Muddled Scripts

The social media riots of 2015

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 29 Nov 2015 13:31:00 +0000

Mob psychology and prejudice make for a potent cocktail. Contrary to what we like to believe, education, wealth and social status have no sobering effect.

Long ago, when BTM Layout was still a sad, sleepy part of Bangalore, I came across an ad for a house on rent. A couple of friends informed me that it was a Muslim area. I shrugged. I really didn't care one way or the other. As I walked down the road late that evening to check the house out, a dark sense of foreboding struck me. I felt extremely uncomfortable. I turned around, and never did check the house out.

It was a totally irrational thing to do. I'm not religious. I get as annoyed by songs in temples as by azzans in mosques. I feel awkward discussing faith, regardless of what religion we are discussing. Logically, I knew that BTM II stage had as many nice people and as many not-so-nice ones as any other part of the city. I knew for a fact that the area had never seen a religious riot. Yet I turned around. I had let my prejudice get the better of me that day. Over fifteen years later, I still feel ashamed of it. The only saving grace is that I know I'm not alone. There's prejudice in every one of us, whether we admit it or not. The only real choice we have is between suppressing it within, or revelling in it and infecting our kids as well.

An even older incident involved me as a wide-eyed fresher in IIT Kharagpur. Sitting in the mess hall, I struck up a conversation with a tall, well-built guy sitting next to me. He was from Delhi. During the course of the conversation, he mentioned that he was a Sikh. Catching my involuntary glance at his head where the turban was supposed to be, he said, "Oh, I'm a kata sardar". Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was my poor understanding of Hindi. But I mentally translated it as a stunted, incomplete sardar. He spoke about the 1984 riots, and how they decided to cut their hair to avoid being identified as Sikhs. I felt horrible inside. A community that counts pride and honour among its core values. A 10-year old, forced to remain stunted, or be killed. It was not the Congress or BJP that did it. It was not the Hindus or Sikhs either. It was the mob. Fuelled by prejudice.

Mob psychology and prejudice make for a potent cocktail. Contrary to what we like to believe, education, wealth and social status have no sobering effect. That was amply proved in the social media riots of 2015.

Yes, what happened in the social media over the last couple of weeks was a riot. It had otherwise normal people throwing rocks of words and bombs of sentences at others. They stabbed others in posts. People incited each other. They used words and made statements that they will regret later (hopefully). They were a mob, and the riot took a life of its own. People, instead of suppressing their prejudice and strangling it, chose to revel in it and celebrate it.

It was not about Aamir Khan at all. Nobody really cares what he thinks, or whether he lives in India. He was just a vehicle. When they asked him to go to Pakistan, they meant Muslims. When they asked him to be grateful for the opportunities India has given him, they meant Muslims. Aamir Khan's statement was just an excuse for people to give vent to their prejudices.

These riots have already caused significant damage. The Internet never forgets. All the statements and barbs will remain hanging out there. They will come back to haunt us. As the matter cools down, we are drawing the wrong lessons from it. Some of my friends had stayed clear of the fracas, as had I. We thought that the whole thing was stupid and that it is best we ignore it. But prejudice can be ignored only as long as it remains within individuals. Once it infects a mob, it should be fought actively. As early as possible. Else it can get horribly destructive. The next time it happens, we should come out more forcefully against unacceptable behaviour. Hopefully, that will stop the mob from forming.

Virtual Manager ™

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 17:19:00 +0000

The Opportunity:

They go by various designations - delivery manager, group project manager, director, general manager, account manager, engagement manager, AVP, VP, Overlord of Cubicle Farm AS34213 etc. They account for around 2% of the population of technology professionals in the country, but pocket over 10% of all salary paid. Their value has always been questioned by the other 98%, but nothing has ever been proven conclusively. Primary reason being that they have conveniently placed themselves outside the purview of the Only-Metric-that-Matters - billable utilization.

However, with the tight market conditions and worsening economic scenario, there is increasing pressure from shareholders and analysts to cut costs. After squeezing salaries, reducing bench and scaling down investments, companies will eventually need to look at this fertile area for further cost reductions.

The Product:

Virtual Manager ™ (Patent pending), a product suite built using cutting edge technologies, that does everything that a middle-to-senior manager does, at a fraction of the cost. The suite comprises of several products:

Foundation Products

MS Officer™: Covers around 80% of real manager functionality - generating Microsoft Word, Excel or PowerPoint documents. All our products use MS Officer™ to generate bulk of the content for their responses. Preference for format of content gradually moves from Word to Excel to PowerPoint with increasing seniority of the Virtual Manager.

Resource Manager™: A simple Excel-based software to track list of resources, skillsets, allocation, utilization etc. It randomly moves resource names around, based on inputs from our other products.

Attitudes™: Based on an idea first floated in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, this revolutionary product uses sophisticated rules engine based algorithms to generate responses for specific manager personality types. You can create your prefered manager personality type based on configurable levels of ambition, values, skill, past success etc. Or you can choose from four standard presets that cover most managers:

Default: Sits on decisions, makes excuses, hinders others, asks for status updates, conducts meaningless reviews, and is generally a pain in the ass.

Postman: Efficiently passes on work allocation (with an FYA) as well output (with an FYI) from one point to another, adding zero value in the process.

Weasel: Same as Postman, but passes on output only after branding it as its own, or one of its favorites'. Also comes up with plenty of initiatives using our Initiative Maker™, especially during performance review season.

Joker: Exhibits high levels of energy without really getting anywhere, talks passionately about how its team would change the world, questions the way things are done. Much to the amusement of everyone else around.

Our other products use Attitudes™ to generate their responses so that output appears to come from real managers.

Other Products

Easy Meet™: One-stop-shop for handling all conference calls and meetings. Built using state-of-the-art voice recognition technologies, this uses a simple switch case algorithm to identify context and generate appropriate responses. For example,

Switch {Speaker Identity}:

Case: "Client", "Onshore Partner", "Boss"

Switch {Context}:

Case: "Request", "Order", "Wish", "Stupid idea"

Say "Yes sir" [Or equivalent text in a flavor generated by Attitudes™]

Case: "Query", "Request for information or opinion"

Say " {underling name} can you please respond to that"

Case: "Make Decision"

Say "Anything that is fine with you"

Case: "Resource"

Switch {Context}:

Case: "Request"

Say "Let me check the policy"

Case: "Make Decision"

Say "I'll get back to you on that"

And so on…

MailMan™: An email management software tailored to seamlessly replace real managers with their virtual counterparts. Built using sophisticated text-mining technologies, this uses a simple switch case algorithm to identify context and generate appropriate responses. For example,

Switch {Sender Identity}:

Case: "Client", "Onshore Partner"

Switch {Context}:

Case: "Request", "Order", "Wish", "Work Allocation", "Query"

Action: Add "FYA" and forward to {underling name}

Case: "More billable work"

Action: Respond thanking profusely

Action: Add "FYA" and forward to {underling name}

Case: "Make Decision"

Action: Reply saying "Anything that is fine with you"

Case: "Complaint"

Action: Respond apologizing profusely

Action: Set up meeting to do a root cause analysis

Case: "Appreciation"

Action: Add cliched expression (Your rock/ Keep it up/ Etc.) and forward to the whole world

Case: "Resource"

Switch:

Case: "Request for approval"

Action: Iterate thrice asking for meaningless information before replying "Approved"

Case: "Make Decision"

Action: Move to trash OR Forward to boss

Case: "Resignation"

Action: Call up resource immediately and act shocked

And so on…

NormaGen™: Defies the laws of mathematics and statistics by coming up with normal distributions of appraisal ratings for sets of as few as two resources. It then aggregates many such distributions to come up with an overall normal distribution for the organization. Under the hood, it runs sophisticated sentiment analysis algorithms on voice recordings and emails sent by resources to generate random ratings, with a slight favorable bias towards resources who suck up to Virtual Manager™.

Initiative Maker™: A must-have in every Virtual Manager's armory. This is what differentiates one Virtual Manager from another. It scans McKinsey/Gartner/Forrester/IDC websites for cool sounding buzzwords, maps them to what's hot in the organization, and comes up with beautiful PowerPoint documents outlining risk-free proposals that sound important and achieve nothing. After milking the document for all the publicity it can generate, it sometimes passes it on to Policy Guru™ and generates a fresh initiative.

Policy Guru™: Uses sophisticated boosting techniques to convert 10-slide Powerpoints to 200-page Policy and Procedures manuals. Also sets up a configurable number of meetings in the calendar to discuss the finer details of each section in the manual.

Over time, we plan to add several more products to the suite so that we can offer our clients a comprehensive end-to-end solution that adds value and takes management to a whole new paradigm.

The age of entitlement

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 17:00:00 +0000

Note: I had written most of this in early 2010, but never posted it. Have updated for key events of 2011 now.

There was an article by Robert Samuelson in the Washington Post quoting a survey and analyzing how different generations have fared in America. We do not have a similar survey for India. But I, like Hercule Poirot, believe that fieldwork is dispensable. To ferret out the truth, you only need to sit down and think. So, I sat down and put together these tables:

Generational experiences:

Age	Born	Have always known	Experienced the phenomenon of	Saw the rise of	Saw/will see the demise of	Never seen/Mildly seen
< 24	1985 or later	Liberal economy Satellite TV Computers Sachin Tendulkar Nuclear families	Beauty queens Reality TV 9/11	Internet, email and Google Mobile phones Shopping malls Consumer choice China IPL Expensive higher education	Landlines Cheap oil Social support Union labor	License raj
25 - 45	1965 - 1985	Amitabh Bachchan	Liberalization Mandal Babri Masjid Forex crisis Fall of Berlin Wall	Computers Satellite TV Sachin Tendulkar Khans Coalition politics Nuclear family Infosys GSLV; Chandrayan	Doordarshan Cold war Telegraph USSR/Communism Ambassador/Bajaj scooter License raj	Wars Food Shortage
46 - 65	1945 - 1965	Political freedom Cold war	Food shortage Wars Brain drain Green revolution Emergency Nationalization Hippy movement Coercive population control	Indira Gandhi Amitabh Bachchan Cricket Urban Growth Air travel Reliance Industries Ambassador/Bajaj scooter Space program	Hockey Sea travel	Colonial rule
> 65	Before 1945		Independence World war Famines	America USSR/Communism Constitutional rule Tatas	Colonialism

Period of initial impact / Period of domination for each generation*

Current Age	Sports	Business and Economy	Arts & Entertainment	Science & Technology	Politics and Administration
Peak impact at -->	15-35 years	35-60 years	25-45 years	25-45 years	50-80 years
< 24	2000-2005 / 2010-2030	2020-2025 /2030-2050	2010-2015 / 2020-2040	2010-2015 / 2020-2040	2035-2040 / 2050-2070
25 - 45	1980-1985 / 1990-2010	2000-2005 / 2010-2030	1990-1995 / 2000-2020	1990-1995 / 2000-2020	2015-2020 / 2030-2050
46 - 65	1960-1965 / 1970-1990	1980-1985 /1990-2010	1970-1975 / 1980-2000	1970-1975 / 1980-2000	1995-2000 / 2010-2030
> 65	Till 1965	Till 1985	Till 1980	Till 1980	Till 2010

* E.g., Individuals between ages 15 and 35 have the greatest impact in sports. The generation that is currently 25-45 years old first impacted sports between 1980-1985, but their peak impact was between 1990-2010.

The pre-independence generation: Born before 1945:

A generation that saw major wars, famines and colonialism. Phenomena that can be truly considered history now. It was a generation that handled great adversity with fortitude and largely pulled itself out of most of it. There was a sense of purpose in the way it threw off the shackles of colonialism and gave us constitutional rule. It firmed up the idea of India, preserved political freedom and set up the framework for much of the successes and failures of the later years. They are often accused of setting us on the wrong path in the name of socialism and non-alignment. But given the circumstances of that age, it was a very viable and attractive path.

