Ramble

Four Steps. For All Seasons !

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A week back, a Sunday morning saw a strange romance on the balcony above. Now that the moral police is hyperactive and beat up any kissing and cuddling in public places, this was a rare moment indeed. Almost on reflex the camera was out. These are resultant pictures.
The pictures are a poor indicator of the sheer magic that happened. Like an art movie in the hands of a rookie camera man, who has no interest in movie making. Those minutes were not only magical, they were mystical too.

There were two pigeons who arrived from nowhere. Wings flapping and making a strange noise. Looking up from the Economic Times that was there in my hands, this was quite a sight. A sight in simplicity ! One of love that was simple, profound and with no fancy schmancy ! I watched, almost in a trance. This was precisely the balm to the Economic Times and all it contained !

They took straight positions. Their investments were in each other and in that magical moment. And this was the sequence !

Step : 1

Step 2

Step : 3

Step :4
And this four step process was almost a process in a 6 sigma set up, with an audit team in tow ! Oblivious to the drones of big air crafts or the faint http://premier-pharmacy.com/product-category/womans-health/ clicks from my camera, these steps went clockwork !

For almost a good five minutes ! Allowing me time to drop the newspaper, pick my camera, unpack and shoot those four snaps in quick succession.

Almost to announce the completion of the snapping on the Japanese lens, a swift breeze flapped the newspaper a trifle too hard. Perhaps it was the shaken Nikkei blowing hot and cold! These folks looked up from their intense moment. And looked in my direction. I froze. Almost like an implicated sleaze peddling paparazzi, catching a private moment of a public princess on lens.

They lingered there for slightly longer. I stood still. Camera in hand.

The Economic Times caught the breeze once more. And fluttered harder. The stock market had wiped out whatever weight in the economy. So !

A propitious sidle later, they flew. What a voyeur like me couldn’t do, the economic times did! But what the economy & our times couldn’t do, was to stop unbridled beauty of mother nature staying on offer. To anyone who cared.

Suddenly ‘stock market’, ‘bail outs’, ‘Paulson’, ‘sub-prime’ and such other ‘words of the season’ sounded like petulant jargon dropping from a broken time machine.

Soft Wares As A Service !

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Clicked at Madurai Aug ’08


Staying with market innovations, here are examples of two ‘services’ that are offered. Soft Services. Or rather ‘soft’ ‘wares’ offered as service to customers !

In the hustle bustle of downtown Madurai, is this small store. It started out as a tea shop, and today, you get everything an office goer would need, from photocopying to hot coffees and idlis. And oh, by the way, you can also get your mobile phone’s battery ‘recharged’ here !

The business model is simple. If you are purchasing something from the store, be it an idli or anything else, the phone charging is ‘free’. If else, you’ve got to pay. No, its not a kings ransom. Its not even a sentry’s ! But how much hooked does it get you to go this store !

Clicked in Sion. Mumbai. Oct ‘8

This is a mobile ‘ear cleaner’ ! He moves around on foot, and i was impressed with the fine array of ear cleaning tools that he carried !

The chap cleans up your ear, for a pittance ( i am told ) and he does a great job ( i am told ) and he is supposed to have a clientele who would lend him their ears, gladly ! When i saw this soft ware in action last week, well, lets put it this way. I was impressed !

These soft wares are new to my eye. The first one : an innovation arising out of modern day living. The second, i guess was an age old practice that faded away. Looking novel to a modern day dweller !

Both soft wares. And both services that would come in handy. Charge up. Listen up !

Crateful Markets !

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The markets are in turmoil.

People say so. The newspapers say so. Every TV Channel worth the telecast rights says so. Any industrialist who doesn’t say so, is not one. Educationists say so, the world over. Many friends from the blog world says so.

Not to be left out, i want to say something about the markets too.

Ever since i graduated from B-School, ‘Market’ took a meaning of pinstripe suits, mega deals, pink newspapers, intense analysis, luck, spread sheets, mathematics, loads of money. These of course had one element in common : Me ! All of the above had a strange repelling effect on me ! They took the next street, when i came close to them !

Before B-School, ‘markets’ conjured different images : The fresh smell of vegetables, the dirty ground swathed with dropped green leaves, grimy soil, rotten tomatoes, cut coconut, broiler chicken, endless bargaining and a huge amount of energy.

