The Habit of Winning

by Prakash Iyer

  This is true not just of other people, but of life itself. If you’ve lived with the fear of failure all your life, you tend to erect a window of risk aversion. In every opportunity, you first see the risks, the downsides, the possibility of failure. Someone else may look at the same image through the window of optimism and see a huge, overpowering silver lining.

  A man pulled into a petrol pump on a highway. ‘What are the people like in the town ahead?’ he asked the attendant. The attendant replied, ‘What were they like in the town you are coming from?’ ‘Awful!’ said the man. ‘Rude, cold and unfriendly.’ ‘Well,’ said the attendant, ‘I’m sorry but you’ll find that the people in the town ahead are the same.’

  A while later, another car headed in the same direction pulled in. ‘What are the people like in the town ahead?’ the driver asked the attendant. ‘What were they like in the town you are coming from?’ repeated the attendant. ‘Wonderful,’ said the man, ‘warm, helpful and friendly!’ ‘Well,’ said the attendant, ‘I’m happy to say that you’ll find that the people in the town ahead are the same.’

  It’s always like that. It’s not about them, it’s about us. It’s not the world, it’s the window.

  For you to start seeing opportunities, the world around you need not change. Just the windows through which you see your world need realignment or a bit of cleaning! Our windows are made out of our experiences, our biases. We are quick to form opinions of others, based on fleeting perceptions, based on the view from our own windows.

  The next time you find fault with someone, pause before you proceed to damn them. Perhaps it’s time to clean your windows!

  We see things not the way they are, but the way we are!

  So What’s Your White Rabbit?

  I love this story of the man in a beautiful town house in a place far, far away. I love it because it’s the story of your life. And mine. And everyone else’s.

  Seems the man was an honest hard-working bloke, who never hurt a fly. Pleased with his good work, a fairy magically appeared before him and told him that all the wealth and riches he wanted in life were now within his reach.

  ‘Just go out into the garden,’ said the fairy. ‘There’s a large treasure chest there, filled with gold and diamonds and rubies and other precious gems. Go claim it—it’s all yours!’ Then she added: ‘There’s just one catch. There’s a white rabbit in the garden. As you go looking for the treasure chest, you must not think about the white rabbit. If you do, you won’t be able to find the riches.’

  We are all like that man with the white rabbit.

  Our goals, our dreams and our just deserts are all within our reach. But we are held back by our self-limiting beliefs. Our own white rabbits, which prevent us from rising to our full potential and achieving our goals. Which stop us from doing what it takes to get to our goals. ‘I can’t because …’ we tell ourselves, and the white rabbit gets going.

  We blame it on our childhood, background, education, current situation, boss, spouse, family, employer … Whatever. We find our own white rabbits.

  And then we get together with others and compare our white rabbits. There’s comfort in blaming our white rabbits. And wallowing in self-pity. As we compare our white rabbits and focus on them, they grow stronger.

  So what’s your white rabbit? Your favourite excuse for not doing what it takes to achieve your goals? Whatever it is, it’s good to identify it. And banish it from your mind. Forever.

  Remember, there’s a treasure chest waiting to be claimed! Banish the self-limiting belief, forget the white rabbit. And claim your fortune!

  What’s your white rabbit? What prevents you from rising to your full potential and achieving your goals?

  V

  GIVING

  Becoming a Two-dollar Man

  One of my life gurus was a man called Jim Rohn. He was the grand old man of American motivational speaking. And a man who significantly helped shape my own philosophy in life. Jim Rohn passed away in December 2009.

  I got an interesting piece of advice from him, which I found quite fascinating. It’s simple. And yes, it works.

  ‘Become a two-dollar man!’ advised Jim.

  What exactly did he mean, you might wonder. Let me explain.

  According to him the next time that I needed to tip someone, say a dollar, I should give him two dollars instead. Learn to tip two dollars every time, where one dollar might suffice. Do this, not because of what that one extra dollar might mean to the waiter or the bellboy, but for what it will do to you!

