2013-06-19T17:26:06-04:00 Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=ramnath-subramanian Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Ramnath Subramanian Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.930034 2011-08-25T15:07:15-04:00 2011-10-25T05:12:01-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
Incidentally, during my very first banking interview, my interviewer handed me a sheet of paper, which stated,

"Investment Banking is a business where thieves and pimps run freely on the corridors and the few good men die the death of a dog!"

In big, bold letters at the bottom it said, "THERE IS ALSO A NEGATIVE SIDE!" With a stern look, my interviewer asked me my first interview question, "Which one of the three are you?"

The message was written on the wall. I was walking into an environment where failure, weakness and honesty were treated as disease. The gravity of the challenge only became evident in the very first week of my new profession after I landed one of the offers Shannon had set up for me. The intensity of success-orientation, the sense of image consciousness, and the drive to be the best filled every nook and corner at work.

In that environment where every junior associate's performance is closely monitored and quickly labeled, I had my first major stumble. I was the only one in my class of 74 associates to fail my first major financial services examination -- the Series 7.

As I walked out of 100 Williams Street that evening, it was a sinking feeling. I waited until all my classmates had walked out -- not wanting to be with any of them. A deep sense of personal failure and the fear of being labeled as incompetent clouded my mind. I was extremely worried about losing the positive regard of my colleagues right at the start of new career.

I was thinking to myself, "I will just say I passed! No one will know anyways!" Determined to save my face at all cost and rationalizing it very well, I made the decision to "cook the books".

That evening, I spent time alone looking inside myself in a way that I never did before. There was an extreme uneasiness to sit and watch my feelings. For the first time, I encountered the fact that in my headlong rush to achieve, I had become a master at repression and a compulsive achievement machine.

I had so long invested in an image that I carefully preserved to convince others and myself about my capabilities. Behind an armor of achievements, I experienced the pain of my own vulnerability.

I realized that I lived in a culture that discouraged vulnerability. Vulnerability is usually associated with weakness -- something that I could be rejected or exploited for. In this culture, I have grossly and subtly ingested the notion that I should not have any weakness -- so much so that when I came in touch with my natural human limitations, it was painfully embarrassing. My idealized self-image was fractured. I realized that in the pursuit to keep the image alive I had invested in an image to gain positive acceptance from others.

As I entered the office the next morning, an excited bunch of associates and analysts were talking about the exam just next to my cubicle. One of the analysts, Matt Fiorello, asked, "How did it go, Ram?" I gathered all my courage and said that I failed. There was silence and I felt the pain run through every pore of my body.

Nobody knew what to say. A few consolations floated and the crowd dispersed. As I sat on my seat, I experienced a state of true grounding -- as if I had let go of a huge load. There was acceptance of my own vulnerability and a simple, lighthearted joy in that acceptance -- a relief that I did not have to live with an image.

Later that evening, Matt stopped by my desk. "I cannot believe you spoke the truth so easily", he said. "No excuses. I feel very inspired. Thank you for being so trustworthy". I was pleasantly surprised and grateful.

That evening, I experienced a deep sense of freedom. I realized how I had unconsciously become a prisoner of my own image. I realized that true personal development needs an honest and compassionate acknowledgment of our human limitations and a proper space to socialize them. We need to accept ourselves before others can accept us as we are. That acknowledgment can prove to be an invaluable guardian against the self-deception mechanisms of the ego.

Otherwise, we become desensitized to our authentic self and begin to package ourselves simply to attract favorable attention. "How do I come across?" becomes the name of the game. Even amongst "friends", it becomes difficult to take off the mask due to the fear of rejection.

The slick, smooth surface conceals the emotional neediness to be accepted as we are. In such a stifling environment, true personal development does not happen. We remain slaves of an image without grounding in who we truly are.

This very lesson is conveyed at the onset of the Bhagavad Gita, India's classic on yoga and spiritual wisdom, where prince Arjuna provides a remarkable example of vulnerability. Arjuna was a veteran of many battles and had never lost a single combat. His acts of prowess, courage and intelligence were world-famous. Yet, Arjuna faced a situation where he had to fight his own kinsmen.

His courage was tested and he broke down in front of his dear friend Krishna, expressing his distraught situation. In a matter of moments, Arjuna turned from a mighty warrior into a weakling, right in front of his opponents. In that exhibition of weakness, Arjuna exhibited great courage. It is that honest expression of weakness that set the stage for timeless wisdom to be spoken. Consequently, he received the strength and inspiration to confront his inner doubts and overcome them.

The same can happen in our lives if we take the courage to be vulnerable; when we learn to walk through the door of fear that has kept us prisoners to our idealized self-image. We can wake up to our authentic potential and experience the sense of freedom. It can also help us better understand and be compassionate to another's needs.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.892793 2011-07-12T10:11:15-04:00 2011-09-11T05:12:02-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
Year after year, the medals piled up and the accolades filled several folders -- one of the main driving forces behind it all was that one statement my aunt made. It gave me the strength to compete with the best and either equal or excel them. But along with it also came subtle, powerful and deeply imprinted "side-effects" that I only recently recognized were disempowering and distortive to my reality.