I suddenly seem to get the connection, and understand why stocks are traded in ‘markets’ too.

The eternal construct of the old world market, was in its form. You traded in what you could see. For a price that was by and large equitable to value. The principles of supply and demand worked to ‘real demand’ ! You could touch the offering, and paid in hard currency. If your produce was sub-prime, your price automatically was sub-prime !

Sale didn’t happen because of serendipity. You didn’t buy two more cabbages because some pinstripe told you to. You bought it if you liked it. Or somebody in the family liked it. And those of course were the days of carefree eating, unpolluted by the oil-free-calorie-calculating agenda ! The veritable place offered the best breeding ground for veritable trade.

With a polyannish flourish, and additional inches to a wiseacre chest, here is my theory : The engine of the old world market was its simplicity. Or rather in its abhorrence of anything complex.

You could set it up in a jiffy. When its time to go home you go home with your store. But the essence of a certain degree of a ‘fair exchange’ & commerce took place ! True value was exchanged. And still gets. And these showcased Innovations in simplicity !

Here are some examples.

A foldable cot forms the merchandising area of this store. Infact, that forms the store. The trader displays his material, shouts out to the world, catches the odd mans attention and converts the sale !

Clicked at Malpao market in Goa.

You sure must have heard about Tele-shop. But have you seen an auto-shop ! Well, here is one. The shop is gone by the night. Only to reappear in the morning. With new merchandise and merchandising.

Vegetable / Fruit Vendors at Powai

And oh yes, supply chain, need not be imperious analytical minds, software that would almost get you the moon, heavy duty warehouses and so on. All it could take is a gunny bag and some strong arms !

Clicked on the road. Somewhere in Mumbai

An inverted crate and 2 X 2 ft is all that this lady has to sell a perishable product. She told me she makes about Rs.300/- a day and sleeps a happy woman. I asked her, what does she aim to do ? She told me, ‘ Sell my ware. Earn my money. Get my sleep.’ That was as simple as it could get.

And i sure could tell, she was crate-ful ! Even after her merchandise was exhausted !

Clicked at a market in Goa

The Jealous BMW !

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There is a clamour around the decision to send taxis that have worked their wheels over 25 years, to the scrap yard !

The last word on the resilient Mumbai taxi is yet to be written. Perhaps it never will be. For all of Mumbai, Taxi means a black and yellow old world Premier Padmini. And thats not going to change in a jiffy !

Much has been said and read about the London cabbie. And some about the New York cabbie too. However, in my opinion, to have been a cabbie in Mumbai is indeed high in the pecking order of cabbies of the world ! It is not easy to have the forces arraigned against you. Always ! Thats one reason !

The old world engine that should long been buried, still turns the wheel and rubs off the road ! That should get Henry Ford twist in pride !

The door still locks, with a distinct metallic flourish. The radiator still needs physical water filling. The gear lever is on the steering shaft. There are two benches with backrests, that go by the name of seats.

A small pulley works on the window glass and closest that you could get to a seat belt are ropes that would bind your luggage to the boot or the roof grill! Read this. And air-conditioning..well, there is the ‘Mumbai air’ in a ‘certain condition’ that you are sure to get ! And that’s http://healthsavy.com/product/zithromax/ pretty much it !

But here is the bottom line. They get you from point A to point B. Sometimes they fleece. Other times they are ok. ( But the fleece tribe is part of the mainstream nowadays, arent they ?). You will get basic courtesy and experience the odd petulance. In the world of perennial ‘hurry dom’ it is but rare for people to expect more !

In the times of push button technologies, engines with horse powers that discredit horses and their powers and other material comforts that make cars almost a dwelling place, it indeed is nice to see the old taxi share the same road !

After all this romanticising, when the beads appear on the forehead when you travel in a ubiquitous taxi and the rough road says ‘hello’ more often than you would want to reciprocate, you understand that this car was a ‘luxury’ some years back !

On Dussera. Eastern Express Highway. Mumbai

And at Dussera, the taxiwallah adds his dash of pink to the number plate and the string of leaves across a dented radiator grill, and adds paper baubles from the bonnet to the roof, with a fervour and a passion that has to be seen to be believed.