This generation is largely retired and inactive today, except in the political sphere. Those who are impatient for them to hand over the reins to the next generation haven’t done much analysis of what’s really in store once that happens.

The post-independence generation: Born 1945-1965:

A generation that turned Bajaj scooter into a status symbol obviously had something gone terribly wrong. Bequeathed a legacy of freedom and fight for survival, this is a generation that seems to have given up and rested on the laurels of a past generation. It was a generation of half measures – seemingly content with just avoiding or postponing pitfalls. Faced with severe food shortages, they ushered in the Green Revolution, but didn’t take it to the next logical level of commercializing agriculture. They rallied to end Emergency quickly, but failed to push for political institutions for better governance. Despite constant professions of self-sufficiency, national pride and patriotism, this was a generation that seems to have lacked self-respect, drive and a will to succeed. Helplessly watched while other nations made rapid progress – at their peak, India had poorer socioeconomic indicators than even its neighbors in South Asia.

It is a generation that let hockey fade, and achieved almost nothing of consequence in sports. It is a generation that eventually grudgingly accepted Tendulkar as a great player, but still believes Gavaskar, Vishwanath and the spin quartet were the greatest thing to have happened to Indian cricket. Apart from the ’83 world cup and minor successes in tennis, they had little to show by way of achievement. The fact that Mikka Singh and PT Usha were hailed as a great achievers is indicative of the low standards the entire generation had set for itself.

Faced with dwindling opportunities largely of their own making, many chose to emigrate rather than correct things. Having inherited a socialist legacy, they chose to focus on nationalization and abolition of privy purses rather than land reform and providing equality of opportunity. It was a generation that made corruption respectable, the Ambassador car a national institution, and Indira Gandhi a visionary leader. Shackled by controls, Reliance was their greatest achievement in the world of business – mainly driven by Ambani’s ability to ‘fix’ government policy. Almost no progress was made in science and technology. Their professed mistrust of anything foreign ensured that nothing worthwhile was imported from elsewhere either. The space program saw rockets spend more time in the sea than in space. Art and entertainment was more escapist than aspirational. They were happy to see Rajesh Khanna get all romantic, but loved tragic endings because it fitted with their world view. Amitabh Bachchan drew applauses and a fan following with his angry young man act, but that rarely translated to any kind of action on the street.

They are only now beginning to have an impact in the political sphere, and the results haven’t been terribly inspiring. It is scary to think of what would happen once the Manmohan Singhs and Advanis retire. It is early days yet, but Anna Hazare’s biggest contribution to the nation’s long-term good might be that he has cleared a path for Arvind Kejriwal and his ilk to play an active role in politics, bypassing the traditional hierarchy.

The transformation generation: Born 1965-1985:

A generation that has been spared the worst of war and famine can count itself lucky. Still, it has seen major upheavals, both on the domestic as well as the global front. It can take pride in the way it embraced liberalization and converted globalization into an opportunity rather than perceive it as a threat.

Apart from cricket and chess, the sporting achievement shelf remains mostly barren for this generation too. It did, however, refuse to give Leander Paes the kind of adulation Vijay Amritraj received a couple of decades earlier. The way it approached cricket was instructive. Ganguly will always be a bigger hero than his batting stats indicate because he was NOT a nice guy. He wanted to WIN, and not just perform his duty to the best of his ability. Poets waxed eloquent over Laxman’s artistry or Manjrekar’s technique But Tendulkar, Ganguly, Dravid and Kumble were the icons – their focus on doing whatever it takes to win struck a chord with this generation. It is heartening to see Dhoni and Gambhir carry the flag today. However, we might be witnessing the beginning of the end. It is hard to see the Rainas and Kohlis display the same level of commitment in the years ahead.

Those who are impressed with the economic growth over the last couple of decades haven’t seen anything yet. The real boom is only beginning. The kids who entered the workforce in the 1990s have tasted success. As middle-aged men and women now, they are hungry for more. They are in an environment that allows risk-taking and encourages bloody-minded pursuit of success. The whole nation would brim with energy and entrepreneurial spirit. Compared to it, the wild west would seem like an idyllic tropical island, the Over the next two decades, India will look at China in the eye, happily walk all over a faltering Europe, and give condescending lectures to America – thanks to this generation.

Winning at all costs might have been great, had it been tempered by the presence of influential thinkers and articulators. People who could have kept the larger picture in mind and had the ability and reach to egg the generation on to better and more equitable social policies. Unless we quickly unearth someone other than Chetan Bhagat, progress for the nation will come at great human cost. The phenomenon, whatever it is called in future history books, would rival slavery and colonialism in terms of misery inflicted by man upon man.

The post liberalization generation: Born after 1985:

A former boss whom I respect a lot once wistfully remarked that when he joined the workforce, he was glad that someone was willing to actually pay him for whatever little he could do. He contrasted that with kids entering the workforce nowadays with a million expectations. Welcome to what I like to call the Entitlement Generation.

A lot has been made of India’s expected demographic dividend over the next few decades. For the uninitiated, it refers to the phase in a nation’s demographic change where the proportion of working age population is very high. Apparently all these people would be super-productive and the nation would be transformed into a land of milk and honey. Even more has been said about how we might fail to reap the fruits of this demographic dividend. After all, productivity is not just a function of age. Health and education also counts. By failing to invest sufficiently in health and education of our populace, the theory goes, we will lose this golden opportunity of going one up on the decadent West forever.

But what really worries me is the other side of the equation – the post-productive youth, or the spoilt brats. If the demographic dividend is to be reaped, our healthy and educated young men and women need to be hungry for success. They need to be willing to put their heads down and work hard to achieve something. They need to be willing to sacrifice some of today’s pleasures for greater gains tomorrow. Now, every generation has some people who feel entitled to receive benefits without having to earn it. These are the spoilt brats who refuse to grow up. But it is usually a small proportion and are quite irrelevant in the larger scheme of things even if they get away with it. That might be changing.

A typical software engineer expects to be paid 4-5 lakhs yearly – because that’s what he or she thinks they should be getting. And then the cribs start. How could you refuse me a transfer to Pune? Can anyone explain why the gym is not open during working hours. How am I expected to spend the mandated 9.15 hours in office and still maintain a work-life balance? 24-year old men and women complaining about lack of work-life balance would be hilarious if it were not so symptomatic of a larger malaise. Apparently people entering other industries are like that too. It might be a generational thing. A whole generation that wants to piggy back off others’ success is scary.

So, we’ve got a social mess that my generation is busy creating, followed by whatever mess the next generation creates. Sia, you and your friends have a lot of clean-up to do. Hope you are up to it.

26 years on - still living on the edge

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 01:56:00 +0000

Most memories blur over time, but some remain as sharp as ever. My dad had already left for office by the time I woke up at 6:00 AM or so. That was weird in itself because he had moved to the 'general shift' a year before. My mom said there was some problem at the factory and dad had been summoned to help fix it. I shrugged and started getting ready for school.

Akashwani report that 15 people had died in a gas leak at Union Carbide. Oh, so that's the problem my dad had been called up for. This was well before the days of 24-hour tabloid TV or mobile connectivity. News filtered in gradually. It soon became apparent that the accident was much bigger than it initially appeared to be. Hundreds could die. The ten year old mind doesn't quite grasp the tragedy of death, but can count. Hundred is a big number. It was a huge accident by any yardstick. It was still an accident though - the words tragedy and disaster hadn't been associated with it yet.

We smelt the gas, as the wind blew it across Arera Colony where we lived - 15 kilometers away from the factory. It has a pungent, ugly odor. The kind of odor raw insecticides have. Insecticides. Yes. It is supposed to kill. It is supposed to be very efficient at it. To get anything deadlier than that, you need to break into defense laboratories. There was a good reason why the factory was initially located very far from human settlement. The city had gradually crept closer to it, though.

My dad returned home the next day. His account of what happened in those 30 hours was fascinating. It was an account of brave men covering their faces with wet towels and going towards the factory, not running away from it. It was an account of men working relentlessly to fix the leak - with no success. It was a story of how a potential leak of 80 tonnes of chlorine was plugged in time. It was a story of how the company and its employees struggled to contain the damage, when the only government presence was Arjun Singh's helicopter circling above the affected area, ostensibly to assess the damage.

Life changed for me too. Six months later, my dad was transferred from a city I loved to a hellhole called Chennai. You say 'gas' and the letters M-I-C immediately form in my mind. Every time I work late with my team trying to fix a production problem or to meet a release deadline or to get a proposal out on time, I think of the 30 hours my dad and his colleagues spent handling a real crisis. It sort of numbs you.

You don't need Amnesty International to tell you that the verdict is too little, too late. Union Carbide got away lightly. It should have gone bankrupt paying compensation claims. But there is a larger issue of safety regulations being insufficient and poorly implemented. Of poor disaster management. Of zoning guidelines being flouted.

Some of the victims of the disaster got a measly compensation after several years of waiting, most got nothing. Some people have been convicted for negligence after 26 years. But how long will it take for us to beef up our regulatory framework, compliance and disaster management?

Farewell, dear Infy

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 01:39:00 +0000

A few months back, Sachin and Ilango came into my cabin to check if I had done anything about an urgent issue they had mailed me about. “Umm…I was kind of hoping that it would go away if I sat on it for long enough”. Ouch. Apathy had well and truly set in. That was the last straw. It was time to move on. Else, Sachin and Ilango would. Infosys needs them a lot more than it needs me.

God knows I have more flaws than can be listed in one blog. But sitting on problems or decisions has never been one of those. Nor have I ever had this sense of apathy towards outcomes. A bit of superficial analysis pointed to a hundred excuses – external excuses – that led to this apathy. Yeah right. If you are honest with yourself, you know that each of those excuses points to within you. You need to fix it yourself. But how exactly do you combat apathy? Do you really need to? Would it make any difference? Who the hell cares anyway?

You need to shake things up a bit. You need to shed baggage accumulated over years. You need to get rid of security blankets you’ve been clutching. You need a change in environment. A mere vacation or break would not do. It has to be the real deal. A far smaller organization, and even a start-up were fair possibilities. But stability is something you’ve really been craving for of late. A fourteen year long journey that has taken you through eight cities across three continents has pretty much satiated your appetite for adventure. You want to settle down. You want to grow roots. You want to know what timings you would be working on most days. You want to spend time with your daughter. You want to plan outings with your wife. You want to get down to the business of living life.

Career success still matters. After all, that’s what defines your sense of self worth. Stagnation is not an option. You need to keep growing. You need to keep learning. You need to keep pushing your envelope. You still crave for appreciation from your bosses, acknowledgement from your peers, and applause from your teams. You still want to build something new; you still want to improve upon whatever works. You want an environment that lets you do all this. Like Infosys did.

It was never an easy decision to make. I had grappled with a similar decision six and a half years back. But the contrast couldn’t have been more striking this time round. Back then, it was a rebellious teenager leaving home in a huff saying he didn’t like the new furniture. He craved to see what the world outside looked like. He resented the constraints imposed at home. He wanted to taste freedom elsewhere. Deep in his heart, he knew that he could return if the going got too rough. I’ve never regretted that decision. Kanbay was a great place to work too. But when things did get rough on the personal front, Infosys is where I sought to return to.

It is a lot more considered this time. There’s a realization that you have to let go if you really want to grow up. There is a desire to throw those blankets away for good. A firm decision not to look back however stormy the weather gets. A hope that the seas would be mostly clear. The knowledge that the occasional tempest can be navigated. Above all, a quiet confidence that I would be valuable elsewhere too.

Goodbye, dear Infy. I’ll miss you. I’ll continue cheering you on as you scale greater heights. Wish you all the best. UHG, here I come.

Why, Harsha, why?

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 04:08:00 +0000

Dear Harsha,

Most of us chose to play it safe. We dutifully completed our engineering courses; many got MBAs degrees as well. We then chose the anonymity and safety of cubicle farms and eventually moved into offices. We mostly did well. Earned decent money and settled into our routine humdrum lives. Deep in our hearts we knew that we’d rather be writers, journalists, rocket scientists or hockey players. But those vocations were either fraught with risks or with limited opportunities. So we made our compromises. We have largely been happy with the compromises we made. Happy in a numb or deluded sort of way.

