At the outset let me make it clear that I am not particularly fond of milk. It’s not that I am lactose intolerant or anything, infact I quite enjoy icecreams and milk maid mithais. Milk is what is nutritious, and life sustaining, and also boring; milk is a synonym for things in life which need to be done, but not necessarily enjoyed. Back in my childhood, drinking milk was a chore; I often drained it down the sink, or watered the rose plants with ‘milk water,’ after all if it’s good for me it must be wonderful for the plants, right? So anyways , back to who moved my milk. Now we’ve all heard of who moved my cheese , the shining best seller amongst many self help books. The simplistic story of two mice and two little people who realize that their ‘cheese’ in life has moved. Cheese signified all the things in life that we enjoy and like, or as Haw’s writings on the wall say- having cheese makes you happy . It was a book on how to de