphasized again and again that winning does not make you a winner just like losing does not make you a loser. 

The beauty of the central thought of the book is captured in the lines from Bhagwad Gita that serve as the epigraph to the book. Let me quote the lines here:

He who sees inaction in action, and action in inaction is wise among human; he is successful, who has accomplished what one has to. (Bhagwad Gita Chapter 4 Verse 18) 

Achievements are not defined necessarily by what the final outcome is. Success is a journey, not an end-point. Accomplishments are meant to be glorified in the way they came about, and not in isolation. Ravish throughout the book, by way of different examples, reiterates this point. True success is desire matched with integrity. What one really wants is important, but what is also important is modelling a correct conduct. The classic example Ravish gives in this regard is that of Reuben Gonzales who chose to lose his racquetball match in order to keep his integrity intact. That does not mean that one ought to fail to succeed. Failures are experiences. They are proofs of the hard work and the effort required to reach the final goal. One who does not strive does not learn.

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The author begins by telling about his own stint with success. No, he did not become a celebrity overnight. He did not achieve the glamour associated with stardom. But within a limited span of time, he was able to achieve something he desired. All he did was take the right steps. He was willing to take the risk, and with this willingness came the idea that helped him reach his goal. That was success to him in the true sense of the word. He did not do any "preparation" but was rather "prepared" to take action. Ravish aptly differentiates between the two:

"Preparation means mechanical activity while preparedness means conscious activity. Preparation is a state of sleeping, in which you do things unconsciously. You cannot do anything new. You can only do the things that you were taught while preparing for the situation. You cannot think out of the box. On the other hand, preparedness is state of awareness. It can think new solutions because your mind is alert." 

Success according to the author, is not just a record of goals achieved. It gels with a happy personality. Happiness is crucial for success because an unhappy heart can seldom reach success. An unhappy person cannot comprehend the meaning of accomplishment for he is not in harmony with his inner self. To be able to achieve goals that are worthy, one has to first adopt a healthy attitude.  Ravish writes:

"Success means having such a personality that every effort will lead towards the achievement of a worthy goal."

Ravish uses a haiku written by Kokila Gupta to explain how our interpretation of life, and the events that happen around us define us, or rather how we give definitions to the events around us, and hence to the life we live. I have a different interpretation for the haiku but the way the author describes two contrary meanings of the haiku reflect how we are tuned to think. The thought-processes we are habitual of often trap us and limit our scope. We ourselves enfeeble us and blame it to some external source. The truth is that we choose and we are the doers, no matter what. Our perceptions can become our traps.

"We can never know what others say; we can only know what we hear.”

Our fears are our allies too, according to Ravish. It is fear, as the author notes, which awakens our consciousness. There is a great example the writer gives which I would like to share here. A man had fear of heights. He went to a saint so that the latter could help him achieve a state of consciousness. The saint asked him to climb a tall tree or go home. The man despite his fear started climbing. As he was about to reach the top, the saint asked him to be brave. On his way down, as the man neared the ground, the saint warned him to be careful. The man was angry and asked the saint why when he was so near to the summit and to the ground did he feel the need to warn. The saint replied that when he was going up, he was fearful and conscious. But as he neared success, there was danger of going back to the state of  drowsiness and he might have quit. While coming back, he was overconfident and it might have been harmful to his conscious state of mind.

Through this example Ravish has clearly brought out the significance of remaining on a sound foothold even while succeeding. It might be the last but one illusive step that can be disastrous and cause our doom. Success comes to those who choose to remain awake.

Doubt has often been a stumbling block for many. It is a paralyzing force that slows us down and eventually makes us quit. That is what we feel. But for the author:

"Doubt is an indication of a somewhat disturbed belief system which needs immediate attention and some remedial action."

Doubt is that moment wherein questions need to be asked. It is a state of consciousness not lulled by blind faith but active interrogation. Hence it has power. It has strength which can be aptly challenged towards creativity. Ravish gives fine examples to prove his point. Towards the end of the book, he even quotes one of his reader who is an avid believer but is often assailed by doubt. The reader finds relief in the assertion that to doubt is not bad. Mindless following ought to be shunned.

In order to succeed, one ought to be ready to embrace everything one would usually not relate to success - fear, doubt, and failure.

The author ends his book asking his readers to dwell on the concept of the Penrose Triangle. It is a concept new to me. But after reading the book, I thought that the 'impossible' triangle is the metaphor for the thought process that seeks to achieve a state of harmony between the doer and the action - a harmony wherein both blend into each other inseparably, a state where they exist but they are not there. It lies at the root of Hui Neng's example cited in the book wherein the disciple on being asked, "What is enlightenment?", replies “There is no mind and there is no mirror, so where can the dust gather? One who knows this is enlightened.”