All through it, we followed the rise of one man who could have had a better corporate career than most of us. That man, instead, chose to follow his heart and got into sports commentary. Your rise, Harsha, has been the source of endless coffee table or bar room conversations. We were proud that one of our own chose to follow his heart and did well. You probably have been the source of more vicarious pleasure than any other man in recent history. At least amongst those of us who took the education-to-success route.

I’m not so sure now, though.

I can’t imagine you actually enjoying commentary now. There’s no way you can enjoy it when you are required to extol the virtues of a gas balloon while Tendulkar is playing an exquisite cover drive. Your brilliant turn of phrase has now given way to describing citi moments of success and karbon kamal catches. Your analogies and descriptions are now more Sidhu than Benaud. All this puts you in same league as insurance telemarketers or chit fund hawkers.

If your commentary has become a compromise of career success over job satisfaction, your columns have become a compromise of job security over values. Did you really not know that dealings in the IPL were murky at best? Did you really not realize the importance of being clean before the current scandal broke out? Can’t you really do no better than writing what is at best an apology for Modi’s brashness? Would I be right in inferring that you’d rather Modi were more subtle so that the dirt weren’t stirred up to raise a stink?

Please don’t do this to us, Harsha. Tharoor is a politician. Modi is a sleazy businessman. They are expected to roll in mud. They are expected to throw it on others. They are expected to revel in it. But you are one of us. You can do better than cheering them or commenting on the quality or texture of the mud. Come back to the corporate world. With your talent and ability, you’ll probably make as much money anyway. And your compromises will be nicely tucked away beneath layers of anonymity.

Or prove it to us that the grass over there is indeed greener.

Life goes on

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 14:10:00 +0000

74 CRPF personnel were killed on 6th April. The markets barely acknowledged it – the Sensex actually went on to breach the 18K mark the next day. On 9th April, borrowing rates in Greece touched 7.5% and the Sensex tanked by 250 points (before recovering). Let’s get this straight. A key indicator of the country’s economic performance remains unmoved by the most serious challenge to the state we’ve seen in decades, but quivers when a fringe nation on another continent threatens to default.

The reaction to the crisis is Greece is easy to understand. An increase in borrowing rates increases the risk that Greece would default on its debt repayments. This could undermine the Euro and the larger European Union, spark off a credit crisis in the rest of the world and eventually impact the global economy. India could be affected too. A series of ‘coulds’, but the markets need to factor in all risks. All perfectly understandable.

What is less understandable is the lack of reaction to what happened in Dantewada. The tragedy of 74 deaths and grieving families apart, it is also a challenge that undermines the authority of the state. It is evidence that the state is ineffective in some regions at least. It is evidence that governance could collapse in these regions. This could spread to other regions, threatening the political and social fabric of the nation. It could impact the economy as well. Again, a series of ‘coulds’, but with a real chance of all this happening. How come nobody noticed?

Four possible reasons.

Analysts are dumb and short sighted
Specialization can be a terrible thing. All our hot shot finance MBAs most likely never learnt any social sciences. They have impressive models and tools for analyzing financial markets. They know how to apply these to economic data from across the globe. But are left clueless when risks hit them from elsewhere.

I don’t like this argument. It is too simplistic, and counts on too many people to be dumb.

The challenge can be met with little cost
Maybe the government can handle this easily. Chidambaram knows exactly what to do. He has drawn up a plan of action, lined up funds and resources, got all parties on board and is all set to implement the plan. The insurgency will be quelled in all the 150 odd districts where it is active now. It would be quick and efficient, and there would be minimal social or economic cost.

Excuse me while I laugh.

The challenge is irrelevant
Maybe places like Dantewada and people living there don’t count for much. The cliché about two Indias. One includes businessmen, politicians, professionals and the like. And market analysts. The other India includes the farmers, laborers, tribal people and other such insignificant people. A minor portion of the populace operates on the boundary. They include domestic help, auto drivers and shopkeepers. And government forces and officials in far flung areas. It is only the former India that counts for anything in economic calculations. The later is mostly irrelevant. Except maybe for their mines.

The interaction between the two Indias will comprise largely of minor skirmishes of the Dantewada kind, and exchange of labor for some money. Darkly reminiscent of the Eloi and Morlocks from HG Wells’ Time Machine. This may very well happen, but it is still a few decades away.

Risks have already been factored in
Maybe the markets have already factored in the risks. They have made allowances for the state not having complete control over its territory and population. They have also assumed that this situation is not likely to change significantly in foreseeable future. There will continue to be skirmishes and challenges to the state. But no challenge will be strong enough to overthrow the state itself.

If we rise as a nation despite this, it will probably a first in history. I can’t recall a single instance of a nation having risen to the top before the state gaining complete control over its territory and population. More likely, we’ll remain a middle-rung nation, with pretentions to superpowerdom. We’ll always talk about past glory or future potential, while stumbling through the present.

The Singapore Tour Diary

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 18:19:00 +0000

There was a question posed for discussion in TOI. “Is it worthwhile to send corporators on a trip to Singapore for efficient civic governance?”. Of course it is. Those Singaporewalas need to provide more corners for spitting paan and more walls for you-know-what. They could definitely learn a thing or two from our corporators.

Wait. I’m missing something here. Apparently, “Corporators from Lucknow have left for a visit to Singapore to learn about efficient civic governance from the South East Asian country, acclaimed to have one of the world’s best municipal infrastructure and policies”. Ah. They want to improve upon what we already have. Seems they have been asked to maintain a diary so that they can submit a report on what they learn. Here’s one.

April 6th
We landed in the afternoon. It was sweltering. God knows where we have come. Earlier plan was ki we will visit London. But our missuses wanted us to do some shopping for them. Thank god the car had AC. On the way, the car stopped. We asked the driver if there was any accident or juloos. He said red light sir. That’s when I realized ki we didn’t have any laal batti on our car. Is this how you treat visiting dignitaries? These Singapore fellows don’t know how to welcome guests. We eventually reached our destination and checked in. Since it was a five star hotel, there would be no problem of light going off.

There was a pamphlet advertising some kind of intimate Thai massage. All of us went for it. It was awesome. You have to experience it to believe it. Later, we had a few drinks of Johnny Walker and went to sleep.

April 7th
We were supposed to meet the Singapore councilors today. They had sent a chaprasi to come and get us. Even chaprasis are pretty well dressed here. Hard to distinguish them from bada sahibs. I’m sure he’ll expect a lot more than five rupees if a normal citizen wanted to meet his boss. We went down, but there was no car. The chaprasi said the council office is just across the road, within walking distance. We were outraged, but didn’t want to create a scene. At the road, the chaprasi pressed a button on a pole and a tick-tick sound started coming from somewhere. Suddenly all traffic stopped for us. Nice of them to have installed it for us, but I still prefer my laal batti wala car.

I looked for a government office across the road, but there didn’t seem to be any. Instead, we were taken to another hotel-like building that turned out to be the government office. Arre, we can make our office like this in Lucknow also, but then everyone will come and camp there. The chaprasi rushed ahead muttering that we were fifteen minutes late for the meeting. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. I assured him that that those guys wouldn’t have reached yet. It was only a little past 11 o’clock.

But they were already in office. Must be because they knew we were coming. There were two of them, and the chaprasi also joined us at the table. What strange customs these people have. I was offended, but didn’t say anything. We had to be good guests after all. I even spat my paan into a spittoon they had kept in a corner. It had a plant as decoration. The meeting began and one of the fellows asked us what our agenda was. Not much, we said. We wanted to see some nice places and do some shopping. We had only three days, so we wanted to take it easy.

They looked a little uncomfortable. One of them suggested water supply, waste management, traffic management, urban planning and a few other things that I don’t remember. We weren’t very keen, but said ok.

April 8th
Had too much Johnny Walker last night, so was sleeping when the phone rang. It was the same chaprasi-cum-councilor. Said he was waiting downstairs. Arre yaar, it was not even 10 o’clock. How was I supposed to learn things if I was not even allowed to sleep properly. Anyway, since I wanted to be a good guest, I said I’ll be there in an hour.

We were taken to a water desalination plant. Since the city doesn’t have any fresh water, they filter sea water. He said it cost 60 million dollars to set up. That is around 200 crore. Mishra-ji asked him how much his cut was. He pretended he didn’t understand the question. But now we know where his suit-boot comes from. Sharmaji-said we should also set up a desalination plant in Lucknow. We got into a discussion of where to procure salt water from. I suggested we’ll set up two plants – one to add salt into Gomti, and the other to desalinate it. That way, we can get cuts from two projects. My cut will be bigger because the idea was mine.

The guy suggested that we go to the sewage treatment plant next. We explained that we don’t need it in Lucknow because we have a river and we can just dump it all there. Besides we were eager to get started on the lists our missuses had given us.

April 9th
Today’s plan was to discuss traffic management and urban planning. A new guy took us to his office and started giving a presentation. Thankfully they had darkened the room and I was able to nap without offending him. But once the lights came back on, I had to appear interested. I asked him for a solution to one of our most pressing problems – how to maintain the statues. He didn’t understand. All of us finally managed to explain to him that we were looking for a solution to prevent vandalism of public property. He said they have strict punishments that includes caning offenders. Great! We’ll also pass a law to cane pigeons. Behenji will be pleased.

We broke free after lunch and finished our shopping. Packing everything now because we have an early flight to catch tomorrow. Hope we go to somewhere more exciting next year.

Year 2020 - How Lalit Modi saved the world

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 14:44:00 +0000

What does a man need? Roti, kapda and makaan. And something to keep him occupied.

Jairam Ramesh’s calculated gamble of introducing Bt crops had paid off spectacularly, with yields tripling from what they were before. Food prices plummeted, causing large sections of the population to quit farming and move to urban areas. The million odd farmers who remained true to their vocation now make pots of money.

Manmohan Singh’s nuclear deal brought in much needed technology. Combined with typical Indian ingenuity, this led to the development of cheap, clean and reliable reactors that run on Thorium. Quillon has become the new Gulf.

But the biggest change was brought about by a decade of growth in the Indian Premier League that is now played all through the year. There are 33 franchisees – 25 domestic and 8 international, with a combined net worth of over a trillion dollars. They play 1115 matches every year among themselves. That’s over 230,000 minutes worth of direct ad revenues. IPL matches are now telecast as a continuous stream of ads, with the score scrolling at the bottom. The ads are occasionally interrupted so that commentators can scream about DLF maximums or Rupa comfortable catches.

It is estimated that the IPL and its dependant businesses (Cricket coaching, advertising, broadcasting and cheerleading) account for 62% of India’s GDP. More importantly, it accounts for 83% of leisure time. A typical Indian today spends 8 hours working, 8 hours sleeping, 2 hours for other essentials, and 5 hours watching IPL or its highlights. You might think that it is a bad thing. But it isn’t. It has created a whole lot of mindless but well paid jobs that don’t cause people any stress. And the youth is too busy watching IPL to indulge in communal riots or agitations for separate states. Why, even incidents of mugging and eve teasing have come down drastically over the last few years. Wasteful consumption has dwindled because no one has time to go out and flaunt their stuff.

Since pretty much everyone lives in the 25 cities with franchises, need for long distance travel has come down drastically. Roads and railways are used only to transport food into the cities. Vehicle sales have dropped big time. Plans are afoot to convert large swathes of countryside back to forest. The world is going truly green. Given that Shanghai and Los Angeles are two of the international franchisees, we’ll hopefully export this model to other countries soon enough.

Technology development came easily enough, but the impetus for social change came from the IPL. Studies show that if we can maintain this level of progress, climate change will be permanently reversed. In due course, world climate will be back to what it was before mankind started messing with it. Be prepared to run into dinosaurs the next time you visit the countryside.