Envy is a universal experience. It pervades our culture -- from schools to corporations to family life -- but is rarely addressed openly or easily recognized. Rather, it masks itself under different, more palatable terms such as "competitive spirit" or "drive".

In plain terms, it is best defined as an emotion that occurs when a person lacks another person's perceived superior quality, achievement, or possession and desires to possess it, wishes that the other lacked it, or both.

Psychologists have suggested that envy can be classified into two types -- malicious and benign. They claim that benign envy can be used as a positive motivational force in achieving one's goals. However, there is a fine line between the two and often we quickly and unconsciously degenerate into the shadow side. In such situations, it can be easy to forgo everything -- even close relationships -- to acquire what we obsess over.

Dr. Richard Smith, a professor of psychology at the University of Kentucky, states that much of the recent economic crisis may well have been fueled by runaway envy, as financiers competed to avoid the shame of being a "mere" millionaire.

The Bhagavata Purana, one of India's classics on yoga and spiritual wisdom, describes envy or dvesha as the older brother of hatred or krodha. It states that envy corrodes all virtues -- a poisonous venom that dries out all gratitude, love and compassion, so that others' misfortune and downfall can taste like honey.

In 2005, while I was a student at Cornell University's business school, my friend and classmate Vishal and I applied for a covetous position at a large investment bank. We were both excited about the prospect and exchanged ideas and information on our individual applications. Eventually, we both got selected to the final round of interviews.

Slowly, our mutual sharing and joy started to disappear. I started avoiding his phone calls. In class, we played subtle mind games. We would talk about the various deals in the financial markets simply to prove that each knew more than the other.

As the interview day approached, I started to lose sleep -- not because of the interview, but the possibility that Vishal would get the job and I wouldn't. Deep inside I feared that he was smarter than I was. Yet, I could not admit that to myself. To compensate I sat up all night practicing my interview questions to make sure I would ace them.

As fate would have it, Vishal got the offer and I did not. The pain of reality could not have been more bitter. As email congratulations flowed for Vishal, I could feel my heart pounding in rage and hatred. While having lunch at the atrium, I saw a relaxed Vishal happily chatting with friends. I interpreted that as him showing off and instinctively convinced myself that he was simply happy at my misery.

That evening as I sat with a few friends studying for a finance exam, I started to talk about how Vishal had deliberately not helped me with certain interview questions. Unconsciously, I began to assassinate his character. There were things about his past that he had shared with me in confidence that I started to make public. I felt "satisfied".

As I walked back home, I felt that I had lost something deep inside. I tried to distract myself by watching a movie, but the feeling only got heavier. As I explored it further, I realized what had happened. It was hard to accept at first, but denying it felt like a bigger burden.

I realized that envy is the most unfortunate aspect of human nature. Not only is the envious person rendered unhappy by his or her envy, but they also wish to inflict misfortune on others. Envy makes it hard to appreciate all of the good things we have receiving in the moment, because the one who envies is too busy worrying about how he or she is perceived. I resolved to put an end to this.

The next day, I approached Vishal and openly expressed my feelings to him. Tears filled my eyes as I sincerely apologized for my behavior. I told him that I truly felt that he was the better candidate to receive the offer. I felt the pain of the honest appreciation pass through every pore of my body.

To my surprise, Vishal was touched, which further humbled and embarrassed me. For the first time, I was able to appreciate his softhearted and forgiving nature. I felt grateful to have my friend back again.

The next day, I hosted a dinner at my house for Vishal and a few friends to celebrate his accomplishment. As I personally cooked and served everyone, I felt renewed, invigorated and cured of a chronic disease. I felt free.

That evening I understood the true purport of yet another statement from the Bhagavata Purana which states that envy is nothing but appreciation that is corrupted by a strong obsession to exclusively possess what we value. Envy results from a deep-seated desire to be the lord and master of all that we survey. It is the strongest weapon of the ego in its relentless pursuit for self-aggrandizement.

If we can strip away the desire to possess and control what we appreciate or value in others, we can experience the true beauty of the traits, recognizing that God and nature have given them to a particular individual for its best possible use.

Celebrating the success of another helps us recognize the qualifications of the individual who has been given certain gifts, and it helps us to be inspired by his or her qualities. Such celebration is the perfect antidote to the poison of envy.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.874589 2011-06-12T17:11:16-04:00 2011-08-12T05:12:02-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
At the end of his talk, he categorically stated that because of the problems that religion has created, one of the primary aspirations of science should be to cease the existence of religion. He made a strong appeal to the audience to take this seriously.