  When you tip that extra dollar, you begin to ‘feel’ like a large-hearted man, like a rich and successful chap. You walk just a bit taller, smile a wider smile and seem like a man in control of his world. And as you walk back into the restaurant the next time, you feel the waiter is giving you that smile of recognition—reinforcing your sense of self-worth. All this, you will agree, is not bad value for just one dollar more!

  And often, when you tip just one dollar—the stipulated norm, the bare minimum—you could come away feeling like a bit of a heel. A man who hides the tip in the bill folder, hoping no one will notice. Ah, well, you rationalize, so many people come to this restaurant, surely the waiters wouldn’t really know or care about who gave how much. You slink away, hoping nobody notices. But one key person clearly has noticed. You, yourself! And when that happens, there are no hiding places.

  So really the habit of tipping that extra dollar is not about what it does to the recipient (sure, it makes him feel good too) but about what it does to you, the giver. About the magic it works on you. And that’s worth way more than a dollar.

  It’s like that with praise too. And love. And recognition. Learn to give more. Just that bit more. Learn to give more credit, more praise, more love. And see how good that makes you feel. The more you give, the richer you’ll feel.

  It’s a good lesson to remember. Giving away an extra dollar can actually make you richer. Far more than you’d imagine.

  Become a two-dollar man. Start today. And see the difference it makes to you!

  Learn to give more. Just a bit more. Tipping that extra dollar is not about what it does to the recipient (sure, it makes him feel good) but about what it does to you, the giver.

  Bringing Back the Binaca Smile

  If you were around in India in the 1960s and 1970s, you’ll probably remember a toothpaste brand called Binaca.

  In those days, if a little kid or a pretty woman flashed a smile, people would quickly brand it a Binaca smile. Advertisements for Binaca toothpaste famously, and quite memorably, captured the moment with that magical phrase: ‘The Binaca Smile’. It never went out of fashion.

  There’s a lesson to be learnt from Binaca’s heady success. A lesson that’s relevant even today, long after the toothpaste itself has vanished—from retail shelves, from our lives, even from our memories.

  Time then, for a flashback.

  Binaca was a rather popular toothpaste brand in those days. It came in a blue and white—or was it blue and yellow?—carton, and held out the promise of strong teeth, healthy gums and a Binaca smile. What’s more, every carton had a surprise gift inside! A little plastic animal figurine. A different one in every pack. I still vividly recall the sense of expectation and surprise, as we opened the carton to pull out a new animal. A new surprise, time after time!

  It wasn’t unusual to visit a friend’s place and find a mini-zoo in the showcase, courtesy Binaca. We’d trade duplicates, discuss our newest additions, admire the wonderful new giraffe—and never cease to be enthralled by those teeny-weeny plastic animals.

  While the Binaca folks delivered consistent, good quality toothpaste month after month after month, the trick really lay in the surprise gift. That little animal figurine probably cost the toothpaste manufacturer very little, but meant so much to consumers. It held the magic of surprise! Brushing your teeth, with Binaca or anything else, was drudgery. But the joy of opening a Binaca carton to see the animal tucked inside? Incomparab
le!

  In our lives, we do everything in a programmed manner, and tend to miss out on the zing, the surprise element, the little animal in the box. At work, bosses expect consistency, dependability, solid performances. Throw in a little extra, and you will soon be on the fast track. Consistent performance is a given. But ask yourself, what’s your little animal figurine?

  As customers, we’re like that too. We want a dependable brand and consistent quality and yet, we like to be surprised. One of my family’s favourite restaurants in Mumbai, All Stir Fry, serves up consistently nice make-your-own-wok meals. My daughter loves to go back, partly for the wok and perhaps partly for the little fortune cookie they give us at the end. The meal is good. And reading the individual predictions inside the fortune cookie? Even better!

