So we had another terror attack - perhaps the maddest one this time, with terrorists going berserk in the city's landmark hotels (Taj and Oberoi) plus several other places in southern Mumbai.
How many terror attacks will it take for our wily politicians to do something about the security of innocent civilians?
As I watched the stupefied media coverage on TV (with anchors and reporters blabbering on and on without giving much information, filling airtime with nonsensical commentary), I realized that in a day or two everything will be back to "normal" - with normal people and normal politicians and normal media going back to their normal routines.
I don't have a .32 like Mr Bachchan (and don't support a US-style gun culture), but I must say that technology-driven surveillance and a trained police force are essential to avoid repeated terror attacks in India. I'm afraid people will start taking things with a pinch of salt like they do in the Middle East.
One of our biggest problems (besides scheming and self-serving politicos): rampant corruption amongst policemen across ranks. (Most of us are also guilty by taking the easy way out of a situation in our daily lives through greasing their palms.)
I acknowledge and honor the courage and honesty of those who laid down their lives in saving people. At the same time, I (and every other Indian citizen) must question the manner in which the attacks in Mumbai were carried out. Either we were extremely stupid or extremely corrupt - or a bit of both.
Terror's ugly face is irrevocably masked with the filth of corruption.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Don’t Mix Religion and Terror?
I was watching a free-for-all kind of debate on the Times Now channel about keeping religion and terrorism separate and about the aspects of getting political mileage out of the recent arrests in connection with Malegon blasts of September 29.
It was not so thought provoking as it was funny, though there were some flashes of seriousness.
As one might predict, the political spokespersons threw logic out of the window in favor of their affiliations with their respective parties. They took devious and convoluted stances, harking back to Gandhi’s murder and other historical figures – interpreting everything in a way so as to benefit the so-called ideology of their own clique.
In the commotion resulting from many people speaking at the same time, there were no strong opinions to be noted or taken away.
The point I wish to make is that politicians – irrespective of which party they belong to – live with the compulsion to be seen by their co-workers and higher ups as milking the maximum benefit out of every situation. Even if it’s at the cost of making fools of themselves as blabbering monkeys in front the camera.
I also wonder at the repeated failure of our politicians (and often news anchors) to debate about some controversial topic with a reasoned and seasoned voice and keeping things in the studio decent, logical and civilized (nobody seems to care about the viewers). Instead of hearing a voice that should come out of the mouth of a civilized, educated person discussing and debating something on facts and merits of the case, we get one brazenly and illogically blurting out as many words as the anchor would permit before he or she moves on to the next politico.
Now, regarding the issue at the core: most people, especially intelligentsia and the liberals, seem to contend that religion must be kept separate from terrorism.
I want to ask them: In the real world, is there no connection between religion and terrorism? (Even when many blasts have taken place as a matter of revenge against people following one religion by those practicing another?)
On a parallel note, Is business separate from politics? Is urbanization separate from the condition of villages? Is the process of putting dams across rivers separate from the issue of displacement and destitution? Is global warming separate from industrial progress?
Let’s deal with things as they are in the real world. Why fake it, guys?
It was not so thought provoking as it was funny, though there were some flashes of seriousness.
As one might predict, the political spokespersons threw logic out of the window in favor of their affiliations with their respective parties. They took devious and convoluted stances, harking back to Gandhi’s murder and other historical figures – interpreting everything in a way so as to benefit the so-called ideology of their own clique.
In the commotion resulting from many people speaking at the same time, there were no strong opinions to be noted or taken away.
The point I wish to make is that politicians – irrespective of which party they belong to – live with the compulsion to be seen by their co-workers and higher ups as milking the maximum benefit out of every situation. Even if it’s at the cost of making fools of themselves as blabbering monkeys in front the camera.
I also wonder at the repeated failure of our politicians (and often news anchors) to debate about some controversial topic with a reasoned and seasoned voice and keeping things in the studio decent, logical and civilized (nobody seems to care about the viewers). Instead of hearing a voice that should come out of the mouth of a civilized, educated person discussing and debating something on facts and merits of the case, we get one brazenly and illogically blurting out as many words as the anchor would permit before he or she moves on to the next politico.
Now, regarding the issue at the core: most people, especially intelligentsia and the liberals, seem to contend that religion must be kept separate from terrorism.