As a practitioner of Bhakti yoga, an ancient devotional school in the Hindu tradition, I was stung by Dr. Weinberg's strong comments. It felt like an assault on a paradigm that defined my outlook and the people whom I deeply loved and respected. At the same time, my rational faculties knew that Dr. Weinberg's citations were completely based on facts and thoroughly justified. Was I simply being a sentimental religionist turning a blind eye to the problems that religion has created? Or was there a deeper root to my adherence that Dr. Weinberg may not have had a chance to experience?

The key to resolving this conflict lay in one verse from the Bhagavata Purana, one of the primary texts in the Hindu tradition. The verse classifies religious faith or dharma into two categories: peripheral (kaithava) and essential (sanatana).

Gordon W. Allport, a Harvard psychologist, developed a similar scheme and categorized religious practice into extrinsic and intrinsic. The peripheral or extrinsic practice of religion refers to those expressions of faith that are motivated by self-directed desires: personal comfort, riches, power and status. The essential or intrinsic practice of religion is governed by the deep inquiry to uncover our true essence that results in profound personal transformation.

Growing up, my first experience of Hindu religion was extrinsic. I was exposed to Hindu rituals that enabled an individual's economic development and sensory pleasure, respectively known as artha and kama in Sanskrit. My parents taught me to pray twice everyday. The prayers usually were a means to please the gods to give me the best grades, good health and success in all endeavors.

I clearly recollect visiting temples of the elephant god, Ganesha, on the eve of exams, to put in "special requests" because he is an expert at taking away impediments on the path of success. On occasions, when the stakes were high, I paid good money to the head priest for special services. I got more than the expected results every time, expect for one big test where I failed miserably. That failure exposed the conditional nature of my faith.

In course of time, I turned away from the Hindu faith, much to the concern of my parents. I was old enough not to be swayed by them or other religious individuals. Episodes of communal violence fueled by Hindu fundamentalism in the early '90s further strengthened my stance.

It was six years later that a conversation with a good friend unexpectedly reopened the "religious" chapter. Manish was regarded as one of India's young scientific geniuses, but possessed a humble demeanor. In a casual conversation on a Monday evening, he convinced me to accompany him to a talk on the Bhagavad Gita. It was during that talk that I heard for the first time a clear explanation of the primary purpose of religion: deep inquiry and knowledge about our identity and the true purpose of our existence.

The talk systematically and logically pieced together the need for such inquiry and provided a deep philosophical look into the nature of consciousness and our quest for immortality. Sprinkled throughout the presentation were various scientific citations from the Hindu scriptures -- verses explaining a method of plastic surgery from the Rig Veda, the heliocentric model of the solar system from the Bhagavata Purana, and a description of time dilation and relativistic mechanics from the Upanishads.

The speaker was pleasant and humble, yet authoritative and confident. There was no trace of criticism, sentimentalism or fanaticism in his talk. I met with him personally after the presentation and I spent two hours critically questioning his paradigm.

He introduced himself as Radheshyam and his answers were deep and succinct. Although I did not fully accept his paradigm then, I deeply respected his approach and logical explanations. It was refreshing to see such a religious man. I was curious to know more.

In the next four years, I frequently visited Radheshyam's Bhakti Yoga monastery in downtown Mumbai and spent considerable time studying Hindu scriptures with him and his fellow monks. I was a personal witness to the rigor and scrutiny they applied to their scriptural study. The scriptures dealt exclusively with understanding consciousness, its source and its purpose.

Most of the monks had advanced graduate degrees from prestigious universities. Their simplicity and spirit of brotherhood were evident in their lifestyle. Their possessions -- four sets of clothes, some books and some rosary beads -- were neatly stacked away in 3x3 closets. They slept on straw mats on the ground. They lived by one principle adopted from a beautiful verse in the Hindu texts: "Be humbler than a blade of grass, more tolerant than a tree. Be ready to offer all respects to others and expect nothing in return."

In a conversation when I thanked the director of the monastery for his time to answer my questions, he looked at me with sincere gratitude and said, "I am so grateful that you have accepted me as your servant." The glimmer in his eyes clearly reflected the sense that he would not exchange his lifestyle even for $100 million.

The lives of these monks demonstrated to me a sincere search for truth and reality. Their practice completely contrasted any experience of religion that I previously had. To me, it seemed to be a compelling alternative to science in the pursuit of truth. Their axiomatic basis may be different, but their methods, rigor, logic and dedication were comparable to any true scientist. They strove to live an ego-free life, which gave them clarity and objectivity in their quest. Above all, they were truly beautiful human beings.

Dr. Weinberg's citations were correct and his frustrations justified. But his conclusion that science should destroy religion completely was probably based on his very limited exposure to the intrinsic practice of religion. They probably sprung from his experiences of narrow-minded and ritualistic religious practices that lack philosophical rigor, progression of logic and a transformative lifestyle.

Instead of rejecting religion completely, it would be wise to discriminate between substance and shadow -- and encourage the substance. The pockets where intrinsic religion is practiced may be few, but they hold deep significance especially at a time when religious fundamentalism needs to be addressed with strong action. They may also offer the unique opportunity for science and religion to have meaningful dialogues and finally understand each other.