Hot off the press: Mandira Bedi has been bestowed with a Lifetime Achievement award for a decade of writing truly insightful columns on cricket.

A case for switching capitals

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 16:32:00 +0000

Much has been said about India and Pakistan being at loggerheads because of Kashmir. Kashmir, the unfinished agenda of partition. Kashmir, the place where Pakistan first showed its aggressive intentions. Kashmir, the crown jewel of Indian secularism. Kashmir, the proof of invalidity of the two nation theory. Kashmir, where the oppressive boot of Indian colonialism manifests itself. Kashmir, where human rights are routinely violated.

Therefore, they say that Kashmir is the root cause of all conflict between India and Pakistan. Well, they are wrong. The root cause is Punjab. I don’t mean Punjab as a geographical entity. Rather, it is Punjab as a cultural entity. Political discourse in Pakistan is dominated by Punjab. And Delhi, as everyone knows, is just Punjab on steroids. Indo-Pak relations, therefore is a saga of relations between two sets of Punjabis. This, as you’ll shortly see, can pose tremendous problems.

Now, Punjabis have many endearing qualities – a love for good food and good life among them. But statecraft has never been their cup of tea – or glass of lassi, if you like. Any student of history could tell you that Porus and Ranjit Singh were the only two kings of any note from Punjab in all of history. Porus charged at Alexander’s army with all the tact and guile of Don Quixote. Ranjit Singh marched into Afghanistan because he held the maps the wrong way – Rajasthan was his destination of choice. He realized his folly only when he noticed that the Sardar jokes he was familiar with, now had become Pathan jokes. That’s how two of the greatest Punjabi kings fared.

But I digress. Porus and Ranjit Singh are not the reason why Indo-Pak relations are so turbulent. It is the world-famous Punjabi game of one-upmanship that has brought is to this pass. Your Montu is doing Engineering? Arre that’s nothing. Our Bunty has gone to Kannada to study. You went to Singapore on a holiday? We went to New Zealand. You took 100 baraatis for Tinku’s shaadi? We took 150 for Chunnu’s. My house has Italian marble. My socks are imported. I drive a Mercedes. I spent 35 lakhs on Dolly’s wedding. The photographer came from Switzerland. I drink only Johnny Walker. My tandoori chicken tastes better than your tandoori chicken.

Now translate that to international relations and you’ll see what’s wrong. You made a bomb? We’ll make two, even if we have to eat grass. You want to split Kashmir? We’ll split Bengal. You amended your constitution? We’ll rewrite it. And several times to boot. You arrested four intruders? We arrested eight fishermen. You bought sixty planes? We’ll buy two hundred. You got a three billion dollar loan from IMF? We got seven billion. You set off five bombs? We’ll set off six. You got yourself a nuclear deal? We want one too. You had ten terror attacks last year? We have ten every month.

Clearly, we need to remove Punjab from the equation if we are to have any chance of lasting Indo-Pak peace. What are our options? The choice is clear on the Pakistani side. Sindh is the only other province of note. Karachi should be made the capital. But it is a lot trickier on the Indian side. Where should the capital be situated so as to give us the best chance of success?

I’d rule out Srinagar right away. It was a Pandit from Kashmir who caused much of this mess. Besides, it would also look weird if the capital wants to secede from the nation. In much of northern India – UP, MP, Bihar and their offshoot states – they have enough problems of their own to solve before they try to fix international problems. One of the north-eastern states could be a possibility. But that move would run the risk of rest of India suddenly accepting them as ‘proper’ Indians. Preposterous. What next? Renounce casteism?

The southern states have some viable candidates. But they’ve belabored under the delusion of alleged northern domination for so long that they’ll be clueless on what to do if the capital is shifted there. Many of the leading intellectuals there would feel exactly the way a dog feels when it has caught up with the car it has been chasing. They’ll probably sniff around for a while wondering how to eat it before finding another car to chase. And you never know when one of them might embark on a fast unto death demanding a separate state. Mumbai has a strong case, and I’d have voted for it if it were not for Bal Thackeray. Ahmedabad is another strong candidate, but after a while they’ll figure out a way of charging the rest of India if we want to continue using their services as national capital. I’d rather not pay a National Capital Tax.

That leaves Bengal. Good old Bengal. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Now I’m sure that the British shifted the capital to Delhi because they knew that once India became independent, it would progress way too well with Calcutta as capital for their comfort. The original home of Indian renaissance. Where folks first figured out that all men (and women) are inherently equal and that society does have some evils to be eradicated. Agreed, it didn’t look good in the last few decades because the average Bengali outsourced equality to a few comrades and social justice to Laloo. But now, Cal seems perfect. Detached enough to make decisions objectively, but passionate enough to ensure that decisions ARE made. It’s infrastructure would provoke nobody’s envy, but its charm would draw everyone in. There’s no way Cal would intimidate Kathmandu, Dhaka or Colombo, which is good. And there’s no way Washington or London would be able to get away by throwing a few words of glowing praise when concrete action is what’s needed. Best of all, if Laloo could charm Pakistanis, imagine what Mamta di can do.

I’m voting Buddhadev and Mamta for PM and Deputy PM in the next election.

Why Tendulkar took 6 overs to score the final 13 runs

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 14:28:00 +0000

Much has been said and written about why Tendulkar took so long to reach the 200 mark after touching 187 as early as the 44^th over. The charitable have lauded his caution and Dhoni’s control over the game. The less-than-charitable have lambasted Dhoni for being selfish, trying to steal Tendulkar’s thunder. The truth, as usual, is very different. Both played key parts in a much larger game – one that involves relations between two major nations. India's Foreign Secretary Nirupama Rao and her Pakistani counterpart Salman Bashir met at Hyderabad House in New Delhi to talk about…well, there are conflicting versions about what they were going to talk about. But thanks to an intrepid reporter of ours who planted a bug in Mr. Bashir’s coat, we have an authentic version of what they did talk about.

SB: Alright let’s get started. But before that I must confess that I didn’t know how hugely popular I am in India.

NR: Don’t delude yourself. That motley crowd had gathered on hearing rumors that Salman was going to be around. They didn’t expect to see a suit. Heck, they didn’t expect to see a vest even. Anyway, here are the files.

SB: Files?

NR: Yes. The dossiers. We have listed 33 names, with evidence that they have been up to terrible things. If you don’t hand them over, we’ll tell the world that Pakistan’s actions have not been conducive to good neighborly relations. We’ll castigate Pakistan as the epicenter of terrorism and warn you of dire consequences if you don’t cooperate. With luck, we might even get Zardari to promise action on TV.

SB: Wait, wait. Let’s discuss the core issue of Kashmir first. You know very well that once the core issue is resolved, there will be permanent peace and prosperity for all of humanity.

NR: No way. We want to see you taking constructive steps towards dismantling the terrorist infrastructure.

SB: Come on. Ok, let’s discuss something neutral. How about water?

NR: Ha ha ha. Who do you think you are? Karunanidhi? India doesn’t discuss water in international talks.

SB: How dare you call me Karunanidhi?

NR: You should feel flattered, you paki jerk. Hand over the 33 men first.

SB: Shut up you fat bitch. I knew you’d turn hostile. That’s why I came prepared. [Whips out a knife and points it at NR] You’ll do as I say, or else I’ll bleed you through a thousand cuts

NR: Put that knife down, Bashir. You harm one hair on my body and the world will know that you are guilty of fomenting terror

SB: Ha. Newsflash, Rao. The world doesn’t care. I’ll nick myself and claim that I’m a victim too. Here are the documents proclaiming azaadi for Kashmir. Sign it. NOW.

NR looks around, unsure of what to do. Meanwhile, SB’s phone rings.

SB into the phone: …what?! No way…that can’t be true…what? Warne’s tweet says so…what do we do now? Let me see if I can negotiate our way out of this.[To NR] You duplicitous banias. How dare you? You invite us for talks, and simultaneously launch an assault on our most cherished national landmark.

NR grins: I was wondering how long it would take for you to realize it. Let’s talk about the dossiers now, else Barricade 194 would be breached before you can say Saeed Anwar.

SB looks at his cell phone feed and mutters, defeated: Only 7 to go. Please Rao. I’m sorry for my actions. Is there any way you can stop it?

NR: I have a live link to Commando MSD. He can control passage of play in any way he wants. Now, how about the 33 men?

SB: Dhoni is a commando?

NR: The best we’ve got. Too bad he had to drop out of commando school because of hairstyle issues. We now use him as an undercover agent, as our final security barrier.

SB: Who else knows about this?

NR: We had to tell the English to get those wusses to come back after the Mumbai explosions. We even had to throw in a draw into the bargain. Losers. The Sri Lankans have always known, which is why they love to play against us so often.

SB: Among the Indians?

NR: Well, Harsha Bhogle stumbled upon it in rather unpleasant circumstances. Dhoni held a knife to his throat a couple of years back warning him not to write patronizing articles about small town boys making it big. Execs from Ernst & Young met with a similar fate. You are running out of time, Bashir. Only 5 to go. Hand over the men.

SB: Wait, please ask Dhoni to stall for a while. I’ll make a few calls. [into the phone] Oye Rashid. We’ll have to release them. Warna they’ll overrun us. Kya? You have to check with Kayani? Jaldi kar. We don’t have much time.

NR whispers into her mouth piece: Let Buddha meditate

SB checks the feed again and frets around: 190 ho gaya. Jaldi Jaldi. Kya kar raha hai ye Rashid.

NR: 191

SB desperately punches the numbers on his phone: What happened to the men?...What do you mean which men?...the 33 mujahidin of course…what do you mean which 33?....huh? hello? Wrong number? #$#%#@#%^^^##@#@$#

SB’s phone rings: Kuch hua? What? Kayani is in the loo? Moron. What a time to take a dump. Break the door.

NR: 193

SB’s phone rings again: Ok…ok…ok. [covers the mouthpiece] We’ll release 3 mujahidin.

NR: Is that all this landmark means to you? [whispers into the mouthpiece] Let Buddha smile

SB: NOOOOOOOOOOOO. Please give me some more time. We can talk this out, Rao.

NR: Too late Bashir. Barricade 194 has been breached. Can’t you hear the fireworks?

SB collapses into his chair and groans: Ya Allah. The sacrifices we need to make for the Kashmiri cause. Is it all worth it? [back into the phone] ok…ok…ok let me try [to NR] Peak 200 is no man’s land. Please don’t get there at least.

NR into her mouthpiece: Let Buddha meditate again. [to SB] Hand over the men now.

SB: We need to locate them first

NR: 196

SB: Oh wait, we know exactly where they are

NR: 197

SB: There are some legal formalities to be completed. The evidence you have provided is insufficient.

NR: 198

SB: Will you agree to at least consider talking about Kashmir some time?

NR: 199. You are in no position to make demands, Bashir. Hand them over now.

SB: Ok ok, we agree to your demands. We’ll get all 33 flown over to Delhi right away

NR’s phone rings: Hello.. yes Manmohanji….yes yes I understand. Thank you ji. That’s what I would want too

SB: What happened?

NR whispers into her mouthpiece: Let Buddha laugh hysterically

SB: Nahiiiiiiiin. Why Rao, why? We agreed to all your demands.

NR: Sachin’s 200 is worth more to us than 33 lousy terrorists whom we’ll eventually get anyway. Go back Bashir and do whatever you want. You can have your terrorists. We’ve got Sachin. He’s our icon, a source of inspiration for the entire nation, a unifier across divides. With him on our side, we can do anything.

PS. I know that the meeting took place a day after Tendulkar scaled the summit. It's just more interesting this way

IPL-Pak saga - The true inside story

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 19:53:00 +0000

Muddled Scripts has come into possession of the transcript of a top secret meeting held to discuss inclusion of Pakistani players in IPL 2010. The meeting included Lalit Modi, P. Chidambaram and key IPL franchise representatives.

Modi starts off the proceedings: Ladies and gentlemen, with the government of India refusing to guarantee the security of...