I want to ask them: In the real world, is there no connection between religion and terrorism? (Even when many blasts have taken place as a matter of revenge against people following one religion by those practicing another?)
On a parallel note, Is business separate from politics? Is urbanization separate from the condition of villages? Is the process of putting dams across rivers separate from the issue of displacement and destitution? Is global warming separate from industrial progress?
Let’s deal with things as they are in the real world. Why fake it, guys?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The ‘Seat-of-Your-Pants Approach’ to Writing!
There are three things that every person (almost!) on Planet Earth thinks they can easily do if given a chance: sing, act in or direct a movie, and, yes, write. Write as in, write books, especially novels. The same kinds that appear on the bestseller lists of newspapers and book clubs for several weeks at least.
Of course, most of the unsung, un-acted, un-written billions never get to do what they think they can do.
Recently, I came across a rather odd contest for wannabe writers on a website. Running through the whole month of November, the competition is being celebrated as the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in the US. (I guess being available on the Web, it’s open to all netizens who fulfill the usual T&Cs.)
The best part of the contest – or the worst, depending on how you look at it! – is that anyone who enters AND completes at least 50,000 words of fast-paced composition is a winner. According to the site, everyone who finishes the writ-a-thon will be given a winner’s certificate and a web badge. While the prizes may not be widely recognized, the idea is to pull people by the nape of their neck and get them to write. Hopefully, a lot many Charleses around the world will get the Dickens out of their writing!
To give you some statistics, the site claims that in 2007 as many as 100,000 participated and – gulp! – as many as 15,000 crossed the finishing line of 50,000 words by the midnight deadline. Alas, only two of these 15,000 “works” were published into regular “books.”
That, however, is unlikely to stop the “participants” from pounding away furiously on the keyboard!
Check it out by clicking here.
Of course, most of the unsung, un-acted, un-written billions never get to do what they think they can do.
Recently, I came across a rather odd contest for wannabe writers on a website. Running through the whole month of November, the competition is being celebrated as the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in the US. (I guess being available on the Web, it’s open to all netizens who fulfill the usual T&Cs.)
The best part of the contest – or the worst, depending on how you look at it! – is that anyone who enters AND completes at least 50,000 words of fast-paced composition is a winner. According to the site, everyone who finishes the writ-a-thon will be given a winner’s certificate and a web badge. While the prizes may not be widely recognized, the idea is to pull people by the nape of their neck and get them to write. Hopefully, a lot many Charleses around the world will get the Dickens out of their writing!
To give you some statistics, the site claims that in 2007 as many as 100,000 participated and – gulp! – as many as 15,000 crossed the finishing line of 50,000 words by the midnight deadline. Alas, only two of these 15,000 “works” were published into regular “books.”
That, however, is unlikely to stop the “participants” from pounding away furiously on the keyboard!
Check it out by clicking here.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Insect Attack
Oh, what a little nagging question can cause one to discover!
Over the past few days, Delhi has been literally bombarded with gazillions of small insects that try their best to get into people’s eyes, ears and other openings as they go about shopping (people, not the insects) in the crowded markets. One just can’t escape their onslaught if one is near any source of light. It seems that the festive season has become sort-of ‘pestive’ season!
So the question that keeps biting at the back of my mind: Who are these insects?
Yesterday, as I was returning from a friend’s home on my two-wheeler, waiting for a red light to turn green, a whole army of these insects flew into me – and met their inglorious (for them) and annoying (for me) death. Had it not been for the helmet with a tight visor around my head, my eyes and nose would’ve been full of these tiny creatures, causing me to swerve and perhaps crash my scooter. Thank you Habsolite, Studds and other helmet makers!
Today morning I was wondering again about who these insects were and how come they invade Delhi almost each year just before Diwali. And why are they in so much abundance this time around? Earlier, I had remarked to my friend that the subject is worthy of a story in a Delhi paper.
As I was still wondering, what do I see? A front-page news story titled ‘Mutant insects over Delhi’ in the Hindustan Times!
The insects are called Brown Plant Hoppers and they are rice pests. According to the HT story by Satyen Mohapatra, Delhi’s neighboring state Haryana just had its rice crop harvested. With no crops to feed on, the hoppers hopped onto the next wind toward Delhi and made their way into the markets, streets and people’s homes – struck the lights wherever they found them turned on and died down soon after from starvation. With a life span of about 30 days, these insects usually die by being eaten by their natural predators like frogs and spiders. But the use of insecticides by farmers had killed most of those natural predators and also rendered the hoppers immune to it.