Success can come only in this state of purity.

I also asked Ravish to clarify his point of view on the Penrose Triangle in regard to his book. Let me quote what Ravish says:

"A defining characteristic of impossible object is that each part makes sense but the whole does not; local geometry is satisfied but the figure’s global geometry is ambiguous or contradictory, and the viewer must constantly revise their understanding of the figure as their eye travels over it."

I highlight the last part of the answer given because this is integral to our understanding of success too. What our mind perceives as success at one point of time might not when viewed as a whole be success in conventional terms. But if we take it apart, it might be success indeed. Viewed from different perspectives, success may appear as failure and failure may appear as success. It depends on where we position ourselves. 

The last chapter of the book is crucial to understanding the whole book for that matter, and it is difficult too. I am not very philosophically-grounded to comprehend all that Ravish has written. But the duality between the doer and the action, the requirement of harmony, the necessity to reach a point of unity so that the stage of 'no-consciousness' (see Post-Script as the end)is achieved are according to the author significant in understanding wherein lies success.

There is a lot to learn from the countless examples given, from the action steps provided at the end of each chapter and from the impressive quotes from various sources Ravish uses throughout the book. The book is not just about success, but about making a habit of success - a habit that comes as an individual develops a happy personality that is eager to live with passion and integrity. The classic example of the saint enjoying the strawberries while his death is ready to devour him is cardinal to the point raised by the book. Live in the moment with a fully awakened consciousness, and overcome failures and hindrances by negating their debilitating forces.

Those who love to read self-help books will enjoy reading this book. Those who like to learn from examples will find a lot in this book that is to their taste. 

My only concern is that it has not been edited well. I hope the author makes note of it and makes necessary changes. 

To download a copy of Ravish's book and to visit his blog, click ravishmani.com

Post-Script - After reading the review, Ravish had a question as to what I meant by 'no-consciousness'. It was something he had never meant anywhere in his book. I need to clarify that by 'no-consciousness' I meant reaching a stage of, what the writer calls, 'no-thought', when all thoughts are shattered. It is a state of mind that is free of ego and its co-relates. It is the point at which ultimate harmony can be attained.



You might also like:

पुस्तक समीक्षा - अमित अग्रवाल की चिटकते कांचघर

Tomichan Matheikal's The Nomad Learns Morality

Lata Subramanian's A Dance with the Corporate Ton - Reflections of a Worker Ant



Linking to Day 3 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5

Enduring Oak...

While visiting a friend's place, I came across a majestic tree in their yard. I have no knowledge of trees, so I asked them which tree it was. It looked royal. It stood apart with an imperial presence. My friends told me that it was oak tree. And then they asked me to look closer. I didn't comprehend what they were pointing at. So I returned a blank look. Then, the owner clarified. The oak tree was split in the middle but was joining slowly. Due to some disease, the middle of the tree had died. But the stalks and the branches around it had survived and they were progressively encircling the dead midsection. I was amazed at the sight. I said to myself, "Life is choking death here." The phrase stayed with me. It was a classic example of survival of the fittest. And it was in keeping with the symbolism attached to Oak trees. They are epitomes of endurance. They are exemplars of continuity. I came home and wrote these lines:

Reeds encircle tree

True to the spirit of Oak

Choking death with life...

This is the picture of the oak tree in my friend's yard. Look closely at the split in the middle.

I dwelt some more time on these deciduous trees. And I read about the oracle at Dodona. Oak was associated with prophecy in Greek mythology. The oracle at Dodona was consulted by many warriors like Achilles and Odysseus as a guide to their future course of action. Another very interesting thing I found out about oak was that it was ink made from oak gall-nut which was used to write major works in Western history like Magna Carta and Mozart's music. Here are the lines I wrote based on these two discoveries:

Rustling prophecy

Dodonian Oak whispers to

Valiant Heroes

Seekers, Wanderers

Hearken to bronze resonance

Forward Tread in Faith

Lost in history

Bicentennial oak

Survives as Legend

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Larvae-laden leaf -

Did a wasp write history?

It's an Oak-bred wor(l)d

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Linking it to Day 2 of Write Tribe Festival of Words #5

काश ये दुनिया रंगहीन ही होती

कभी सोचती हूँ कि काश दुनिया में कोई रंग ही न होते।

न गोरा न काला न भूरा 

न गुलाबी न नीला। ... 

कोई भेदभाव न होता

संकीर्ण मानसिकता न होती

समरंगी ये दुनिया होती। .... 