Chidambaram interrupts: I strongly object to the butcher of Gandhinagar making statements like this. I'll rally my partymen and stage a walkout.

Modi: Pssst. I'm Lalit.

Chiddu: Oh. Very well then. Continue.

Modi: As I was saying, there's not going to be any security guarantee. Normally, I'd care two hoots about the security of any Pakistani. Or Indian for that matter. But if someone gets bumped off or blows himself up, we stand to lose a few hunded crores...

Shah Rukh Khan interrupts: A hundred more wedding dances? At my age? I respectfully request our esteemed home minister to provide the security guarantee.

Chiddu: We were about to. Just like we guarantee the security of all Indians. But then they came up with some crap about not guaranteeing that 26/11 won't be repeated. Frankly, we are irritated at their irresponsible behaviour. So we also decided against providing any guarantee.

Shilpa Shetty looks up from her vanity mirror and says brightly: Why don't we ask Akki to provide the security. For the whole IPL in fact. Haven't you seen how he beats up the bad guys in...

SRK cuts her short: Shut up you bitch. There will be no Akki as long as I am around

Shilpa: How dare you talk to me like that. Don't you know I'm the Angelina Jolie of India? [breaks into sobs] If you speak another word, I'll cry on TV , you racist pig.

Modi: Alright. Alright. Relax, the two of you. We are here to discuss important matters. We did anticipate this issue, and placed all sorts of hurdles before them. We imposed impossibly short deadlines. We asked for all sorts of fancy documentation, in triplicate. We kind of hoped they'd take the hint. But...

Chiddu: You hoped Pakistanis would take a hint? Ha ha ha. [Laughs uncontrollably]

Modi shrugs: Anyway, what do we do now? The auction happens tomorrow. We can't very well tell them "Sorry folks, we won't be taking you after all". One of them might blow himself up. We HAVE to take at least a few of them. Any volunteers.

Preity Zinta giggles: I'll take Imran Khan. Tee hee hee. He's sooooo cute ya.

Shilpa is outraged: Chudail. Shakal dekhi hai aaine mein? He's mine. And NO. I do NOT have a thing for overweight blonde Australians.

Preity is not about to take that lying down: You called me a chudail? You %@$#%^%##$$%#%^^%^&*%#$. [pauses for breath]

Vijay Mallya looks up, totally impressed: Wow! Remind me to bid for Yuvraj next time he's up for auction. Or maybe Kings XI Punjab itself. Bangalore was a mistake. They think fuck is a swear word. Dravid even adds "please" and "maadi" before and after it. The worst million dollars I've ever spent.

Modi: Folks, folks. Back to matters at hand. Preity, Imran Khan was last seen at the caves of Tora Bora making home videos of Osama. He's not available for auction. Besides, he has a two foot long beard now and that will not go very well with Gillette, one of our main sponsors. Choose someone else.

Preity pouts and sulks: I don't want anyone else.

Mukesh Ambani gets off his cellphone: I can't. Balasaheb will send his goons to pee on my driveway.

SRK: I was interested in K-K-K-Kamran Akmal, but I already have a keeper. Besides, Shoaib has threatened me with dire consequences if I picked up anybody other than him from Pakistan.

Modi: Alright. Anyone else?

A deafening silence ensues. You could have pierced it with Shilpa's phone ringing the tune of "Churake dil mera-a-a-a", but you didn't know her number.

Modi: Chiddu, this is going to be a foriegn policy disaster for you.

Chiddu, wringing his hands: Please please Modi. Do something. How about moving to South Africa like last time.

Modi: That's not going to work. We haven't paid their bills from last time. Let me think of something. [Opens his laptop]

Mukesh: How about imposing a cap on the number of times the government can refuse to provide guarantee?

Modi: Now that's an idea [taps away on his laptop] Naah. That will identify us too closely with the government. Will lead to a loss of...wait a minute [continues tapping]...27.3 million dollars.Wait, I have an idea. God. Am I brilliant or what.

Whips out his phone with a flourish, dials a number and puts it on speaker.

Modi: Haan Shahid. Lalit here. Yaar I forgot to tell you about a recently introduced rule of the auction. Players from countries starting with the letter P will have to stand on one hand with their tongue sticking out while Himesh Reshamiya plays tera-tera-tera suro-o-o-o-r in their ear. The proceedings will be telecast live, so each auction will have to proceed for a minimum of 30 minutes to qualify as a valid auction.

Shahid Afridi on phone: Do they get to choose which hand they stand on? Waise, I love Himesh.

A collective groan passes across the room.

Chiddu: There's no way left. We need to find someone to fix blame on.

Mukesh: I like. I like. How about Anil?

Mallya roars: YOU BASTARD. DON'T YOU DARE TO DRAG MY CAPTAIN INTO THIS!

He moves menacingly towards Mukesh who hides behind Preity.

SRK: Chill Mallya. Have a beer. He meant the other Ambani. Guys, let's wrap this up quickly. I have to go for the shoot of sona chandi chyawanprash.

Shilpa: I know. I know. Let's blame Rakhi Sawant.

Modi: What? And let IPL be exposed to charges of naked commercialization and opportunisim? I can't compromise on the core values of IPL, whatever they may be.

Chiddu: Let's do it the way do in politics. Let all of us blame each other publicly. If you put out enough sanctimonious statements, everyone will get confused and focus more on the entertainment part of it.

Modi: So the IPL blames the franchises and government, the government blames the franchises and IPL, and the franchises blame the IPL and government?

Chiddu: Precisely, my dear Lalit.

Modi: What about reaction from the Pakistanis?

Chiddu: That's where the entertainment part comes in. We all put out a few statements, and lie back and watch the fun as reactions start pouring in. The channels are going to have a field day.

All in unision: Chiddu. Tussi great ho. You have saved all of us.

Chiddu smiles benevolently, adjusts his angavastram, waves and walks out of the room. The rest follow.

Barbie dolls and face packs

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 16:12:00 +0000

“Look at these shiny cars. How about these colorful blocks? Or these Crayons?”, I plead

“I want a Barbie”

“Wow! What a nice gun. You can do dhishkaon dhishkaon with it and chase the lion away.” Sheer desperation. Annie smirks at me.

“Barbie”

“Alright. Which one?” I sigh in resignation.

“Woh pink wali Barbie”.

Annie grins triumphantly. The deed is done. Another Barbie added to Sia’s collection.

So much for my plan that Sia will not be a girlie girl. I’ve been working hard at it. No Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty stories for her. There are better things for a girl to learn than that you need Prince Charming to rescue you from your fate. But now, this obsession with Barbie. Oh well, I suppose I should let her be what she wants to be. At least that’s what Annie says. And she’s usually right.

“Chalo Papa, let’s play with Barbie”

“Um…well…ok…” I almost found myself wishing I had asked for a boy.

“You throw the ball, I’ll hit it with Barbie”

Atta girl! We spent ten fun-filled minutes playing Barbie-the-Bat before Sia’s attention wandered elsewhere. Of course you should let your kids do what they want to do.

But you really have to step in sometimes. Even if you don’t know how.

“Papa, don’t you use a pack?”

“Um…pack? What pack?”

“The one that you apply on your face”

“Oh. No sweetheart. Papa doesn’t use any pack”

“Only girls use packs na?”

“Yes. Mostly”. Maybe Karan Johar as well.

“I should apply a pack daily”

“Achha? Why?” I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is headed.

“I’ll become gori”

“Hmmm. And then?” I don’t like this at all.

“And then I’ll become pretty”

“Who told you that?” I control my fury while I consider the best response to this.

“____”

“____ is stupid. Doesn’t know anything”, I continue to grope for words, “Sia is already very pretty”. Annie is away. Wish she were around. She can handle moments like these much better than I do.

“Sia wants to become prettier”

What do you tell a 3 year old? The whole history of slavery and racism. Or casteism closer home. About the millions of matrimonial ads looking for slim, fair and beautiful brides. About dowry that increases with the quantum of melanin in skin. Too harsh for a kid.

Maybe skip skin color and tell her that physical appearance itself is overrated. Maybe I should explain to her that there is no such thing as too light or too dark; too tall or too short; too thin or too fat. There’s only healthy, smart and nice. Too philosophical.

Maybe I should focus on self esteem. What if her self esteem slips because of dumb things people tell her? There’s no danger of that for now, though. It borders on narcissism in Sia’s case.

“Becoming prettier is easy, sweetheart. All it takes is a big smile”, I finally manage.

I was rewarded with a dazzling smile. I had said the right thing. For now, at least.

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 03:34:00 +0000

Wednesday
“Yaaaawn”. I hope I get to go to school today. Staying home with Mama is fun, but one starts to yearn for some nice kid company after a while. It’s been several days since I met Sara and Kittu. We do fight at times, but I like impressing them with new words I’ve learnt. The food there sucks, but then, all food sucks. Except that green wala toffee. Mama calls it chlormint. A horrible name for such a nice toffee. Wish she kept more of those in her bag. I think she does, but doesn’t tell me. I tried finding out once, but got admonished for fiddling around with Mama’s bag. It doesn’t look like papa has gotten ready for office, so it must be a Sunday. Matlab, no school. Sundays are fun. On Sundays, I get to go to City Center Mall and ride the horsey there. Never for long enough, though.

It doesn’t seem like a normal Sunday. Mama and Papa are acting a little different. Sometimes, they fight and pretend as if everything was normal around me. I can always make out. But it isn’t a fight this time. They seem a little afraid, but that’s not possible. Mama and Papa are never afraid. They always shoo away the jholi baba, the lion, or anything that scares me. Even Auro. They’ve taught me that I could punch and shoo away anything that comes to bite me. They are not afraid of anything. Are they worried? Maybe. They get worried when I have a cough, or get breathless. But I am fine. And it is not really worry on their faces. A few years from now, when I learn more big words, I’ll be able to say app-re-hen-sive. That’s it. Wonder what’s going on?

Sometime around afternoon, Mama begins to pack a bag with my clothes and toys. Wow. “Mama, are we going to Nanu’s place?”. “No baby”. Huh. What else would you pack stuff for? “Papa, are we going to Nanu’s place?”. “No sweetheart. We are going to see Doctor Uncle. Chalo now get ready”. So we get ready to go to the hospital. It isn’t really unusual. We go often go to City Center Mall after going to the hospital. I think the doctor uncle keeps some kind of pass to that place. Papa is taking the same rocks-and-fish-fountain wala route. So it IS the hospital. But it doesn’t add up. There’s still this unresolved question of the packed bag. “Papa, we are going to Nanu’s place na?”. “No sweetheart, we are going to the hospital to meet Doctor Uncle”. “But the bag…”. “Oh, we’ll leave it in Zen gaadi”. Weird, I think. Papa is never evasive. He always answers my questions directly. What’s the matter now?

The hospital appears normal. Lots of aunties and didis waving at me. While waiting, we get to see the pictures on the walls. There’s something that looks like rajma. I ask Papa what it is. It’s a kidney, it seems. I like the sound of the word. Everyone has two in their tummu. One on this side, and the other on this side. What is it for? Papa mutters something about keeping the tummu clean, and appears relieved when we are called into the doctor uncle’s office. We meet a couple of doctor uncles whom I’ve met before. No injections this time, thankfully. Then we go upstairs and meet yet another doctor uncle. And then come back down again to meet the first two doctor uncles. Wish they’d hurry up. Can’t wait to go to City Center Mall. Then Papa disappears for a while. I like spending time with Mama. She always cuddles me and tells me that I’m the best baby in the world. I consider asking her about the bag again, but Papa returns soon with a bhaiiya in tow. We take the lift. I think I’ll impress everyone by reading out the numbers, but we step out as soon as it changes from 1 to 2. Never mind. I’ll have plenty of opportunities to impress people, I’m sure.