The result: they multiplied like mad, had to flee to Delhi and in turn made millions even madder with irritation.
But the story doesn’t end here. When I did some Google searching on the Brown Plant Hopper, I came across an interesting story in the International Herald Tribune that relates, among other things, how crop research funds are being reduced in the face of a growing food and hunger crisis. Our little hoppies also find a mention in the story.
Didn’t someone say, it’s all connected together?
Over the past few days, Delhi has been literally bombarded with gazillions of small insects that try their best to get into people’s eyes, ears and other openings as they go about shopping (people, not the insects) in the crowded markets. One just can’t escape their onslaught if one is near any source of light. It seems that the festive season has become sort-of ‘pestive’ season!
So the question that keeps biting at the back of my mind: Who are these insects?
Yesterday, as I was returning from a friend’s home on my two-wheeler, waiting for a red light to turn green, a whole army of these insects flew into me – and met their inglorious (for them) and annoying (for me) death. Had it not been for the helmet with a tight visor around my head, my eyes and nose would’ve been full of these tiny creatures, causing me to swerve and perhaps crash my scooter. Thank you Habsolite, Studds and other helmet makers!
Today morning I was wondering again about who these insects were and how come they invade Delhi almost each year just before Diwali. And why are they in so much abundance this time around? Earlier, I had remarked to my friend that the subject is worthy of a story in a Delhi paper.
As I was still wondering, what do I see? A front-page news story titled ‘Mutant insects over Delhi’ in the Hindustan Times!
The insects are called Brown Plant Hoppers and they are rice pests. According to the HT story by Satyen Mohapatra, Delhi’s neighboring state Haryana just had its rice crop harvested. With no crops to feed on, the hoppers hopped onto the next wind toward Delhi and made their way into the markets, streets and people’s homes – struck the lights wherever they found them turned on and died down soon after from starvation. With a life span of about 30 days, these insects usually die by being eaten by their natural predators like frogs and spiders. But the use of insecticides by farmers had killed most of those natural predators and also rendered the hoppers immune to it.
The result: they multiplied like mad, had to flee to Delhi and in turn made millions even madder with irritation.
But the story doesn’t end here. When I did some Google searching on the Brown Plant Hopper, I came across an interesting story in the International Herald Tribune that relates, among other things, how crop research funds are being reduced in the face of a growing food and hunger crisis. Our little hoppies also find a mention in the story.
Didn’t someone say, it’s all connected together?
Monday, October 20, 2008
Raj Thackeray’s Arrest - Mumbai's Unrest
So the cops finally got to Raj Thackeray, who has allegedly been inciting his MNS (Maharashtra Navnirman (!) Sena) workers to go on rampages beating up non-marathis around town.
I remember the day when the Elder Thackeray (Bal) was arrested by the then Deputy CM Chhagan Bhujbal some time around 2000. I was eating pizza in Bandra in Mumbai when all of a sudden, shops started downing their shutters and a riotous noise came from not too far. As the pizzeria I was at downed its own shutter – trapping people still eating inside – I was wondering what the whole fuss was about. Later somebody told me that Bhuj had dared to arrest Bal – but it would be a matter of minutes before the roaring lion would be out.
In the meantime, however, lakhs of people on the street going about their work or eating pizza must suffer anxiety and risk injury at the hands of the marauding Shiv Sainiks who were livid at the incarceration of their beloved deity.
Like that time, I think this Thackeray, too, would get out sooner rather than later.
But it amuses me how the media is going rapturous with malicious delight as to how the whole arm-twisting drama between Raj and those in the raj will play out.
As Raj allegedly unleashed his goons on the city, so have the TV crews (read ‘crudes’) descended on unsuspecting viewers – giving ball by ball account of the arrest, the unrest, and the rest.
We have seen this recently before. But I can’t help thinking that Raj is able to do all his rabble-rousing because there are so many unemployed able-bodied youths in the state who, having nothing better to do, are only too happy to flex those muscles.
Rather than a Raj Thackeray, we need a Kaj Thackeray who can give lakhs of jobless people some constructive kaam-kaj (work).