]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.859022 2011-05-13T14:02:46-04:00 2011-07-13T05:12:01-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
Dharma is a topic that has been celebrated through books and talks by philosophers and academics, both from Indian origin and outside. It's meaning surfaces as one delves into the depth of the concept. In its simplest sense, dharma in Sanskrit means that which upholds. It is a concept of central importance in Hindu philosophy referring to a person's duties or obligations based on occupational and situational context tightly intertwined with relationships.

The idea of dharma as duty is found in India's ancient religious texts. It states that there is a divinely instituted natural order governing justice, harmony and happiness. This requires human beings to discern and live in an appropriate manner that fosters order and cordial living. As simple and as socially attractive as the concept may sound, living a life of dharma poses some complex questions for us as individuals living in a world that is in many ways disconnected from these fundamental concepts.

What exactly is my dharma? Is it my daily occupation or my sense of obligation to my family, society and humanity? To answer this question, one has to investigate into the deeper implication of dharma itself. A deeper understanding of dharma is "that which is inherent or essential to." For example, we can state that the dharma of sugar is sweetness. The "sweetening" is the duty of sugar. The sense of duty that is derived from dharma is the acting out of that essential property.

In ancient Hindu or Vedic culture, one's dharma was determined by one's psychophysical make up -- proclivities that stood out in and were inherent to an individual. That aptitude was determined at a young age and nurtured to serve the individual and society at large. This primarily became one's occupation. Other obligations were embedded based on different stages in one's life -- duty towards self, towards family (parents, spouse, kids, etc.) and towards different segments of society at large that also included animals. All of these duties were considered equally important on an absolute level.

The complexity of dharma becomes evident even in current times when our different obligations take mutually contradictory directions. I work as the president of a non-profit organization and recently I found myself in a situation where I was confronted with the decision to let go of a few employees. They are my personal friends, have great integrity and have made significant contributions in the past but for personal and situational reasons were not able to sustain their performance. The decision was a despairing one to make. As the president of the organization it is my primary responsibility to the stakeholders to ensure organizational efficiency. Bad decisions would not only be detrimental for the purpose of the organization, but would also cost me my job. At the same time, my decision would be humiliating and ungrateful to friends whom I truly value and are facing an hour of great need. What about "The friend in need is a friend indeed"?

It is in this type of emotionally ambiguous situation in which the Bhagavad Gita begins. Arjuna, the Pandava prince, facing a life-or-death battle against his unrighteous cousins. In the opposing army he also finds senior and revered members of his own family who raised him and his brothers when they had become fatherless at a very young age. His heart was only filled with gratitude for the stability, care and teachings that they had bestowed upon him. But according to his dharma, Arjuna has to fight in order to establish justice and that means he has to kill the very individuals whom he worships with all of his heart. The result is despair -- a situation where Arjuna feels like "damned if I do and damned if I don't." This sets the scene for a classic conversation on the concept of dharma.

As in any complex or paradoxical situation, there are at least two distinct alternatives -- the path of least resistance with enough justification that our "rational" intelligence and ego can provide, or the hard struggle to find deeper answers, clarity and grounding. It is easy for the head to justify one decision over another when the gut has already made the decision, but that may simply be our refusal to go through the pain of honest introspection. As the renowned Trappist monk Thomas Merton states in his book Thoughts in Solitude, "Laziness and cowardice are the most dangerous of all when marked as discretion." Many Nazis did, in fact, justify their acts against the Jews at the Nuremberg trials on the grounds that they were not acting on selfish grounds: they were doing their duty to their country.

Arjuna, at first, also justifies his gut decision to escape the battle with convincing arguments, but eventually musters up the courage to become vulnerable to the struggle and go deeper in his inquiry. And the deeper meaning of dharma manifests. Krishna, Arjuna's friend and confidante, unravels the profound meaning of dharma as going beyond the psychophysical nature of our existence and its corresponding duties and obligations. Instead Krishna encourages Arjuna to discover his true spiritual identity, for that alone can harmonize the conflicting and temporary responsibilities of this world. Referring back to the meaning of dharma as "that which is inherent or essential to", Krishna tells Arjuna that our essential identity is pure consciousness that is born from the spiritual soul, totally distinct from our psychophysical material nature that we so strongly identify with. Arjuna's ethical crisis transforms into a spiritual renaissance, where he realizes that his true dharma is that which aligns deeply with his spiritual and not his material identity.