I only wonder if the BMW with a million hoofs inside the bonnet, and zillion gadgets to keep you happy……feels a trifle Jealous !

Another City. Same Tunes.

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Work had me travel to Chennai.

Chennai is like any other Indian metropolis. Only more familiar to me. Thats because, I can read whats written on the walls. Those posters and graffiti scream for attention and my mind hoovers up, before you could say hoover up !

My eyes rest on the road and sees whats abuzz. The strife for more, the constant stretching of limits, an existential reality that is so typical of all big cities. And Chennai is no exception.

We drive on & I see the St.Thomas Mount Shrine, atop the hillock. I vividly recall my times there. Beautiful, serene and pristine place, the ‘mount’, soothed frayed nerves in a tough time, many years ago.

As we drive on i spot a BMW showroom ! Ah. I think. I smile to myself. The object behind many a prayer, i think !! Self chiding auto-starts. ‘Devious Mind’ !

Forcefully wanting to switch attention, i close my eyes. The ears come alive. ‘Suryan FM’, the local FM Radio station, is on. Perhaps the drivers favourite. ‘Blade No:1’ is the program that is on, with a gent who calls himself ‘Blade Shankar speaking non-stop, as though stopping would get activate a nuke or something !

For now, this program has listeners call in and narrate a PJ ( PJ stood for Poor Joke. I don’t know what it stands for in the modern times). And this gent himself has a few PJs up his sleeve.

‘An Elephant walks on the road and come to a signal. But he doesn’t cross the road. Why?’, asks someone. My eyes are happy to remain shut. Half in disbelief, half in mild-amusement. ‘Because it is a Zebra crossing’, someone else says ! A Siamese twin combo of ‘sigh and a smile’ escape escape my pursed lips.

Interspersed with such prolific thinking, are ads for various products. One such is for ‘aruna kayiru’ ( RTT: a black string tied around a toddler’s http://www.buyambienmed.com (usually) waist. I think i had one tied around my waist when i used to crawl. As a kid, that is. So they say).

This ad goes ‘buy 1000 metres of ‘aruna kayiru’ get 5 metres free’. I wonder, why on earth would anybody buy 1000 metres of that string ? But thats the ad.

My eyes remain closed.

In a short while, there is a movie song that is being played. A male voice croons :

Paal PappaZhi,
Nalla Takkazhi
Own Kootazhi
Ennai Samali

RTT :

Milky Papaya
Good Tomato
Your friend (me)
try handling me !!

I shake my head in disbelief. lyricist are working real hard, i think ! And almost as if on cue, the young driver says, ‘ nice song saar’ ! My head still shaking, i tell the driver ‘I have been away for long’. Not in the least sounding as though my presence here would have caused the songs & lyrics themselves to be any different. But my ‘bearing quotient’ would have been !!

The car stops. My eyes open to see.

We are at a toll gate. There is a signboard for a ‘reserved road’ which says, ‘Govt Vehicles and extra wide vehicles only’ ! I wonder why would they want to make that distinction !! Govt vehicles with their occupants automatically are extra wide. Aren’t they ?

My eyes involuntarily close. My ears become alive again. Suryan FM has a contest going now. This ‘Blade Shankar’ chap asks for an equivalent tamil word for ‘Election’ and provides viewers with numbers to call in with answers.

I wonder, since when ‘election’ or its tamil equivalent hit such nadirs that they become subjects for arbid quizzes on a show titled ‘Blade No : 1’. The chest thumping on ‘we are the largest democracy’ must have rubbed somebody right. Or wrong. somewhere.

I shudder to think of the possibility of some bloke calling in with a wrong word.

Thankfully we reach our destination. And i don’t know, what happened. I hope people got it right. Hope springs eternal. They say.

In Chennai too.

The Length of Shadows

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Id from my balcony. Mumbai. 2nd Oct 08
The morning ushers with it a holiday on the occasion of Gandhi Jayanti. And Id. And as i part the curtains to draw in the morning air, there is an Islamic preachers cadence which floated through ! Rather noisy. That’s my first reaction for the day.