  With our loved ones too, we would do well to go beyond the routine and come up with a little surprise here and there. Dads and husbands, moms and wives—they all need to be trusted, to be completely dependable. But hey, add a little surprise, and you add magic to the relationship. Anniversary dinners are great, but they are expected. Predictable. Try taking your wife out for lunch on a busy working day instead—just like that. Or take all your kid’s friends out for some sugar candy on the beach. Just like that. Little surprises can be quite magical in their impact.

  Delivering toothpaste of consistent quality is good but seldom good enough. Success comes when you combine dependability and awe, predictability and surprise. The surprise can never be a substitute for dependability but it makes for a wonderful value-add. For bosses. For consumers. For loved ones.

  We all need to come up with little plastic animals. Remember, these freebies don’t cost much but they make a huge difference. Pick up the phone and speak to a friend you haven’t spoken to in years. Send little thank you notes to your colleagues. Send a piece of that homemade cake to that neighbour-you-don’t-always-meet. If you didn’t do any of these—no one would notice. But if you do—they’d never forget! Think of the joy you’d be providing when someone else reminisces on the memories of those surprise moments—putting together all those little figurines you’ve given them. Imagine watching them show off those little surprises that they have so lovingly collected over the years! Pure magic.

  Go for it. Create your own surprise animal-in-the-box. Bring back the Binaca smile.

  At work, bosses expect consistency, dependability, solid performances. Throw in a little extra, and you will soon be on the fast track. Consistent performance is a given. But ask yourself, what’s your little plastic animal figurine? It doesn’t cost much but it makes a huge difference.

  The Long (Spoon)

  and Short of Life

  From my days of growing up as a little kid in Jaipur, one of my fondest memories is of the entire family huddled under a blanket on a cold winter evening, listening to tales from Indian mythology that my father would narrate. As the heater whirred in the quiet of the night, the five of us sat under a large blanket on the bed; the need for warmth ensured that we didn’t elbow for more space on the bed but in fact jostled to get closer, to get warmer.

  The tales were about gods and demons, sacrifices and rewards, heroes and villains. And about good and evil, heaven and hell. Here’s one of those heaven-and-hell stories that I often replay in my mind, a bit like a Hindi film flashback …

  A holy man was speaking to the Lord one day and asked Him the difference between heaven and hell. ‘Come, I’ll show you,’ said the Lord, as he led the man up to two doors.

  He pushed open the first door and they entered a large room. A group of people was sitting around a large round table. And on the table was a large pot filled with delicious stew. The aroma made the holy man’s mouth water but he noticed that the people looked famished and sickly. They were all holding spoons with long handles, strapped to their arms. While they could all reach out and take spoonfuls of the delicious stew from the pot, they could not put them into their mouths, as the handles were longer than their arms! Their suffering was unbearable, made worse by the wonderful aroma. ‘That’s hell!’ said the Lord.

  ‘Now let’s look at heaven,’ he said, leading the man through the second door into another identical room. Same round table. Same pot of stew. Same aroma that made the holy man’s mouth water. Here too, the people at the table had long spoons strapped to their arms. But they all looked healthy and happy, and were laughing and enjoying themselves.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said the holy man. ‘Similar rooms, tables, pots, the same stew and identical long spoons. How come these guys are plump and happy, while those people were starved and sad?’

  ‘Simple,’ said the Lord. ‘These people have learnt to feed each other. The greedy think only of themselves.’

  End of flashback.

  Wow! Someone has rightly said that you can achieve all your goals—if only you help enough other people achieve their goals. Winning teams and winners are really all about people feeding each other. About putting other people’s needs and interests before your own.

  The good news is that we all have it in our power to create our own hell or heaven. The rooms, pots, stews, spoons are all the same, for all of us. Trying to feed yourself or learning to feed each other—that’s our choice.

  So hey, do something really selfish today. Help other people!

  You can achieve all your goals, if only you help enough other people achieve theirs.