आज पक्षपाती दूषित विचार

मानवता पर कर रहे हर रोज़ अत्याचार

मनोहर रंग-भरी दुनिया को मैला करते

अब कहाँ हम रंगों को पहचान पाएंगे?

सब द्वेष से ढका दिखाई देता है

कोई होता जो हमें सिखाता

इंद्रधनुष के जैसा बनना

विभिन्नता का सामंजस्य

विविधता की संगति

बहुरंगी मिलाप की सुंदरता 

कभी सोचती हूँ कि काश ये दुनिया रंगहीन ही होती

गर एक दिन सब रंग खो जाएँ

शायद सब रंगों की महत्ता समझ जाएँ

बस एक दिन बिना रंगों की दुनिया की कल्पना करके देखो

नीले आसमान ,हरे पेड़ों और रंग-बिरंगे फूलों के बिना जी के देखो 

अपने वर्ण का दम्भ भी मिटा के देखो 

रंग हैं तो हम हैं 

रंग ही जीवन की परिभाषा हैं 

रंग ही जीवन का सार हैं। ....  

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Linking it to IndiSpire #125

Linking to Day 1 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5

Forgivess is a Choice - Difficult But Worthy....

In The Book of Forgiving, the author Desmond Tutu asks the reader to hold a stone big enough to fit your palm for six hours. It is to be held in the non-dominant hand for the allotted time while the reader does the work he usually does at that time. The author then asks us to note down a few things in a journal. Things like what one felt while holding the stone, whether certain actions were difficult to perform while holding the stone and whether the stone became one with the 'unforgiven hurt' that one carried in his heart.

I did not actually perform the said exercise but imagined myself holding it and facing difficulty in performing the daily activities I am wont to. I realized at once how crippling an effect it had on my mind. I could think of nothing else but the stone. I could not perform even in my imagination, a single act.

And that was the point the author was trying to make in his book too. When we hold on to our hurts, and our grudges, we are disabled. We are paralyzed. We are contained in a prison, so to say. 

Forgiveness is not easy to come by. Yes, Jesus is an epitome of forgiveness. In history, we have the supreme example of Mandela forgiving the wrongs done to him and his nation. But to be able to forgive, or to seek forgiveness requires tons of strength - mental strength. To be able to let go of the humiliation, and the pain one or one's loved one has been through is no mean task. 

Forgiveness does not mean forgetting. Desmond Tutu explains in his book that to be able to forgive, one has to live through the pain by articulating it, by accepting it. For not doing that can never lead to the path of liberation. True freedom from grudges can only come when one has accepted the hurt given or suffered. 

In everyday life, every single human being feels hurt when trust is broken, when expectations are  not met, or when some injustice befalls him or on the people he cares for. Friendships die, relationships loose their warmth. If we had the courage to speak up what hurt us the most, if instead of trying to brush a person aside from our life, we were able to confront that person, then forgiveness would be everywhere. But we don't do that. Not all of us are able to do that. We are trapped in our self-made prison of bruises. But letting that person go from our life never lets that person out of our mind. And therein lies the pain that we repeatedly inflict upon ourselves, reliving the moment of injustice again and again. It is not easy to forgive, for we have our egos to satisfy. We fail to see from any perspective other than our own. And we do not forgive.

But if we do, we leave behind us the agony and the torment of injustice. We refuse to become puppets of vengeance. If we seek forgiveness, which is a gargantuan task, we let go of our egos. We enfeeble our demonic thoughts of narcissism. We exhaust the beasts of hatred and revenge. We refuse to enter the vicious circle of blows and counterblows. We nip them in the bud.

The way we respond, the way we react decides what happens to us. 

In Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's The Palace of Illusions, the protagonist Draupadi is besieged by thoughts like these when she witnesses the devastation around her. She has been the one to bring it all about, she realizes. But who wins. Does the one who win the war emerge truly victorious? As she watches in horror the way warriors on both sides fall, she understands, a bit too late that "the chariot of vengeance" requires "no horses or wheels". It feeds only on hatred, and ego.

Choices and responses define us. Forgiveness is a choice we all have, whether we are seeking it or granting it. And although it is a difficult choice, it is all that takes to make life worthwhile.

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Written for IndiSpire 124

The Dripping Roof

She was old and sleepless.....Alone too. To while away her time, she would take things out of her closet, only to put them back again. She would fold the clothes, then undo them only to fold them back again. Habits monotonous but necessary.... 