Living with dharma can present paradoxical and despairing circumstances where our sense of goodness is severely tested. It has been humbling for me to realize that even with best possible intentions I cannot produce solutions that can satisfy everyone involved in a situation. The struggles have helped me to be less judgmental about other people's actions and understand that pure ethical living and idealism, although very admirable, also has its limitations. I realize that the primary aim for living the life of dharma is not only to ensure a society with high ethical conscience but also to go beyond the ethical into the realm of the spiritual. That is why the ancient Vedic texts encourage us to live by dharmic principles and furthermore struggle through despairing contradictions to seek deeper answers on responsibility, integrity and duty. This is where despair becomes a surpassing excellence and the movement from the ethical to the spiritual begins -- as the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard put it. This is where striving to live by dharma becomes our spiritual emancipation. It has awakened a deeper spiritual understanding into the real purpose of my existence, which I will highlight in my next article.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2010:/theblog//3.739653 2010-09-27T05:51:55-04:00 2011-05-25T17:50:22-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
As I returned to my dorm after the talk, I mulled over Dr. Weinberg's statements. As a young seeker, I looked towards both physics and religion for answers to the big questions about the purpose of my existence. I was often puzzled by the fact that every person that I admired on both sides seemed to have a different version of what life ought to be, what a "good" man is, how to live, and so on. It became quite apparent to me that both science and religion could be used for positive transformational work and for the perpetration of deeply hurtful activities, and both had the capacity to explain "truth" in deeply philosophical and practical ways. It was not a question of which was better; it was more a question of who used it and for what purpose. It became evident that the core problem in this debate is that of the human nature itself -- its hopelessly self-fulfilling side called the ego.

Modern psychology has been wrestling with the vast territory of the human ego for a great while now, and its complexity continues to mystify us. Even before I learned about Freudian ideas on the ego, I first encountered the concept of the ego explicitly mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita, India's classic text on yoga and spiritual wisdom. According to the Gita, there is a fundamental difference between "real" ego and what it defines as the "false" ego. Real ego is our very essence, the consciousness that makes us aware and awake to reality. The false ego is a false identity crafted to preserve the sense of being the most significant and the most important all the time. In short, it is a narcissistic search for being loved, validated and appreciated. This is what we generally refer to as the ego. The Gita further describes the subtleties of the ego and how it manifests moment to moment in our thoughts, words and deeds.

The concept seems to be stretched too far when we first read about it. But when we honestly study our own lives, we can clearly isolate various episodes of how this tendency manifests itself in our personality, either covertly or explicitly. The events can range from simple conversations on which football team is the best to intense debates in boardrooms on the next important decision for the organization. What's worse is that the ego blinds us from seeing its own ploy, the ultimate of which is rationalized excuses for avoiding honest introspection and admittance.

None of us has navigated through life without encountering the effects of the ego, be it in the workplace or home. Our own behavior is, at times, strange, unsettling and unobjective. Some of this is tolerable, and some of this is decidedly unpleasant or outright disastrous. Yet, while everyone is busy gathering insight into the way other people act and behave, few are willing to look so intently at themselves. This dynamic of interaction also applies to the way that groups of people interact with each other. We want to know what makes other people or groups tick, yet are afraid to discover anything upsetting about ourselves. We would like to point out the faults of systems and people as if we had X-ray vision, while not really wanting others to see our weaknesses and shortcomings.

Capitalism further aggravates this mentality by simply rewarding us for producing enjoyable and affirmative content. Even academia, which prides itself on objectivity, is more geared towards pleasing companies and corporations that can provide grants and financial assistance. In this atmosphere, we are less conscious of our severe mental shortcomings and less inclined to be skeptical of our own opinions. Charlie Munger of Berkshire Hathaway once gave a speech called "The Psychology of Human Misjudgment," and in his talk he revealed our natural weakness, in which we only pick out evidence that supports our views, or we pick out weakness in the other that makes us looks better. We are cognitive misers; we try to think as little as possible, especially about our deep inner motivations. In today's times where we pride ourselves on progress in cognitive science and search capabilities, this tendency leaves a huge cognitive deficit. And the thought of internal combat further takes us away from attempting to rid ourselves from the shackles of the ego.

The ego is a master of disguise. One of the greatest dangers of progressive work is that the ego tempts to sidestep deep introspective work by leaping into self-righteous advancement too soon. This is because the ego fancies itself as more "advanced" than it actually is. How many "rational" decisions made by heads of state have caused havoc in the lives of millions of people? How much scientific research has been employed to cause direct harm to our environment? How many first-year novices of religion have persuaded themselves to believe that they are just about ready for sainthood only to find their misconceptions and behavior gives rise to scandals and violence?

