It is not everyday that you actually meet someone who has the mission of making a difference to the lives of others. I have tended to think of such persons as bombastic busybodies unnecessarily interfering with well-meant but ill-suited advice. My good friend of college days, used to refer to what he termed the 'Dale Carnegie syndrome' ( For those who didn't know - he was the famous writer of the self help masterpiece ' How to win friends and influence people'). We have many followers of this genre, made of our own stock now. The latest book of such ilk that I recently read was ' Who will cry when you die?' by Robin Sharma of Toronto. It is a surprisingly well written book and has many gems reinforcing the humanness that we need to enjoy our lives and to carry on with our lives effectively.

I have myself been in need of reaffirmation of my sensitivity, and had been looking for divination of the reasons for my personal obsessions, to understand the nooks and corners of mind from where my ghosts have been waking up, and to disentangle myself from the sudden bouts of irritation and anger which has been marking my behaviour recently. Robin Sharma has been a help. There are passages in his book (ideally read one chapter a day) which have jolted me into thinking about myself in a different light and also elevate Dale Carnegie in my esteem. Digressions aside, let me get back to what I started to relate.

I had been invited to attend the meeting of the local plant and flower lovers' association ( I understand it is an honour, especially for some one like me who lives in an apartment and owns no property in Bhubaneswar. I was expected to be at the meeting at 10:00 a.m. sharp; a tough task for someone like me, who revels in late night reading and extended morning reveries. I did manage to start from home in time and reach the park where the function was organised. Unfortunately, the gate keeper at the park did not have any intimation that I will be a guest and did not allow my car in. I had to drive around and find a place to park and thereafter lug my weary legs to the spot where the flowers and plants were gathered. I arrived to a grand welcome from the patrons of zinnias and gerberas. The poor folks were not probably expecting the outburst I made when I reached there. It was out of my character as well. Mr. Mohapatra was the person who had invited me for the function; he was of course very very embarrassed that his guest was making such an ass of himself. To his credit he kept his counsel well and to my credit my own irritation was quite short-lived.

One hour so among the flowers, some photos, and soon I was back to my office. It was quite a surprise to meet Mr. Mohapatra at my office later that afternoon. It was a sudden decision by him to drop into my office and look me up. After the usual pleasantries we settled down to chatting about what Mr. Mohapatra does. He is a successful businessman and industry leader and a creative genius as well. He has set aside a big part of his time to creating nutritional supplements for the rural folk and runs a pilot project of synthesising a wonder pill, which he distributes to the under privileged children as part of mid day meal.

His other activity is to advocate quality consciousness and creating the right attitude towards quality among the businessmen and executives all over India. You guessed it right, he is one of those persons who we generally classify under the genre of motivational speakers. I was quite impressed no doubt, as he counted the names of institutions and companies who have made use of his talent. A well read person with a powerful grasp of the idiom and an ability to reach out to the emotions of the listeners. I have no doubt he had all the ingredients of a powerful communicator.

At the end of our discussions, which went on for many enjoyable hours, he gave me a gift, which I value very much. A sixteen page leaflet style publication, with a yellow cover. The back cover carried a brief introduction of the author and a smudgy photograph. The front cover had a very unflattering title - " Life's little instruction book". The contents were dynamite. Like the nutrition pills Mr. Mohapatra manufactures, these were small pills of wisdom, to be taken one at a time. Small pithy sentences such as " Never overrate your capacity to change others", "Always accept an outstretched hand", "Gratitude is wealth, complaint is poverty", etc.

After reading through one page of the booklet, I sought Mr. Mohapatra's permission to make photocopies and send them to my colleagues. He readily agreed. I have not done it yet, because I realized that over 500 wise adages cannot be digested in a single day and these are better spread around slowly. I now have a mission; to send as short mobile messages to my colleagues everyday one from the big collection so graciously lent to me. It is my way of honouring a person of eminence; this blog as well.

What i wrote so far probably explains part of the title. Definitely there is no nonsense here. Nonsense is what I write. Nonsense is good if it has entertainment value. Poetry is good if it captures emotions, if it is musical or if it is cerebral. T. S. Eliot is cerebral -

"we measure our lives with coffee spoons"

cannot have been written in a moment of spontaneity. Dylan Thomas is musical and cerebral -

"The force that through the green fuse
drives the flower drives my green age
that wilts the roots of trees
is my destroyer"

There is music here and definitely the urge to draw up and conjure images.

The problem with reading great poets is that they make you aware of your frailties. One suddenly becomes aware that nonsense is usually what gets written. Own pomposity takes over. I have no test for what I publish. If I did that I would never have keyed in (penned) a Blog. I have tried to be serious, emotional, mystical, comical, tried to laugh at myself, tried to entertain with mt turn of phrase. Don't know if I succeeded, but there have been moments of exhilaration, when a good reader like P.K. Madhavan, who so well exposed to good writing lets you know that he liked it. Or when Rajesh Vora trumpets to the world at large that Nandan has it. Or even when I get a message that my absence from the blogosphere has been too long and is now noticed. Or when Rediff puts the blog on the home page.

One year , and 52 blogs later I still do not if I am sermonising or dishing out nonsense. But nonsense makes good verse, if the blurb or the reviews of the book 'The Tenth Rasa' are to be believed. I have not yet bought my copy, I plan to do it soon. It is probably the best collection of nonsense verse from India to be published. I understand that it also includes translations from Indian languages as well. I am not certain if the Malayalam poet 'Kunjunni' is represented in the collection. One of his verses I can never forget runs like this

" Get me a lip,
Get me a palm,
Get me a matchbox,
Let me smoke and enjoy a beedi"

Ogden Nash could not have written this, - the American sentimentality can carry him only to

"Candy is Dandy
But liquor is quicker"

William Carlos Williams attracts me more when he writes

"So much depends
On the red wheel barrow
standing by the side of
the white chicken"


or when he writes

"This is just to say
that the food
you left in the fridge
was so delicious"

One of these days I will catch up with some living, and some long departed writers who got caught up in their own nonsense. I will soon own a copy of "The Tenth Rasa". But before that happens, I also plan to catch up with the " Book of General Ignorance" - but that will be my subject matter for another blog. Till then...