That night however was different. It rained. She looked out the window. She strained her eyes to see if anyone was outside. The world around was too busy to notice her. Cars went past, splashing water standing in the puddles. She turned around and headed back for her chair. Just then, she felt a touch - slightly cold, but gentle. It trickled down her buttery face, melting on it as if in love. The touch awakened her aging senses. She looked up and saw the drops falling from her roof. Tiny drops, slow but persistent.... She stood there for a while. She lifted up her face as if in a prayer. The drops seemed to regard her, for they fell precisely where she stood, bathing her mildly. The kind caress of the drops probably brought a tear in her eyes too. She did not wish to run around for a pot or a bucket. The moment transfixed her there. For this night, at least, she wasn't alone anymore. 

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‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

The Day He Cried.....

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Whenever I think of my father, I remember his laughter. It was loud, uninhibited, and infectious. It reflected his carefree self in the most beautiful way imaginable. He was a man of few words. He would talk less, but whenever he did, it bespoke wit and wisdom. His personality had a charisma that made me want to be like him. It would often fill me with a strong yearning to see his confident gait, his appealing nature. There was something definitely addictive about him. And it wasn't just me who was charmed by him. One could say that being a daughter I was biased. But there were others around him, who met him and were awed by that star quality oozing out of him.

Being a workaholic, he would spend hours in his office. His office was another place that I absolutely adored. It was full of books. I would step into the office and be surrounded by them, wondering if one day they would be mine to read. I wanted to be a lawyer too, like him. In my imagination, I would wear a black coat and fight cases, winning them all the time, like him. I would win smiles, win people, be famous like him.

Needless to say, he was a strong man. He would never show his emotional side. Or perhaps, he did not show it in front of us as he thought that his sadness would pain us, or his fears would scare us. He was a human too - he must have had all the emotions we all have. But he was careful, I guess, always laughing, always smiling, always confident - even when he lay on the hospital bed, readying for his surgery. When he was diagnosed with brain tumor, it was a shock that shook us terribly. Mom cried. My brother hid his emotions and put on a strong face, but it all reflected in his eyes. I cried too. I had been like my father, shielding emotions and never crying. But that day, I had cried too. He stroked my head and said, " I fell sick at the wrong time." My brother stood beside and we both held his hands and could not say anything. He promised he would be fine. 

And he fought. A man of his strength would never give up easily. But being a human, he fell prey to side-effects of therapies, strong medicines, and surgeries. His smile never faded. My brother got married, and so did I. As my visa papers were not ready and my husband was flying back to US, I was not leaving my home right after marriage. I remember the day I got married, and told my father," I will be back in an hour." He smiled and shook hands with me. We were together. He never said anything, not yet.

The day I left for US, his health was not that good. I was leaving to a far-away place. I had wished it to happen, having chosen my husband. But it felt strange to leave my home, my ailing father, my anxious mom, my  brother, my bhabhi, and their newly-born daughter. It was a feeling only a daughter could understand. I worried about them, but like my father, expressed it not.

The day of the departure holds no memories other than that of tears held back, and goodbyes waved. My father had again not been that expressive. I knew not what he was feeling. But after having gone, he cried. I did not see him crying. But I can feel it, his tears and his pain. He cried and told and my mom he felt that with his daughter gone, everything was gone. As I write this, I cry too. I cry out of helplessness of not being able to hold him, and hug him. I did not know then that I would never see him like that again. I did not know then that after almost a year, when I would return, he would be unconscious, preparing for his final departure. I did not know what I had wished for in going away. Since then, I am scared to wish for anything. For I know not, what my wish will bring, if fulfilled. 

But I miss him. Every single day. His laughter, his black coat, his books, his office, his warmth. He never spent time with me like mothers do. He may not have changed my diapers like my mother did. He may not have spent sleepless nights trying to lull me to sleep. But he did run to the doctor in the middle of the night when I fell sick. He taught me to smile, to fight in every circumstance. I can never be as strong or charismatic like him. But I am forever his daughter, a gift I am thankful for. I carry his name proudly, hugging it as the only bit that is left of him. 






‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

शिकारी की संवेदनशीलता

किसानों के उजड़ते खेत 

शिकारी देख न पाया -

ढाई-सौ नील गायों को उसने 

अपनी बन्दूक से उड़ाया 

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This poem is in response to the culling of  Neelgais in Bihar after government approval. The blue bull is the largest antelope in Asia and considered a native of India, and has been ravaging crops and farms in the state of Bihar since long. What other options were available to the government? Did the Environment Department work on other options in the past, given the fact that Neelgais had been wrecking havoc since a long time? Is the sudden massive killing (culling) of the animal ethical? I don't have answers to these questions. Farmers' lives depend on their harvest. Their demand for relief is fair and urgent. But was this the only way out?

Blue Bull or Nilgai is the state animal of Haryana, my native state. This is a fact I discovered today while reading about them.