The Bhagavad Gita's prescription to combat this crafty enemy within us is to create a culture of introspection and self-knowledge whose basic components lie in courage and humility -- a healthy skepticism of our own "goodness" combined with an unending desire to learn more about ourselves. They work as powerful radars that uncover the camouflage of the ego and disarm it. Real self-knowledge is an invaluable guardian against self-deception mechanisms of the ego, and any true and beneficial culture of transformation will teach us this. And the more we practice this awareness, the more we can realize that it is not systems that are good or evil; rather it is our ego-centric adoption of those systems that we need to explore before we make those judgments. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2010:/theblog//3.613571 2010-06-16T17:17:00-04:00 2011-05-25T16:45:26-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/
Two conspicuous emotions emerged simultaneously -- helplessness and shock. Helplessness because I could not even find the words to console her or myself, and shock because two minutes before I received that phone call, I was talking to my roommate Ari about the fragility of our life and the constant, undercover companionship of our death. Little did I realize that the conversation was just the beginning of a series of deathly events in the span of one week. The news of the miscarriage was followed by a suicide of the 17-year-old son of a good friend, the demise of my 23-year-old student who was suffering from cancer, and finally a fatal heart attack that consumed my 60-year-old cousin.

Thousands of people die every day, and the world still moves on. We read and hear about deaths and tragedies almost everyday in the news. It may grab our attention for a moment, but the sports section seems more interesting. Is death really that trivial? Or have we unconsciously or consciously tranquilized ourselves from its impact?

The topic of death has the wondrous potential of concentrating the mind. It opens up a deeper sense of inquiry into our true nature and makes us question the very purpose of our existence. The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once said that the real education of mankind means facing up to death. In most spiritual traditions, especially those from the East, the problem of death seems to open up the doorway to deeper spiritual inquiry.

The Buddha renounced his wealth and riches to seek enlightenment when he saw the unpleasant sights of disease and death and realized that he had to go through the same. Similarly, in the Bhagavad Gita, which is India's classic text on yoga and spiritual wisdom, prince Arjuna faces a similar existential crisis as he is called upon to fight a gruesome war against his own kinsmen, led by his wily and unrighteous cousin Duryodhana. Although Arjuna was a veteran of many wars, he confronted death like never before because on the opposing side were members of his own family that he deeply loved and respected, but he was forced to fight them because of political intrigue.

The first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita is called "The Yoga of Arjuna's Crisis" -- an appropriate title because the word "yoga" means "to link" or "to connect". In this chapter, Arjuna's crisis makes him connect through deep inquiry to his own identity. What follows is a beautifully composed and spiritually profound dialogue between Arjuna and his charioteer and dear friend Krishna. Although I grew up with three different editions of the Bhagavad Gita at home, this text made a much deeper impact on me after my own encounter with death.

My spiritual journey began when I first confronted the problem of death at the age of 17. After securing admission to the prestigious Indian Institute of Technology, I faced deep insecurity about the fact that all achievements in my life will be invariably stripped from me at the time of death.

The issue was like a thorn in my side until one day, during dinner, I expressed it to my mother. Very affectionately, she mentioned that I was letting such thoughts rob away my real joys of life. It is important to live in the moment and experience life to the fullest. Her affection touched my heart, but her response left me dissatisfied. I felt that her response was urging me to be in denial of the terror of death. It was like trying to enjoy a delicious, elaborate feast on the eve of a really tough exam for which I have not prepared one bit.

Although I pursued the thought for some time, the intensity waned -- helped by my own "confidence" of being able to "manage" the world. I invested myself in "hero projects" that I hoped would leave a mark in this world. It was not until my second date with death that I realized that the human brain just does not have the capacity to comprehend the magnitude of the terror.

The rendezvous occurred when I was a first year MBA student at Cornell University in September 2005. I had just finished a major exam in accounting and was one of few students in the class to secure full marks. My performance gave me complete confidence and security that I would ace my MBA program and secure a top job as an investment banker. That same afternoon I proceeded to Cornell University's medical center for a regular blood test. After the doctor obtained the required samples, I was sitting in the reception area scouring the Wall Street Journal. Suddenly, I saw darkness in front of me.

When I came to external consciousness, I heard screams all around. I was on a stretcher surrounded by a whole bunch of medical personnel frantically rushing me to the emergency room. I felt excruciating pain in my hands and feet. They were twisted in an awkward fashion and to my greatest shock I could not move them. Then I felt numbness creeping up my body from my feet. I could barely speak and my eyes were getting heavier. Much to my horror, I realized that this could well be the end. Every moment seemed dilated. My entire life began to play out in front of me like a movie. All the people that I loved and all the things that I felt deeply attached to filled up my thoughts. The pain of sudden separation from all of them was intense and tears welled up in my eyes. A distinct feeling enveloped me -- a state a despair resulting from an inevitable contradiction -- the strong desire for immortality in a situation that had mortality written all over it.

I was given heavy dosage of painkillers and other medicines and woke up 14 hours later feeling like I had run a marathon on my hands. I was relieved to be alive. Nothing else mattered at that moment. The doctors described the episode to be an extreme case of a vasovagal reaction or neurocardiogenic syncope -- an abnormal reflex to wounds or punctures that results in a blood pressure drop leading to decreased blood flow to the brain. Amazing what a harmless blood test can cause!

This experience opened my eyes to the fact that death could come at any time -- even when it is least expected. It only takes a moment for life to change by 180 degrees, and when it does, the first reaction is shock. I say shock because the built-in narcissist in the human psyche believes that he will never die; he only feels sorry for the man next to him. Freud's explanation for this was that in man's inner organic recesses he feels immortal.

