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Penguin Books Ltd - Rekha Shetty

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83 pages

English

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What can entrepreneurs and business leaders learn from the Buddha? Dharam is a young, immensely successful investment banker in Manhattan. He thinks he rules the world, till one day the world comes crashing down around him. Accompanied by the enterprising Kunal (who sells fake Indian antiques to Americans) and the uncorrupted Supriya, Dharam undertakes a journey along the Buddhist pilgrim trail from Lumbini, Kapilavastu and Bodh Gaya to Sarnath, Rajgir, Nalanda, Vaishali, Kaushambi and Kushinagar. As he absorbs the timeless Buddhist teachings, he finds a new purpose to life, and develops the idea for an ethical yet profitable business The Buddhist Footprint. Bestselling innovation guru Rekha Shetty s new book reveals how true entrepreneurial energy can arise from a better understanding of life. Innovation Sutra is a book that will make a tangible difference to anyone who is willing to think out of the box and learn from India s ancient secrets of work life balance.

Sujets

Employabilité, métiers et formations

Entrepreneurship

Economics

Informations

Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	01 mai 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789351186960
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0400€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

DR REKHA SHETTY PH.D.

Innovation Sutra
The Secret to Better Business and a Better Life
Contents
About the Author
Advance Praise for the Book
Dedication
Prologue: The Ruins of Dharma
Dharam s Journal
One: New York
Two: Lumbini
Three: Birgunj: The Smuggler s Paradise
Four: Kapilavastu
Five: Gaya
Six: Bodhgaya and Enlightenment
Seven: The Bodhi Tree
Eight: Oh! Calcutta
Nine: Varanasi
Ten: The Deer Park at Sarnath
Eleven: Shravasti
Twelve: Rajgir
Thirteen: The Nalanda Experience
Fourteen: Vaishali
Fifteen: Kaushambi
Sixteen: Kushinagar
Seventeen: Back to Bodhgaya
Eighteen: Mumbai and Chennai
Nineteen: Bajaal
Twenty: Frankfurt
Twenty-One: London
Footnotes
Eleven: Shravasti
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PORTFOLIO
INNOVATION SUTRA
Dr Rekha Shetty is the founder of the Mindspower brand and managing director of Farstar Distribution Network Ltd, a twenty-year-old consulting company working exclusively on innovation initiatives, happiness and work-life balance. She consults for some of the region s foremost blue-chip companies and is keenly involved in social action for clean water and population development issues. She is one of the first women Rotary International governors in Asia and a recipient of Rotary s Service above Self award. Her other books include Innovate Happily , The Way to a Healthy Heart: The Zero Heart Attack Path ; Portable Roots ; Corporate Strategy: Mindspower Innovation ; Innovate! 90 Days to Transform Your Business and The Happiness Quotient . Dr Rekha Shetty s thoughts come from a deep study of many disciplines including management, sociology, psychology, economics, history and spirituality. Her ideas are practised in over thirty countries.
You can get in touch with Dr Rekha Shetty at rekhashetty123@gmail.com or rekhasmindspower@airtelmail.in . You can also visit her blogs, www.innovation90days.blogspot.com and www.thehappinessquotient123.blogspot.com , and join www.facebook.com/authorrekhashetty .
Advance Praise for the Book
This book is at the intersection of innovation and happiness . . . an innovative approach to innovation, an unusual book by any standard - R. Gopalakrishnan, Author, and Director, Tata Sons Limited
Dr Rekha Shetty, with a lifelong commitment to innovation, has successfully integrated Western thought with the Eastern ethos of creativity. Her latest book Innovation Sutra applies the principles of the Buddha to focus on innovation and how people should approach work in the corporate world - V. Narasimhan, Executive Director, Brakes India Limited (Foundry Division)
This book is dedicated: To my family, for my experiences in mudit (appreciative joy); To my elders, for their karu (compassion); To my in-laws, for their unconditional mett (loving kindness); and To the outlaws, for upekkha (equanimity), and inspiring me to find innovative solutions.
Prologue
The Ruins of Dharma
He stood amidst the ruins of yesterday s party, which had ended that morning at six. They were all gone, those gleaming wheeler-dealers, the slick Ivy League investment bankers, the leggy, anorexic models with mascaraed eyelashes and sharpened talons. The only thing that remained was that hidden letter from his banker, telling him it was all over. The next stop in his dazzling career graph was a maximum-security prison. He, who was called Dharam, was now to inhabit a place created for the ultimate practitioners of adharma .
He looked out from his city flat at the Manhattan skyline as it was being touched by the wavering fingers of sunrise. And he remembered how it had all begun.
His earliest memories were of his mother s voice-quiet and sweet, but firm. Hers was the iron hand in the velvet glove that kept his world functioning smoothly, like a river of silk. It was a household where everything happened like clockwork, till Dharam screamed out, at the boredom of it all.