We walk through a dimly lit corridor and enter a little room. Mama tells me that this is Sia’s room. There are two beds. The little one by the window must be Sia’s bed. They make me sit on the big one, though. I take a look around. I’m not sure I like the room very much. It appears rather drab and colorless. And there’s this faint medicine wala odor. Thank god there’s a TV. I ask Mama to switch it on, fully expecting her to say it is not TV time yet. But she switches it on without a murmur of protest. It’s been a strange day indeed! We quickly scan across channels and settle down on the CID Uncle wala program. Papa disappears again and gets the packed bag. This doesn’t bode well at all. I want to go home. Mama and Papa tell me that something is wrong with Zen gaadi and they’ve sent it to mechanic bhaiyya’s shop for fixing. It would take a few days and we’ll have to stay here till then. I’m not sure if I buy this. After all, they packed the bag before anything went wrong with Zen gaadi.

Just as I’m settling down, a doctor uncle walks in with a few didis. They seem nice, and make plenty of small talk. They tell me what a sweet baby I am. But it was all deception. Before I realize, they push Mama and Papa out of the room and start pricking me with sharp needles. Horrible creatures. I scream and try to punch them like Papa had taught me to, but they are too strong for me. Maybe I should drink more of that Dexorange and become stronger. Luckily, Mama and Papa soon rush in and rescue me from them. Mama consoles me, and after a few kisses, I’m feeling better. The CID uncle wala program is still on, and I turn my attention towards it.

Papa disappears again in the evening. I get to spend some quality time with Mama. She tells me that this is Sia’s house for now. I would have preferred one with a pool and a play-yard, but will settle for this for now. A didi comes in with a machine. She tries to tie me with a green thing with tubes running down it. I know better than to trust her. I let out a huge wail, scaring her into submission. Ha! Round one to Sia. But Mama says it is only to check my blood pressure. I relent, but still keep them on their toes by wailing once a while. The didi also clips something on my finger and fiddles with the machine. There are numbers on it, and they keep changing as the machine goes beep-beep. Mama points at a wavy line that looks like the string of a balloon. It’s all very fascinating. Would have been much better if they had attached it to some other kid and just let me watch.

Papa returns with my school bag filled with some more stuff. I ask him where he got it from. “Home, of course, sweetheart”, he says. “How did you go there?”. There is a series of uhms and ers. I knew they were lying about Zen gaadi. But why? I’ll figure out once I’m done watching this Wake Up Sid wala bhaiyya’s song. Another didi comes in and tells Mama something like A B C D ECG XA. She doesn’t even know ABCD in the right order. I’ll teach her some time. Mama gets me dressed up again and combs my hair. Says they want to take my photo. I like getting photos clicked. We go downstairs into a dingy room. There’s a huge machine with an ugly looking table under it. Papa takes off my shirt and makes me lie on the table. There’s a light overhead. Papa asks me to smile, and I do. Then they show me the photo on the compu. It’s a strange kind of photo. For starters, the guy had left my head out of the frame. My pretty smile was wasted on this guy’s incompetence. And then the photo was all dark, with some white lines. Papa told me that was my chest and rib cage. Seems that’s what everyone looks like on the inside. Ugh! I put my foot down before taking the next photo – the one where they apply gel on your tummu beforehand and then rub the hand shower like thing over it. Nothing doing. I’m game if you want to take some regular photos. Not these weird ones. They relent.

We get back to our room. It is getting pretty late. Papa tells me a story, and I drift off to sleep cuddling next to Mama. Thank god some things never change.

Thursday
Mama wakes me up while it is still dark and insists that I have some juicy. What nonsense! I ask for my milk, but Mama says that we don’t have my bottle. I’m feeling a little hungry, and try a sip of the juicy. Hmmm. Not bad. I finish the whole pack and go back to sleep. I’m not too hopeful of getting to go to school today either. I wake up feeling a little thirsty and ask for water. But Mama says that she can’t find my sipper. It’s getting weirder and weirder. I’ve been denied chocolate and stuff before, but never water. The didi comes in with the beep-beep machine and does her stuff. I notice a little blinking heart as well. A doctor uncle comes in and discusses my motions with Mama and Papa. They are going to decide on whether they’ll do my ‘cath’ today. What the heck is that? Does that have anything to do with me being denied water? Why are they doing this to me? Mama and Papa better have a good reason.

Doctor Ramesh walks in a little while later. I like him. He shows all sorts of new things. This time, he makes me open my mouth and checks inside. Takes my temperature. And then declares that we’ll not do it today. The ‘cath’, I suppose. Whatever that might be. He discusses some blood culture and infection with Mama and Papa. They nod as if they understand, but it is apparent that they don’t. I’m with Mama and Papa for a while, watching the CID uncle wala program. Watching through the corner of my eye, I catch Mama and Papa exchange furtive glances. Then Papa turns to me and asks me if I want to know why we are here. I say yes. Meanwhile CID uncle is chasing someone. Papa says something about me not doing walky-walky yet. Inspector Daya is punching a guy. Bhagwanji…hospital…doctor uncle…operation…walky…running…blah…blah…Papa drones on. CID uncle, Inspector Daya and Abhijit get into a car and zoom off. Then the Head and Shoulders wala ad pops up on the screen. Mama and Papa are explaining to me excitedly about how I would be able to do walky and run run after the operation. I want to ask what an operation means, but Papa gets started about how a few injections, sessions with the beep-beep machine, and photos would be necessary before the operation. I begin negotiating on the number of injections, but CID uncle is back and I turn my attention back to the TV.

Mama disappears for a while and I’m left with Papa. We take a walk in the corridor. Being alone with Papa can be a trying experience. He keeps forgetting things. I explain to him for the millionth time that the red thing outside is called a fire esh-ting-gusher. You do wave it around saying psssssssssssssss to put out fires. No idea why you need to put out fires though. Can’t you just turn off the gas? I notice a little metallic flower-like thing on the ceiling and ask Papa what it is. It is a spinkel, although Papa pronounces it a little differently. When it gets very hot, water pours from it. Then you can take a shower and have masti.

A didi comes in and takes us upstairs. We enter a nice-looking hall that has cartoons all over the walls. Before entering, Papa removes his shoes and puts on a weird-looking gown. He looks rather funny. Inside, we see the same horrible doctor uncle who had pricked me yesterday. I figure he won’t do it again today if I’m nice to him. There are several nice didis who talk to me. They don’t know the names of the cartoons, so I tell them. They are all very impressed. One of them gives me a cute little teddy. Another explains that the bottle that squirts liquid is called a hand wash. There are so many such bottles in the hall. There are several beds too, some of them empty. I ask whom those beds belong to. Papa explains that they were occupied by other kids who had operations and are able to do walky-walky now. They make me sit on a bed. I grow wary and protest. They insist. I relent, but make it clear that I won’t lie down. They speak to me for a while, and then the ordeal starts all over again. They make Papa go out of the room and prick me with needles all over. I hate that doctor uncle. Maybe I should bite him next time. A while later, Mama comes barging in and rescues me.

We return to my room. I sleep for a while after lunch, and then the didi does her thing with the beep-beep machine again. Watch lots of TV that evening and sleep early.

Friday
Mama wakes me up early again and gives me the juicy. I don’t protest this time. Drink it happily and go back to sleep. When I wake up, Mama and Papa refuse to give me water again. What nonsense! I want to go back home. A didi comes in and gives me a new dress. It doesn’t look all that great, and I’m shocked to see Mama and Papa gushing about it. I’m made to wear it. It sure is comfortable. They remove my hair band and stuff. Mama picks me up and we all go to the fourth floor. I try reading the ABCD there. It says C-A-T-H-L-A-B. Papa gets a phone call and rushes off. There’s a new nice looking doctor uncle. He’s called an ana…anasth…I’ll ask Papa to teach me the word. Should be a piece of cake. After all, I can say Worcestershire sauce without trouble. A didi comes out and takes us inside. I’m still carrying my teddy with me.

They pin me to the bed and prick my hand once again. It’s not as bad as last time, but is still pretty painful. When the ordeal is over, I see that they have attached something to my right hand. It looks like a little tap, with knobs. The nice looking doctor uncle holds my right hand with one of his hands and has an injection in the other. I start wailing, but calm down when I see that he’s taking it towards the tap. He presses it while talking to me and…and…

:
:

I wake up in a lot of pain. There is a huge bandage on my right thigh and it is hurting like hell. People are milling around me, talking about getting ready for surgery. Hey, what’s going on? Papa said operation. What’s this surgery thing? Why can’t they just let me go home? There’s a lot of activity going on. I wonder where Mama and Papa are. I consider crying for them, but realize that it would be futile. I’ll just have to ride this out. As Mama and Papa say, I’m a brave girl. Then suddenly, all that activity ceases as someone announces that the surgery has been postponed. They put me on a little bed-like thing and carry me back to my room. I’m made to lie down on my bed. They put a mask over my face. “I look like CID uncle, na?”, I ask Mama. Her anxious face breaks into a huge grin.

She then gives me a long huggie. That makes me feel much better. That’s what Mamas are for. She looks a little tearful. “I’m fine Mama”, I say, “Don’t worry”. She smiles and that makes me feel better too. I try to sit up, but Mama tells me that it is lie-down day. Seems all babies are supposed to remain lying down today. Weird ideas they get. Anyway, if all babies are doing it, I might as well. Besides, I’m a little tired too. Papa comes in a little later. He hugs me too, but it doesn’t feel nearly as good. He waits for a while and rushes off again, muttering something about going to the billing counter. Rather inconsiderate of him. I’m lying in pain here, and all he can think of is bills. Good thing that I have Mama. But it is fun talking to him after he returns. We have a long chat about the unicorn, about the monkey that came to meet me, about lots of other things. I almost forget the pain in my left thigh.

I’ve been feeling drowsy all day and sleep early today too.

Saturday
This is heights. Mama wakes me up in the middle of the night and tries to give me some juicy. Looks like she’s developing some kind of an obsession. I’m obviously not interested and go back to sleep. When I wake up, there’s a didi already in my room. Papa holds me down while she removes my bandage. I wail, more in fear than in pain. Mama gives me a huggie, and a lot of the pain and fear disappear. Another didi comes in and says it is time to go. I grab my unicorn as Papa picks me up. We take the lift. It stops at 5. I’m in fairly high spirits. The door opens, but Mama and Papa don’t step out. Instead, the nice looking doctor uncle meets us. The didi removes my hair band. The doctor uncle makes small talk with me and says I’m an in-tel-li-gent girl. I make a note to ask Papa what it means. Hope it means something good. Then he presses a syringe against the tap and…and…

:
:
:
:

I’m feeling extremely drowsy when I wake up. There are some vague figures moving around. I ask for water and drift back to sleep.

Sunday
I’m still feeling drowsy, but more aware of what’s going on. I’m unable to move much. God knows what these people have done to me. There’s a tube up my nosey; another sticking up my neck; and yet another sticking out of the tap. There are wires running out of my chest, which has a huge bandage. There’s a beep-beep machine next to me. I’m feeling terribly thirsty. I look around for help. There’s a nice bhaiyya nearby. He becomes my friend. I ask him for water. He merely wets my lips. Having nothing else to do, I scan the place. I seem to be in a huge hall. There are several beds, with people sleeping in them. They all seem to have tubes and wires sticking out of them. There’s an old uncle in the bed next to me. He smiles at me and I smile back. I drift in and out of sleep for a while.

The bhaiiya is back. “Hi sweetheart”, he says. I ask for water. He holds my hand. “Hi sweetheart”, he says again. Wait, the voice sounds familiar. “Papa”, I mutter. I ask for water again. Papa says it’ll be a while before I’m allowed water. I ask for Mama. Papa says she’s gone to get balloons for me. He’s going to get toffee. “I want to go too”, I say. “After you get well, sweetheart”, he says and rushes away. Mama comes in a little later. I insist that she hold my hand and kiss me on the cheeks. It feels good. She leaves after a while, and I’m again left with only the bhaiyya for company. Anyway, it is good to know that Mama and Papa are still around. I’m sure they’ll rescue me

I make more friends. Make some small talk with the uncle in the next bed. He seems nice. The bhaiyya gives me some juicy, but I puke. So it is back to no water for a while. I’m still feeling a little drowsy and am barely able to move my arms. I sleep a while. Mama comes in again in the evening. We talk for a while. I ask her to take me with her, but she says I need to get well.