I once read a story in the Mahabharata, a text on India's ancient history that resonates well with this. The great king Yudhisthira, who was very famous for his wisdom and unwavering sense of integrity, was once put to a test. He had to answer 100 questions that tested his intellect and wisdom, and his success was a matter of life and death for his dear brothers. Yudhisthira impressed his interrogator with the first 99 questions. The last and the most open-ended question of the test was, "What is the most wondrous thing in this world?" To this, the king deeply pondered and responded, "Every person sees many others around him or her die everyday, but refuses to believe that he or she will ever have to go through it. On the contrary, they make plans for a permanent settlement in this world. To me, this is the greatest wonder and the biggest irony!" Of course Yudhisthira won the contest.

Confronting the fragile nature of my existence was a very humbling experience. I realized that at the time of death, the physical body that I so carefully nurture, the adoration and distinction that I strive for and treasure as fortifications of my greatness can all get uprooted and scattered like trees in a tornado. I was forced to re-examine the reliability of social, political and financial power-linkages that gave me the sense of being grounded. Facing the truth of this situation opened up spiritual inquiry yet again. For the first time, the concepts from the Bhagavad Gita made deep and logical sense.

This experience also helped me realize that treating death in a trivial fashion may close doors to deep realizations about our very existence. Life escapes us when we huddle within the defended fortress of our invulnerability. It's not that we should be paralyzed and depressed at the thought of death and renounce enjoying the precious and deep moments that life has bestowed upon us, but not taking death seriously enough may be as good as not taking life seriously enough. It may very well rob us of the opportunity to develop the humility and gratitude to appreciate the abundant gifts of life.

One bit of profound advice that Socrates gave to his disciples was to practice dying everyday. Although this may sound impractical, the undertone to this insight is very useful -- to cultivate awareness of and face our deep-rooted insecurities, the epitome of which is death itself. Such awareness, when dealt with in a healthy and honest fashion, leads to a deliberate dismantling of our defense mechanisms of denial and repression. It makes us take life seriously enough to deliberate on our actions and makes routine activity impossible. It increases the discovery of new possibilities of choice and action and new forms of courage and endurance. It gives rise to a new and more meaningful way of life.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2010:/theblog//3.580600 2010-05-18T16:03:00-04:00 2011-05-25T16:30:24-04:00

Ramnath Subramanian http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ramnath-subramanian/ deserve! Watch out!" Mr. Patrick Kuhse's voice thundered through the auditorium at Cornell University's Johnson School of Management on day two of an action-packed orientation program for the MBA Class of '07. I felt the earnestness and the gravity come through Mr. Patrick's warning. The mood in the room had shifted, from a light-hearted conversation about an easy-going college kid to one about a super-ambitious and reckless college graduate who was ready to forgo everything to reach the echelons of fame and fortune. Mr. Patrick, an international consultant on business ethics, was giving us a concise yet profound glimpse into a momentous phase of his own life that set the course towards his becoming one of the most successful stockbrokers, only to be arrested by the Interpol and spend four years in rigorous imprisonment, followed immediately by a divorce and loss of custody of his two kids. After that he went on to become an acclaimed speaker on ethical behavior and an ethics consultant for multinational corporations and educational institutions.

Fascinated by his story and the sheer honesty and vulnerability he showed in opening up his life, I approached Mr. Patrick after the talk to express my heartfelt gratitude. In course of our conversation, I asked him a question that came to me mid-way during his talk: "Patrick, here I am on day two of my two-year journey through business school. I hear a mind-blowing story on ethical compromise. But how am I supposed to remember this story, when for the next two years I am going to be bombarded unreservedly about profit maximization and improving the bottom-line in all my classes?" A bunch of my new classmates who were standing beside me, waiting impatiently to talk with Mr. Patrick, stared at me in a way that made me feel naïve and idealistic. Perhaps, I was naïve and idealistic. There seemed to be a sense of "Be practical, mister. This is a business school. Profit maximization is primary." Definitely true, and that is why I came here. Mr. Patrick seemed to appreciate the question and once again, staying loyal to his candidness, stated that it is definitely a glaring weakness in our system for training leaders and that unless we plug the hole at the grassroots level, we will see more cases of irresponsible behavior come to foreground in the future -- even bigger than what we just heard. Although I appreciated his answer, I couldn't but help think that my question was indeed naïve and presumptuous -- that humans are definitely more responsible than I thought.