  Gandhi and the

  One-shoe Syndrome

  One of the most celebrated stories from the life of Mahatma Gandhi is about his train journey in South Africa. The story of his first brush with Apartheid, and how he was thrown off a train meant only for whites.

  And one of my favourite stories from the life of the Mahatma is also set on a train. This one’s not so well known though. But, for me, it defines what made him a true giant among men.

  It concerns a rail journey that the young Gandhi was to undertake on his return to India. He waited at the railway platform for the train to arrive. In those days, it was not unusual for the British rail company to stop the train at a station only if some whites wanted to get on, or off. In case there were no white passengers, the train would simply slow down at the station, and Indians—old and young—would scramble on to (or off) the still moving train.

  And it so happened that as the young Gandhi climbed on to the moving train, one of his shoes slipped off. As he bent to try and grab it, it slithered down to the track, while the train gathered momentum. In a flash, Gandhi reached for his other shoe and threw it towards the fast disappearing other shoe on the track.

  A perplexed onlooker wondered aloud if Gandhi had indeed lost it completely. Gandhi explained: ‘Ah well, if someone is to find one of my shoes, hopefully he’ll find the other one too, and thus have a fine new pair for himself!’

  What a man. What a wonderful instinctive response!

  In this age of scams and greed and never-ending wants and the growing multitude of the unhappy rich, it strikes me that we can all take a leaf out of the Mahatma’s book.

  If you or I were in the Mahatma’s shoes (literally!), how would we have reacted? Probably felt miserable for the rest of the journey, at the loss of a new shoe. Complained about the callousness of the railway system. Cursed the engine driver who had caused the loss. Worried about how we’d manage once we reached our destination. That one lost shoe would have played on our mind all the way, piling on the misery.

  Unfortunately, we tend to focus on what we don’t have. Our mind zeroes in on what we’ve lost. That other shoe. And we carry that burden of loss, adding to our woes. When instead we could so easily focus on what we have—and see if that could be of use to someone. Giving away that second shoe didn’t just make some poor Indian happy (remember, a shoe was quite a luxury for most of our countrymen in those days), it made Gandhi happier too.

  Perhaps it’s time we all shifted focus. Instead of jostling to become go-getters—wanting more, more, more—we ought to learn to become go-givers. Learning to give
. Learning to share. Instead of spending our waking lives worrying about the shoe that got away, perhaps we should thank God for the shoe we still have, and discover how giving it away could make us, and someone else, happier.

  It’s not just about material possessions. It’s like that with love too. And respect. Learning to give, rather than longing for more, could make all of us happier. And the world a better place.

  This ‘go-giving’ attitude has to become second nature. Instinctive almost. It would not have helped Gandhiji to have realized half an hour into the train ride that the solitary shoe was of no use—and he might as well give it away. It worked because he thought of it right there, right then.

  Too often, we find ourselves discussing in the comfort of our homes how we should have—could have—helped someone. Done our bit. When the moment passes, the opportunity sadly vanishes too.

  So here’s an action commitment to make, today. Become a go-giver. Not a go-getter. Help someone. Share what you have. And discover the joys of not having to worry about the shoe that got away.

  Become a go-giver, not a go-getter.

  VI

  HARD WORK

  Navjot Sidhu: From Strokeless Wonder to Palm Tree Hitter!

  An air of expectation blows in every organization when annual appraisal season comes around. Appraisal time is time for performance feedback, and time for increments and bonuses.

  Traditionally, organizations have combined the feedback exercise with the annual salary revision ritual. I suspect this has reduced the efficacy of performance feedback as a powerful developmental tool.

  It doesn’t help that, culturally, Indians have tended to be rather poor at delivering (and receiving) critical feedback. We are taught to be nice guys; when a gracious hostess asks how the coffee is, we say it’s nice even if we feel it tastes like lukewarm cough syrup mixed with leftover soup! In our effort to make sure that the feedback is well received, we sugar-coat it. So much so that all that the recipient gets is sugar-coating, and the bitter pill is missed out.