I stand there, soaking up the morning and all that it has to offer : the birds chirping, the first rays of the sun hitting the opposite building. And more importantly, the relative silence that a ‘holiday’ morning offered. Free from honks, bus engines and an inherent Sisyphean buzz.

In a few minutes, i became aware of young Muslim men, characterised by their caps registering in my eyes. They seem to be returning from prayer. Or wherever. Bright clothes and a sprightly walk characterise their today. Today is Id. After a month of fasting, today, is celebration time.

And as they walk towards in the direction of the Sun, i see their shadows lengthening. They segue from slow to a brisk walk. I wonder whats the hurry. Perhaps breakfast. I think.

I wonder how they feel, to be identified & labelled as a Muslim. Victims themselves. Either of terrorism, propaganda or bias. A lump sits in my throat. The birds continue to chirp.

The religion surely must be rich. And i am sure there must be dimensions of which the rest of us don’t understand fully. Maybe someone needs to demystify and help the world understand the Koran, i think.

We need to accept ‘them’ as one of ‘us’ i think. And then, a smile escapes my lips. ‘Us’ & ‘them’, my mind thought 10 seconds ago.

I ask myself, ” aren’t ‘they’, ‘US’ ?!?”

The lump gets bigger within. I wonder if the biases, that i think rests with the rest of the world, rests in me as well. Unconscious sleeper cells? I wonder.

And even as i wonder, i hope thats not the case ! A full minute later, the ‘sleeper cells’ are still introuvable. Thankfully. I hope they never existed.

Far below, the boys themselves, don’t seem to be bothered. With animated chatter, they are now sauntering on. And as the Sun’s rays get brighter, their shadows get lengthier.

In an hour, i am at my breakfast table. Muesli and honey. I wonder what the boys who walked by would be having for breakfast. A few images appear. My mouth waters. Many years back my dad told my mom, half in jest, ‘the way to a man’s heart is through the alimentary canal’.

Out of nowhere that comment makes a propitious appearance. And stays too. Silly. I think. But, it continuous to stay. I wonder why.

I saunter to the window. A new set of boys with the same caps walk by, on the same path. The Sun is up in the sky.

The shadows, however, are shorter. Much shorter.

Happy Id !

The Indian Auto shows !

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The ‘Auto’ industry, to the layman, refers to the three wheeler : the Auto rickshaw! That mode of transport that gets you from place A to place B, with minimum comfort-maximum value, basic courtesy ( depending on the city you take the auto in) -maximum noise !
The Bangalore Auto rickshaws gave me a tough time in haggling. I had to polish, and re polish basic kannada there ! In Mumbai, things are a lot more professional ! In Tamil Nadu, ‘metered fare’ is as alien as aliens can get !! ( And with no meters, ‘at the mercy of’ takes a far greater meaning) !

Whatever the case, these three wheelers form an indelible part of the Indian city landscape. Through narrow roads, crowded streets, early mornings, late evenings, for every occasion, the Indian ‘auto’ rides them all !


On the way to Goa, we spotted some ‘hard top’ auto rickshaws, with doors et al. Wonder why ! That seems to be a variant of the konkan region. Colourful, ‘decorated’, interior worked, these hard topped vehicles looked majestic seen in the backdrop of the pristine mountains and roads !

Notice the spade work on the door ! The curtains inside. And those elaborate frills that adorn the drivers seat. Not to miss the ornate name board on the ‘forehead’ ! Perhaps the hard top and doors comes in handy during the monsoons, when the rains would hit mother Earth with persistent ferocity !


The Mumbai autorickshaw is a study in contrast. Functional. Fast. And sometimes, just way too omnipresent. Especially if you are stuck in a jam ! And when it rains, the resourceful auto ‘driver’ just pulls the string to roll down a tarpaulin / leather / rexine / plastic sheet, to shield the passengers from rain. If rain water makes it through this, which happens invariably, too bad for you!!

All said and done, the auto rickshaw define a city to many a traveller. For it is them and their drivers that you come in contact with as soon as you set foot in a city !! Just ask a non-tamilian’s about his first trip to Chennai, and i can bet you that there would be an invariable mention of the auto rickshaw at central station !

That said, did you know that auto rickshaw runs in the UK as well ? (with seat belts, shock absorbers et al) ! Well, at least that’s what the papers said back then. And i blogged about it two years back ! You can read it here.