Almost five years later, as I reflect on my question, I realize that I did undervalue my own concerns and appreciate Mr. Patrick's insight even more. Sitting in the midst of another crisis -- this time created by the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico -- and witnessing the drama around it almost makes Mr. Patrick sound like a doomsayer. But not without sound reasoning. The unfolding of the entire oil spill episode has brought to the forefront a trail of irresponsible acts that BP has engaged in, not unknowingly. And the schemes to arrest the flow are being put into place without clearly assessing the long-term effects they will have on the ecology. The scheme to contain the spill with a dome has failed, and among the next steps, one idea being seriously considered is to shoot garbage into the gaping hole to plug the gusher. The remedies seem as irresponsible as the actions or the lack of those that led to the oil spill in the first place. Statisticians from BP quote the strength of the probability models that predict such leaks. According to them, the probability of such leaks happening was one in ten million rigs. That sounds very promising, sure enough, but the probability models do a poor job of predicting the extent of the damage that will be caused if a leak does happen.

In 2006, the EPA and Justice Department launched a criminal investigation into two massive BP oil leaks in Alaska caused by corroded pipelines. One of the leaks spewed almost 200,000 gallons onto the tundra, and investigations revealed that BP had reported ignored warnings. It finally came to a $50 million settlement but what could not be repaired, it seems, was a certain mindset. As one EPA official put it, for BP it was a financial decision: should they pay a fine of $50 million or spend a lot more correcting flaws in their operations? The answer was obvious, at least to the top management of BP. This irresponsibility did not receive much publicity and was dexterously shoved under the carpet through numerous pay-offs until the current oil spill, being termed as probably the biggest man-made natural disaster yet, surfaced. Even more frustrating is the undertone to BP CEO Mr. Tony Hayward's response to this crisis. Mr. Hayward impressed several lawmakers with his earnestness about stopping the leak, but he also seemed intent on deflecting questions about responsibility. BP seeks to leverage every penny of the $15.9 million it spent lobbying last year, and most of all it is trying its best to contain penalties. BP's history shows that it will succeed at that, and that leaves the larger questions still unanswered: how can our corporate leaders be made more responsible? This is not to state that our leaders are twisted right from the onset. In fact, my personal experience interacting with business leaders is that many of them are wonderful and noble individuals. But it is a fact that they have to operate in a system that is fueled by collective greed and that unconsciously brings out irresponsible behavior.

I heard a story in my early childhood that has only grown on me through my experience in corporate America. The story comes from the Mahabharata (literally translated as "The History of Greater India"), one of the classics from India's ancient religious texts, the Vedas. The setting: the best school of martial arts and military training, headed by a veteran archer and teacher named Dronacharya. The school trained the best kings and princes in military warfare and defense, the most famous of all of them being Arjuna, the main character of the timeless eastern classic, the Bhagavad Gita. Dronacharya's big lessons at school before he taught any of the various arts of fighting revolved around teaching responsible behavior even in the midst of the most provoking and enticing situations, as well as control over base urges of unconscious exploitation. He had creative and difficult tests that students had to pass, and he taught them the arts of military warfare only in proportion to their sense of responsible behavior. One quality that he consistently tested them on was situational compromise of truth. What is so striking to me in this story is the emphasis on character development and integrity before skills are bestowed. A responsible training system not just focuses on how skilled the students are but goes to great extent to ensure that the skills are grounded in well-developed character and integrity.

Developing character and integrity requires time and investment. As trivial as it may sound, and as negligible as the number of accolades it receives in comparison to training in leadership skills may be, character development forms the basis of any leadership program. It is exactly like laying a strong foundation before a structure is erected. The foundation forms the basis of the entire structure. We can erect a most amazing structure, but if the foundation is weak, it is only a matter of time before a minor tremor can cause the structure to completely collapse, causing severe damage to life and property. A good engineer spends ample time designing the foundation for the worst possible threat. And it is usually the main structure that gets the glories. No one looks at a nice structure and admires the foundation. And yet, the structure cannot exist and be fortified without a strong foundation.

We can go to great extent to ensure ethical following of roles and responsibilities, but if the individual's intention is to cheat the system, an intelligent individual boosted by the wide spectrum of knowledge and skills provided by our educational system can find numerous holes to exploit. We can take pride in the fact that the American legal system has brought to books many individuals in positions of power who have compromised on responsibility -- but not before their actions caused severe and sometimes irreparable damage to individuals, society, and the environment at large. After all, prevention is better than cure.

What this will take, as Mr. Patrick so articulately put it in his answer to my question, and as the story from the Mahabharata illustrates, is investment in character development at grass roots level, i.e., all the education and training institutions. The practical implementation of such a long-term solution is undoubtedly challenging given the current economic and social system that we feed our younger generation into, but the change can start small. The important thing is to start. The broader details are important and will unfold in time, but not without the strong and earnest desire to implement such a system, which must be at the forefront in the mind of our nation's administrative machinery. Without this essential training in character development, we will still produce great corporations and powerful leaders, but we will still face equally devastating actions that will have widespread repercussions on the social and ecological fabric of this country, not to mention the world at large. The problem goes beyond the BP rig leak, and no ethical systems or probability models are foolproof to prevent such crises from happening again and again purely due to lack of integrity from our leaders and decision makers.]]>