Monday
I’m drinking plenty of juicy now. Everyone in the hall seems to know me. They all come and talk to me. That feels a lot better. But I’d rather be home, in Mama’s arms. They’ve given me a couple of teddys to play with. Where’s my Unicorn? Mama comes in for a while. I ask her to rock me to sleep. She seems to be on the verge of tears. Oops. Wrong request. I switch back to asking for kisses. She’s happy to oblige. She talks to me for a while and then leaves, promising to return soon. I talk to the bhaiiya and the didis around and drift off to sleep.

I still have these horrible tubes and wires sticking all over me. Wish they’d take them off. I’m able to move a bit. The uncle in the next bed has gone and there’s someone else who seems to sleep all the time. It is good morning already and he is still sleeping. Buddhu bhaiyya. I tell that to a didi and she seems amused. She calls a few of her friends and tells them. They all come and tell me what a smart baby I am. I already know that. Now, only if I were smart enough to figure out a way to escape from here. Meanwhile, a didi gets me some milk. I take a few sips.

Mama returns in the evening. She has this sheepish look on her face – like she and Papa had gone to a movie or something. Was it Avatar? Anyway, feels good to have her around again. I get her to kiss me. We spend some time together. She says she’s got a Barbie doll for me. She gets up, saying she’ll go and get it. I know better. I say never mind and insist that she remain seated. She’ll leave in a while anyway. I’ve figured out the pattern by now. People lying on beds are called patients. I’m a patient too, though I’d rather the didis call me Sia. We get someone to visit us twice a day.

After Mama leaves, I get back to observing the place, plotting my escape. There’s a door nearby. Papa said I could do walky walky after the operation. Maybe I could sweet talk the bhaiyya into removing these tubes and wires. Then I can get off the bed and walk out of the door. I’ll ask someone where Mama and Papa are and go back to them. They’ll be proud of me. I drift back to sleep.

Tuesday
My collection of teddys has grown to three. It is going to be hard to take all three when I escape. That’s ok. I’ll figure out a way of coming back and taking the third one later. I drink lots of juicy and soup. There’s a mild pain in my chest. Must have something to do with the bandage. It is easy to ignore. The tube up my nosey is a bigger pain. I’m not able to talk properly. Hope they take it out soon. Mama should be in any time now.

There she is. She’s finally changed her t-shirt. I would have ticked her off if she hadn’t. I ask for my Barbie. She says I’ll get it only when I get back to my room. That’s not fair. I’m not the one refusing to get back to my room. I get some more kisses and hugs. She leaves sooner than I would have liked. I sleep for a while and then wake up for some more juicy. The bhaiyya and I are great friends now. I ask his name. “Shishit”, he replies. He gets me a big bar of 5-star. I say thank you bhaiyya and he seems pleased. He gets me yet another teddy. I consider asking him for a bag to put all my loot in.

In the evening, I ask a didi if Mama has come yet. “It is only 5 o’clock, ma. She’ll come only at 6 o’clock”, she says. My thoughts drift to the pendulum on the clock at home. That seems so far away now. I wonder if Zen gaadi has been fixed yet. Mama hasn’t still arrived. Can’t wait for her to come. I’m able to fully move now. I consider pulling out the tubes and wires myself, but decide against it. I’ll give it another day before taking matters in my own hands. Mama comes in a little later than usual. Lots of hugs and kisses again. She tells me that I’ll be moved to the cartoon wala hall tomorrow. After that, she and Papa will be able to spend lots of time with me. I want to go now. Not possible. Seems they are getting the place ready for my arrival.

I’ll sleep well tonight. It’ll be nice being back with Mama and Papa. Hope they take me home soon. Can’t wait to do walky-walky and run-run. I look at my palms. They appear so pink.

Sia was born with a heart defect (Pulmonary Artesia with VSD, for the technically minded). She underwent surgery last Saturday and is recovering well now. Aanchal and I will remain forever indebted to the doctors who took excellent care of her, and to all our friends whose support and good wishes we could always count on.

Dealing with the devil

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 02:41:00 +0000

Nothing quite affirms paternity as when your offspring has been naughty. “Your daughter broke my iPod”, Annie said agitatedly on the phone.

“You mean she threw it around?”

“No. She was fiddling around with the buttons, and now the screen shows something like the command screen in a computer.”

“Ha ha ha. How cute! Would you ever be able to get a command prompt on the iPod on your own?”

“Shut up. It's not funny. I want you to make it clear to her that this is not acceptable.”

“Come on. It is not her fault”

“Oh yeah? Then whose fault is it?”

“Nobody's.”(I wisely avoided the question of how the iPod got into the hands of a two and a half year old). Why does it have to be anybody's fault?”

“Hrmph! You always take her side”

“Hey, it is no big deal really. Try connecting it to the laptop and see if you can fix it from there. If not, we'll get it fixed once you are back”

“ What if it can't be fixed?”

“You can listen to songs on your iPhone. It's really no big deal yaar”

“You are going to spoil her rotten”

“Come on. Relax. We shouldn't be screaming at her all the time. We don't want her feeling guilty about everything”

“Yeah right. Like she feels guilty about anything at all. I bet she's forgotten all about the iPod now

“Good approach. She’s a smart girl. Now you forget about it too”

Meanwhile I heard that lovely lilting voice in the background, “Mama, mujhe aapke phone mein photo dekhna ha”.

How can one refuse.

Chief Minister of Banjara Hills

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 15:03:00 +0000

Naidu was the superstar when I first moved to Hyderabad. Darling of the media, favorite of the intelligentsia, savior of AP. He could do no wrong. We all envied AP for having found such a dynamic, outstanding leader. My first few days at Hyderabad appeared to confirm my early impressions. Neat, wide roads. Plenty of construction. A thriving city that in many respects had already surged ahead of Bangalore. Elections were due in a few months. Naidu’s party would obviously sweep to victory⁽¹⁾. That, of course, didn’t happen.

I and my whole social circle were outraged by this travesty. One day, after successfully haggling with my maid over a 100 rupee-raise, after insisting that the cigarette vendor pay back the two rupees in change, and after spending 1400 rupees at a pub, I shot off a letter to the editor of a newspaper. Despite the stressful negotiations earlier in the day, and alcohol levels in my blood, I was remarkably lucid. Good governance just didn’t work in this country, I said. Leaders who worked towards development were invariably booted out. People in the country should learn to vote for leaders who build infrastructure and are business friendly, rather than those who promise rice at 2 rupees a kg.

Anyway, the new CM was not as bad as some had feared. Despite all his populist proclamations, he was still quite pro-business. Development of Hyderabad continued unabated, and real estate continued soaring. We all went back to haggling with our maids and drivers, and patronizing newer pubs. Life was normal. The country continued progressing.

A little over five years on, a small-time politician appears to be threatening progress and national unity all over again. Claiming that Telengana is under-developed, he has been demanding that it be carved off as a separate state⁽²⁾. What’s the need for a separate state? We have a good thing going – we have good jobs, the value of my flat has been increasing, I’m planning to buy a new car, new malls have opened up – what is a new state going to achieve? Obviously, the man lusts for power, and obviously, the masses are fools to follow him. He’s just cynically practicing divisive politics. As a responsible citizen, I can’t let that happen. So I’ve joined the “Coalition for United Andhra Pradesh, or at least separate Hyderabad” on Facebook. I’m even willing to sign a petition for that, if someone would bring it to my office. If I ever get my voter’s card made and remember to cast my vote, I definitely won’t be voting for KCR.

Today, there was another round of haggling with the maid. We have increased her salary by two hundred rupees in the last five years, but she never seems to be satisfied. Anyway, it’s time for this weekend’s sojourn to the pub. We’ll probably discuss Telengana again and feel miserable about it. All of us patriotic folks always feel miserable when national unity is at stake. But then, maybe, we are being unduly pessimistic. KCR might turn out to be as pro-growth as YSR and Naidu. After all, we’ve been down this road before and it has turned out well so far.

Tomorrow, I have to finish reading Animal Farm. I haven’t read the book before, but I swear it seems eerily familiar. It’s almost as if I’ve experienced it.

1. "He’s the chief minister of Banjara Hills”, a local friend had remarked derisively once. Conversations with auto drivers and other locals had gone along similar lines. Behind the shiny buildings, underneath the new flyovers, there was a strong undercurrent of resentment and distrust. The resentment may have been unjustified, it may have been misguided, but its existence was real. And it manifested itself in the election results. India Shining on a smaller scale

2. One positive fallout of this whole mess is that it has pushed ‘outsiders’ like me to look up the state’s geography and diversity. Not that it has helped much – most of them are in denial about the strong local sentiment in favor of a separate state.

Wrd Flu

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 15:04:00 +0000

Our ancestors originated in the dark recesses of prehistoric caves. When one pre-human made a smudge on a cave for another pre-human to understand. Or maybe to express himself. Or maybe it was a love note to his favorite pre-huwoman*. The earliest of our kind were pretty primitive. All that they could communicate was something like “I was here”. Mind you, back then, pre-humans needed to be geniuses to read even that.

We spread from there across the globe. From the caves of Africa to mud walls in Babylon to burial sites in India. We adorned tombs, pyramids, coins, royal seals and equine backsides. Over time, we evolved from a few primitive smudges to more complicated forms of organization. We grew letters, phonetics, words. We evolved into countless species across the world. Each species grew richer and more evolved over time. We were called languages. Man invented paper, and then the printing press that sped up our evolution greatly. We helped man create wondrous tales, vivid poetry, profound philosophy, wonderful drama, and even some lousy movies. It has been a richly symbiotic relationship.

I am but one of the thousands of languages that inhabit the earth. They call me English, after a tiny island where I’m believed to have originated. In all humility, I must confess that I’m one of the most adaptive and versatile languages ever known. While many others were concerned about purity of the species and refused to intermingle with others, I had no such inhibitions. Promiscuous to the core, I freely intermingled with scores of other languages, creating various images of myself in across the globe. If I’m the lingua franca of the world today, it is in no small part due to my adaptability.

It is this very adaptability that threatens me today. Hitherto, it has been the poets, the dramatists, the bureaucrats, the generals, and the scientists that have driven my evolution. You may or may not like all of them, but you cannot deny their competence. At least of those who drove my evolution. But change now comes from a totally different source – teens and twenty-somethings. With the aid of their new-fangled tool, the cell phone. Via SMS, or texting, as they call it.

It all started quite innocuously. You became U. Please became pls. Apostrophes started disappearing. I was pleased at the beginning. I could certainly use some improvements, I thought. Shed some fat. Get leaner. Eliminate redundancies. But then things got out of hand. Hv been losing more vowels thn Id lik. Nmbrs crept in l8r. Grammer n speling gon fr a toss. Its nt evo I relized 2 my shok. it’s a disez. n its sprding frm sms 2 email. it wl soon reach bks. Im in dystrophy n losin ma mind. In moments of lucidity, I understand the autistic nature of this evolution. I’m becoming increasingly incomprehensible. Where will this take me? Back to being a smudge on a cave that can only say “I was here”? Smbdy sv me now. pls. b4 its 2 l8. i bg of u. pls. pls. pls.

* Call me sexist, but considering that most inventions in recorded history have been by men, there’s no reason for me to believe that a pre-huwoman would have written the first word.

The Year That Was - Q1

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 04:48:00 +0000

January
A drop in violence in Kashmir, no doubt because of my unplanned dip in Dal lake the previous Dec. An act that finally convinced the long suffering Kashmiris that people from other parts of India are too clumsy and inept to cause them any harm. Bal Thackeray went on air threatening to dig up cricket pitches at my home unless I took a counter-dip in Benaras to cleanse myself. Nawaz Sharif accused me of violating the sovereignty of Rawalpindi and called upon the ulema to denounce this dastardly act of state sponsored terrorism. But the Kashmiris continued laughing all the way till spring.