Even as a baby, you were restless, said his mom. You always wanted someone to carry you and take you outdoors. School was an elite boys institution in Richmond, Washington. He had a good time, always in the middle ranks-an average boy-with a very successful father. Dharam s dad had made his money by fooling rich patients and making prudent investments in the stock market and in real estate. Dharam knew for sure that he did not want to be like him-fat, flatulent and vaguely fifty. A bridge-playing, Scotch-drinking dinosaur; a doctor who ignored his only son. And his mother tried to forget it all by whiling away her time in temples and ashrams. He wanted to make a mark, leave a footprint on global history. And he wanted to be a billionaire, in dollars. Then his dad would take notice.
Last year, he felt he had arrived. A grey gable-roofed house in a wooded, four-acre plot in Oyster Bay, Connecticut. A home with five-star facilities. He was the new investment superstar billionaire, founder of the Platinum Group, having dropped out of medical school in India and with an MBA from Columbia. Starting out as a lending officer in Citibank, he had soon changed over to a boutique investment-banking company in New York. He stared at the picture of his parents and grandparents standing beside him in the quadrangle of Columbia University. It captured his ultimate joy and relief at being able to go out into the world and follow his dreams. He was chunky but funky , said the pretty girls who clung to his arm as he enthusiastically sampled the charms of Greenwich Village.
Dharam s Journal
One
New York
I love New York. A melting pot of cultures where Ethiopian injera can be topped off with a tiramisu from the Italian restaurant next door. It is the centre of the world, where I wanted to be. Being arrested by the FBI, however, can be a bit bad for your mood. I knew the next few years were going to be bad. I knew I had to leave before they got me. But how? I wandered around my beautiful, empty flat. It already smelt deserted.
When I first saw the Connecticut house I live in, in the Oyster Bay Cove, I knew I wanted it more than anything else in my life. Next door, a boat was chained on the lawn, upside down. Even for an ultra-rich American, it clearly said, You ve arrived! It was the kind of suburb where everyone was a multimillionaire, where kids swam and sunbathed on private lakefronts. The median age is forty-two years, said the brochure where all the wives looked twenty-one at a distance of 15 metres. Carefully preserved, gym-bodied, and nipped and tucked to within an inch of their lives. One feared they might crack that brittle facade if they laughed too heartily.
This is where I would nurture my future perfect family of six-Ratna and me, two boys and two girls. I, who had always looked up longingly at the elite of the world, would seamlessly belong here. It would mean staying in New York and commuting long distances at times. But it was all worth it.
It was just past 4 a.m. There was a cautious knock on the front door. Let s get out of here fast, said Kunal, his eyes gleaming in the dark. I m going on a trip to India to collect Buddhist antiquities. Come with me. If you get caught in the correctional facilities of the US, you ll never get out. Let s go!
It took me just five minutes to pack a bag and leave. Then we were cosily ensconced in Kunal s purring Mercedes-Benz, which we soon ditched for a less conspicuous car, a battered Ford.
No calls, said Kunal. They can all be traced. He collected my Blackberry and iPad. I heard the resounding plops as he dropped them into the dark Hudson river.
It took two days of being holed up in Kunal s godown before I had a false passport made out for Ranjan Ratti . My hair was shaved close in a buzz cut. Finally, Kunal and I were on a flight to New Delhi without incident. I thought about Ratna living with her aunt in New Jersey, and her terror at finding me gone without a word. How would she handle the police, the law enforcement agencies, the media . . .? I had no choice.
Thirty hours later, we landed in the heat and dust of Delhi in late March. Before I knew it, we were on a flight to Kathmandu.
We are meeting an agent in Lumbini, said Kunal, impeccable in his white kurta-pyjama. Lumbini is the Buddha s birthplace, he said, as though that explained everything.
As I snoozed on the plane, it seemed like a sanctuary, a refuge from all the fear and the misery of the last few days. I remembered how I had first met Kunal . . .
It was the time when Ratna wanted to buy at least one priceless antiquity for our future home, preferably from India. My billionaire friend Chunky Pandya recommended Kunal. He is pricey, but, then, he s good, he said, texting Kunal s number to me.

Kunal
There are men who fall in love with a dimple and marry the whole woman, said a wit. Kunal told me he was sure he would never make the mistake of marrying a woman again. Why should he, when he could have any woman he wanted? Well, almost.
He had feasted his eyes on the classic beauty of immortal goddesses cast in bronze. He particularly remembered a 10-inch Adishakti, weighing about 4 kg, from Karwar. Which woman could compete with that? And the thing about bronzes? They never talked back. They remained the same, untouched by age. As his uncle, an old rou , somewhat crudely said, When milk is freely available, why buy a cow?
But a woman scorned had done him in. Padmini had said she was the princess of some ancient principality on the border of Orissa and Andhra Pradesh. She certainly had the air of one, if not a bank account to match. They had some good times, but that did not give her the right to gyp him out of the profits on a dozen hard-won statues (worth almost a million dollars). She seemed to think the nights she spent with him were fair exchange for the dollars those beauties represented!
Ten years, that s how long it had lasted. He had met her at an art gallery in San Francisco, where an eminently forgettable artist had d