If there was a permanent fixture on Indian roads, (other than potholes), it would be the good old auto rickshaw ! And for all of three wheels, they can get spinning like nobodys business !

Alright, it is a three wheel drive ! But one that could give all four wheel drives a run for their money, within the city ! This Indian Auto truly shows, who is the king of the Indian road !

Nuclear Civics anybody ?

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It was a week ago that i heard Teesta Setalvad amongst many others speak. Many aspects of what she spoke stays firm. But if there was one element that stood out starkly, that was the brief discussion on ‘civics‘ lessons in school.

So, i asked a kid i know what kind of Civics lessons they had in school. She was a small kid. And she said, without bating an eyelid that she is yet to receive a driving licence. Only a while later, did it strike me that she was talking of a different civic(s). The Honda variety.

I ran. And ran. And ran. And came here to write this post !

Am not sure how many of you recall fondly, the civics lessons that you studied in school. I recall vividly. Not fondly. There were are few lessons on the Indian Constitution. I distinctly recall sitting up late nights to memorise those acts and articles ! Fundamental Rights. Directive Principles of State Policy. Some lessons on parliament. Its formation etc. And invariably mix up the years !

And i still remember, the chap who scored the highest marks was the one who could memorise those acts, amendments to the acts, the year in which the amendment was made etc. etc. For example, It made a big difference, if i wrote ‘Arbid Blogger’s bill of 2006′ while in reality it was ‘Arbid Bloggers Bill, 2007′ !

Aside : (I wonder whats come of the brilliant soul who got the year right, repeatedly. (The last heard, he had emigrated, if that was any consolation). But i know whats become of the soul, who got the stats and spells wrong. Repeatedly. He finally has a go at the chap who got the year right. By writing this post !

Thinking about it seems to bring to the fore many of my ideas to the fore. I suddenly seem to have found an answer to the nations woes. Even the world’s woes. Civics it is !!! Reforming Civics education suddenly seems to be such an obvious solution to the worlds problems! Yes. That is my eureka moment in a long while !

How wonderful would it be if the children of the world all understood different constitutions. Cultures. Different laws. Rules. By understanding, i mean understanding. Not learning by rote !

Think about these as actionables…

How about making young minds think and reason out between the right and wrong. According to the constitution.

How about focusing on the essence behind each law and not the year on which it was passed.

How about giving children, assignments to research on how the constitution is working. Of it is at all working ?

How about getting children to understand different constitutions of the world ? Ok. At least a few countries ? Ok, at least a few frameworks ?

How about getting Civics back to the forefront and give it a status akin to Physics or Chemistry or other important subjects ?

At one point we needed Physics and Chemistry like nobodys business. But now we have enough abuses of those subjects by mankind that we need ‘Nuclear civics’ more than ‘Nuclear physics’ !

The world can definitely do with some more civics sense ! What say ?

That Revolving Light !

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Cochin. 22nd Sept ’08
That name plate and revolving light with a siren on, has so much going for it !! The common man bows. The traffic gives way. Prospective (rich) fathers-in-law will kill, for a son-n-law with that kind of light. The District Collector in essence, is the administrative head of the entire district, and hence is entitled to the privilege of the blue siren !

Many years ago, the allure of the civil services beckoned me as well. Teachers told me, that ‘for your IQ’, i would get through easily. That was in class six. I took them seriously. A few years later, i realised that they were kind souls, and certain acts & words were out of kindness. And nothing else !

Well, to be fair to them, i did score some decent marks and was an above average quizzer. (Those were different days. The closest i come to quizzing these days, is the quizzical look that seems to keep me perennial company )!

Constantly egged on by relatives, friends and family, i thought i would have it too. The revolving light atop the car and unmitigated power. Besides which, the thought of ushering in change & a new way of doing things and making a difference did lurk. I swear. (And i have a strong feeling that Obama somehow took that theme from me)!

In that hope, there were issues of Competition Success Review that were picked up with great regularity. Profiles of people who did make itto the civil services were analysed. Idolised. We also had a few neighbours from the IAS. Talking to them helped stoke a fire too. ( If they could do it, i could too )

And then, one fine day. I gave it all up. To put three years of life ( assuming that i cleared the exams etc) on the line, for a distant promise of power, a revolving light & possibilities of impacting society…. didnt quite add up.