Harbhajan Singh, facing charges for jumping a light, got away with a slap on the wrist by explaining that he was actually drunk and the car was stolen. Aussie media ranted about the freakin’ towel-head’s racist behaviour going unpunished.

The Tatas unveiled the ultimate solution to parking problems in metros – the Nano. Each vehicle came with a free backpack to keep the car in when you went shopping. Leading intellectuals peeked out of their Mercedes and BMWs to voice concern about its impact on the environment. GM offered to sell five Hummers less to offset the impact.

February
Microsoft offered $44 billion for Yahoo. A spokesman said, “Our ability to see the future and value it appropriately is what differentiates us from the competition”.

Carla Bruni married Nicholas Sarkozy, prompting Shivraj Patil to focus more his wardrobe than on home affairs. He is rumoured to have been caught screaming “Nick, oh Nick” in the bathroom when reporters barged in for a quote later in November. He resigned citing moral responsibility.

Fidel Castro resigned as president of Cuba. The Left front put on a brave face, claiming that they still had North Korea to look to for spiritual guidance.

Youtube went down for two hours, leading to widespread chaos and confusion. A leading US senator called it an anti-Semitic plot. Osho Bin Laden released yet another inspirational CD calling it the will of god carried out by the faithful. Later investigations revealed that it went down because of 14,853,252,923 hits on a clip titled Carla and Mallika. One of which was from Shivraj Patil’s home. He claimed he was evaluating the use of technology to improve national security.

March
Sia’s net assets officially exceeded that of GM. Reacting to the news, the US Senate approved tax breaks on colas and chips in a bipartisan vote. “Children are our future”, said a White House spokesman. “We need to ensure that no child is left behind in our relentless march towards consumerism”. Sia clarified in a press conference that she prefers jaljeera to cola. Ashok Singhal welcomed the announcement and VHP activists celebrated on the streets by chanting “Jai Sia Ram” and burning effigies of Pepsi.

India won the Commonwealth Bank series in Australia, confirming that young blood is what the nation needs. Laloo Yadav offered his last-born for the sake of Indian cricket. Priyanka Gandhi offered her first born for prime ministership. Vajpayee offered Advani.

Warren Buffet became the richest person in the world. Bill Gates moved swiftly to reclaim his position by gifting him a Hummer. By the end of the month, Buffet was screaming “bailout!!” No one knew what the word meant back then.

Pakistan’s election results were announced. The prime minister elect declared in his victory speech, “This is a great day for democracy in Pakistan. The people of Pakistan have elected the person who will appoint the general who will rule Pakistan”.

Tata Motors bought Jaguar and Land Rover from Ford for $2.3 billion, effectively sparing Ford the trouble of asking Washington for a bailout eight months later. A Tata official, speaking under the condition of anonymity, alleged that the move was designed to deflect attention from the losses Nano was expected to rack up.

55 Fiction - II

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 08:42:00 +0000

Americans had given an ultimatum. The dictator swung into action. Posters of nude nubile starlets sprung up everywhere. State TV showed clips of people indulging in intimate acts. Newspapers carried raunchy stories. It all makes sense, he thought. Keep people happy. Typically American approach. Culture be damned.

Later on phone: “Oh you said regular eLections?”

55 Fiction and Feghoots

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 07:26:00 +0000

55 Fiction is a form of microfiction that refers to the works of fiction limited to a maximum of fifty-five words.

A Feghoot is a humorous short story or vignette ending in an atrocious pun (typically a play on a well-known phrase) where the story contains sufficient context to recognize the punning humor. Usually associated with science fiction settings. My favourite is one by Asimov that ends with "A niche in time saves Stein."

Here's my first attempt at mixing the two:

A fellow space tourist told him about diamonds in Martian riverbeds. He rushed
there immediately after landing and saw millions of them, sparkling invitingly.
Not heeding warnings of a group of colonists about the strong current, he
jumped. And drowned.

One man could lead him to water, but twenty men
couldn’t make him think.

Pretty pathetic, I know. But will get better.

Ho, ji, hum ne koi chooriaan pehn rakhi hain?

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 02:48:00 +0000

Evidently talk shows in Pakistan are as lacking in insightful content as they are in India. This statement, reportedly made on a talk show, would have been amusing at so many levels hadn't it been for the fact that it was a former Pakistani minister who said it. It is so juvenile that it is downright scary. Scarier still is a supposedly respectable Indian opinion maker's attempt to hijack the terror issue and stretch it to fit his own political agenda.

Parsis would know better. They were never able to get back to their ancestral homes in Iran or to rebuild what the same hateful lot who bombed Taj had destroyed centuries ago.

Yeah right. The thought of getting back their ancestral homes in Iran is what drives every Parsi today. The chap goes on to paint Ratan Tata as a modern day Prithviraj Chauhan keeping Ghazni at bay. (Tata-ji, I guess, was more worried more about losing money with each passing day - with his firangi car brands bleeding like crazy and Nano likely to rack up huge losses for a few years, he can't really afford to see his hospitality business tank as well. )

I do hope Chiddu, Pranab-da and Manmohan Singh are a little more sensible that these guys. Still, given my status as the greatest thinker the world has ever seen, I ought not deprive them of my valuable words of advice. Here you go boys...

You have three options in front of you, each based on a different objective, in decreasing order of (my) preference:

Objective: Eliminate/reduce terror attacks on India
The Pakistan conundrum is just one part of the overall set of actions you need to take to achieve this. These include stepping up intelligence capabilities, reducing corruption, social justice and the works. I'll leave it to you to figure out the details. While you do that, set in place a policy of taking out terrorist camps regardless of which country they are based in. The trigger for 'surgical strikes' should be detection of terrorist camps by intelligence, not attacks on targets in the country.

If a camp happens to be in Pakistan, you might flinch a bit because of the nuclear issue. Still, go ahead. The probability of the generals actually using nukes is minuscule. These are weapons of blackmail. Blackmailers always negotiate for lower stakes if you call their bluff. The advantage of carrying out strikes without declaring war would be that the international community's boot will be on the other foot. The Obamas and the Browns would be pressing Pakistan instead of you to not escalate the issue further and promising them that they'll get you to stop the strikes.

Objective: Cut Pakistan down to size
It would provide a lot of long-term value if Pakistan's level of capability were reduced from 'Serious Threat' to 'Minor Nuisance'. We could do a lot better in international forums if we didn't have them jumping in with a me-too every time we extracted something worthwhile from other nations. And China's Pakistan card would be devalued from Joker to Deuce.

Keep ratcheting up the noise levels to get the Pakistanis to do something stupid. Like mobilising their forces, or their president rattling the nuclear sabre. Then inform the Americans that the situation is too unstable, and you need to eliminate the nuclear threat. Dust your plans for bombing Pakistan's nuclear installations and wave them in front of the Americans. Do a "you are with us or against us" stunt. Leak the story. Get a few favourable opinions published in American newspapers. Chances are that the Americans and Israelis would fall in line and offer help. Go ahead and take out their nuclear installations and weapons sites. Pray that you've covered everything. Gain air superiority, move ground forces to a defensive posture, carry out air attacks, and blockade Karachi. Ask for unconditional surrender. Keep at it for a few months till their military capability has been sufficiently degraded. Then pull back and leave them to their fate. The Zias and the Musharrafs would lack the wherewithal to conquer their own country, and hopefully a democratic setup would emerge. If it doesn't, we'll need to repeat the same exercise a couple of decades later.

Sounds simple, but it isn't. It is hugely risky, and would entail serious costs in terms of men and material. But the outcome would be worth it.

Objective: Boost your own poll prospects
You won't be the first ones to do this. I certainly won't be voting for you if you do.

Whip up hysteria on both sides. Work out a quiet deal that allows you to make a few token harmless strikes and announce victory. Time it to coincide with the polls. And let status quo continue. Just don't waste lives or too much money. And promise me that Shivraj Patil won't be made minister again.

Life in the past lane

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 07:34:00 +0000

Was talking to Annie and the conversation drifted to what if the internet collapsed. Contemplating life without the net or email does seem a little daunting.

Reminds me of a topic we had in Hindi in class 9 or 10. It described how a mummy from 'mishr' would feel if it woke up today. I remember the lesson chiefly because it seemed so idiotic. Hindi was hard enough without the fake 'hindi-ized' and transliterated English words. Can't recall if we used kampyootar or some equivalant Hindi word. But we didn't have the internet back then (yes I am that old). We'd have probably called it intarneyt, or antarjaal if we were feeling particularly patriotic. Something on the lines of loh-pat gaamini aawat jaawat soochak yantr. Go figure.

But I digress.

Sia would probably find life in the 80's and early 90s boring. You mean you had to walk all the way over to your neighbours just to say hi? Oh you didn't have Facebook back then. What? No mobiles even? How did kids catch up on homework? Wait...if you decided to hang out at CCD, you had to discuss and arrange it the previous day? What do you mean there was no CCD; wasn't coffee invented back then? How do you change channels...what do you mean there's only one channel? Rukavat ke liye khed hai...hehehe that's so funny. Give me my playstation back. National Geographic is a printed magazine? How do I copy these pictures into my assignment? Log tables have something to do with camping in the wilds, right? Why is the kid next door bragging about his 'imported' socks? What is sarkari naukri and why is it so desirable?

She'd never cope. When our parents lamented about the generation gap, they had no clue how bad it was going to be for us. Will we be able to cope, as we raise her in the years to come? Oh well, there's lots to learn. Good luck to us.

Served fresh - on Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 08:10:00 +0000

Came across a news item on The Age. Apparently Australian courts now allow lawyers to serve notices on Facebook. I'm hopelessly behind the times. Social networking is not the fad I took it to be - for kids to amuse themselves while it is raining outside. If laywers have started using it, it must be damn serious stuff.

Am off to create my own Facebook profile. What if some rich great-uncle somewhere croaks? I wouldn't want to miss out on inheriting that private island just because his lawyers are unable to find me on Facebook.

Honda Grand Marquis?

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 21:09:00 +0000

Was reading yet another of the million or so articles in the Washington Post, arguing for or against bailing out GM and Ford. Everyone seems to agree that these companies have been managed poorly. Everyone seems to agree that unionised workers in these companies are overpaid, though the extent to which they are overpaid is a subject of debate. Everyone seems to agree that letting the companies fail would result in disaster. There are free market fundamentalists who seem to think that principle should prevail and the companies should be allowed to collapse. There are voices calling for imposing strict fuel efficency and 'green' standards in exchange for a bailout. There are people who invoke (American) national security and think the matter is beyond economics.

I haven't read anywhere about what seems to me to be an obvious solution. Why not follow the Wachovia-Citicorp model? Take over Ford's assets, sell them to Honda, and use the proceeds to pay off Ford's debt. Of course, this presuposes that Honda would be interested in buying these assets and would be willing to pay enough for these. The shareholders will get stuffed, but at least the plants would be under better management and jobs would mostly remain intact.

Does appearance matter?

noreply@blogger.com (Hari) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 06:18:00 +0000

We went drinking after a Christmas party (which I would have missed had it not been for a wonderful friend persuading me to attend), and the subject turned to the dressing sense of a new recruit in senior management. Apparently she wasn't dressed well enough to to justify her new senior role. And, horror of horrors, she wore the same dress that she wore to an earlier party.

My first instinct was to stereotype - women bitching about other successful women, with barely concealed envy. But that's not fair. Earlier conversations with the same group of friends have been peppered with how poorly women are represented in senior management, and how nice it would be to have this new lady. No, it wasn't envy. They were genuinely concerned about her dressing sense. If you don't turn out smartly enough, that's one strike against you. One of them summed it up, "It shouldn't be that way, but it is."

A quick search supports the view.

The lesson here - dress as you like, groom yourself as you like, but remember the world s NOT fair

Note to self: Think twice about skipping shaving or delaying that haircut.