With a promise to stay socially engaged and strive for change, in whatever i did, i walked away. Much to the dismay of many. Till date.

The MBA came along. Life took a different turn. And I didnt have regrets. Still dont. That revolving light dream was firmly on the rear view mirror. What remained for a few years, were the old dusty issues of the Competition Success Review ! With reams of material on how to give interviews and group discussions ! And those profiles of people who made it. Idolised once. Dropped then !

These days, however, a revolving light passes by, an apparition of possibilities turn up. Maybe i could have done a better job, i think, than all those who made it ( perhaps by continuing with Competition Success Review )!!

But that thought refuses to linger. Am happy here. I didn’t have to stick to that magazine and read arbid interviews and come face to face with BSRB question papers !

The road forked long ago. And i took the one more traveled. And am glad i did. My life has evolved in a very different clime ! In a different light ! My calling has been elsewhere.

A Migrant’s Balcony

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‘A balcony with a view’ , friends used to say. The airport was visible from here. That was until sky raises started coming up close by. In some days the view would be gone completely.

Everyday i stand and watch the sky rise, get closer to the sky and workers working on them, get to new floors ! All, On the way up ! Today, the sun is yet to arrive. There is a slight breeze which nudges the odd discarded polythene pack into aimless movement.

I look emptily into the sky & in that ever coalescing clouds, just like my future ! A shape now. A different one the next minute. And a new one tomorrow. I look into my tea and tea mug. My tea mug says, ‘SMILE’.

Some distance away, migrant ‘labour’ work to do their part in man’s quest for development. A couple of incomplete floors below, on an incomplete balcony, their cloth line catches the breeze and flutters.

I wonder what hopes and tales the breeze holds. These clothes seem to flutter, only when they are off these workers!

I wonder what drives these men. The thought of a family ‘back home’ and their ‘upkeep’ provide the fuel for such providers. Perhaps. Perhaps the allure of ‘big city living’ is the fuel. Perhaps it is that phase in life where the every muscle is stretched to ‘do something’ ‘worthwhile’, that is proving to be the fuel.

I think. Did they know, when they played with carefree gay abandon in their fields, that someday, they had to trade those open fields, small streets, talkative neighbours, interested friends, simple conversation to such a borrowed high rise living. I wonder.

The clouds have already taken a new shape. My imagination runs riot, trying to affix objects to the shapes out there. The clouds seem to recognise my attempt and move faster.

Down below, another worker is on his mobile phone. He has been on it for sometime now. He now sits down to talk. His animated movement of hands for a while now, ceases. He sits. One hand on the phone. Phone pressed to the ear. Head in the other hand.

From where i sit, i see him clearly. My eyes remain fixed on him. The only occasional move is to sip the tea. The tea mug continuous exhort me to ‘SMILE’.

In about five minutes, he completes the call. Long after the call is done, he continues to sit on the mound of sand he has been sitting on. Phone in his pocket. Hand holding the head. Staring into the sky. I wonder who he could have been speaking to.

Perhaps it was the wife & an assortment of lost feelings. A lonely parent & a bundle of timeless dreams. A child and tons of possibilities for the future. . Perhaps. He seemed to look up into the clouds. The same clouds & their coalescing shapes.

My eyes dart to the clouds too. In the new shapes that emerge, i seek answers. I see open play fields, carefree play, a fathers presence and mothers care. I wonder if he sees these shapes. In a while, i notice that the mound of sand continues to stare at me but the worker has moved on.

To play his part on building that sky rise. The labourer and the mound of sand would soon be gone, leaving the sky rise to kiss the clouds.

Up above, the clouds remain focused on creating new shapes with gay abandon. Complex shapes, this time around. Some questions for me, perhaps.

The neighbours’ Worldspace radio, with BOSE speakers blasts the song “it wasnt me’.

The clouds seem to pounce on that and ask : ‘Really?’

I stare vaguely into nowhere. A stronger breeze flutters and moves more clothes on the cloth line below. The empty tea mug continues to exhort me to smile. The Sun has arrived. I begin drawing the curtains.

Far away, another aircraft takes off.