I remember the day when the Elder Thackeray (Bal) was arrested by the then Deputy CM Chhagan Bhujbal some time around 2000. I was eating pizza in Bandra in Mumbai when all of a sudden, shops started downing their shutters and a riotous noise came from not too far. As the pizzeria I was at downed its own shutter – trapping people still eating inside – I was wondering what the whole fuss was about. Later somebody told me that Bhuj had dared to arrest Bal – but it would be a matter of minutes before the roaring lion would be out.
In the meantime, however, lakhs of people on the street going about their work or eating pizza must suffer anxiety and risk injury at the hands of the marauding Shiv Sainiks who were livid at the incarceration of their beloved deity.
Like that time, I think this Thackeray, too, would get out sooner rather than later.
But it amuses me how the media is going rapturous with malicious delight as to how the whole arm-twisting drama between Raj and those in the raj will play out.
As Raj allegedly unleashed his goons on the city, so have the TV crews (read ‘crudes’) descended on unsuspecting viewers – giving ball by ball account of the arrest, the unrest, and the rest.
We have seen this recently before. But I can’t help thinking that Raj is able to do all his rabble-rousing because there are so many unemployed able-bodied youths in the state who, having nothing better to do, are only too happy to flex those muscles.
Rather than a Raj Thackeray, we need a Kaj Thackeray who can give lakhs of jobless people some constructive kaam-kaj (work).
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Globalization and its Stinky Contents
For the past few days, there has been a sharp media focus on the stink that garbage dumping has raised in what can perhaps be called India’s first globalized city, Gurgaon. The name literally means a “village of jaggery” and it used to be a typical sleepy town not too far back. Now Gurgaon boasts of countless 24x7 call centers (usually with thousands of sleep-starved workers) and innumerable MNC offices.
Within a few years, Gurgaon has become a sprawling city of malls and offices, more malls and offices, residential gated colonies and, well, more malls and offices. Many of Gurgaon’s buildings vie with each other for supremacy in size, height and abundant use of glass.
The recent ruckus is about the gargantuan pile of garbage riling the wealthy residents of some DLF flats (DLF is the main builder in Gurgaon, whose honcho KP Singh is now one of the richest in the world). The flats in current market value cost upwards of $500,000 and house several senior executives from Fortune 500 companies (hence the group’s influence in the media).
It seems that while the Haryana government and builders like DLF were busy making mountains of money from their hyped high-rises, nobody thought about the piles of garbage that the multitude would generate. For lack of a proper disposal system, garbage is being dumped in open, empty lots dangerously close to residential areas.
As it is, the pot-holed roads in Gurgaon are responsible for causing huge losses in vehicle maintenance and for medical bills incurred in repairing dislocated joints that travelers on these roads must be getting. Power cuts and shortage of water are already well known and widely despised. The stink is the latest in the litany of woes that Gurgaon inhabitants – and visitors and workers – face.
What did the government and the builders think when they built and booked those gleaming offices and spiraling houses? That somehow ‘the stink’ won’t show up?
With 2 million people cramped in condos, malls, offices and cars – and counting – you bet it would!
My guess is it would take a minimum of two to three years in time and at least half a billion dollars in money to set things right. And yes, a whole lot more in political and executive will.
Meanwhile, The Hindustan Times is carrying a series of articles titled Gurgaon Collapsing.
Within a few years, Gurgaon has become a sprawling city of malls and offices, more malls and offices, residential gated colonies and, well, more malls and offices. Many of Gurgaon’s buildings vie with each other for supremacy in size, height and abundant use of glass.
The recent ruckus is about the gargantuan pile of garbage riling the wealthy residents of some DLF flats (DLF is the main builder in Gurgaon, whose honcho KP Singh is now one of the richest in the world). The flats in current market value cost upwards of $500,000 and house several senior executives from Fortune 500 companies (hence the group’s influence in the media).
It seems that while the Haryana government and builders like DLF were busy making mountains of money from their hyped high-rises, nobody thought about the piles of garbage that the multitude would generate. For lack of a proper disposal system, garbage is being dumped in open, empty lots dangerously close to residential areas.
As it is, the pot-holed roads in Gurgaon are responsible for causing huge losses in vehicle maintenance and for medical bills incurred in repairing dislocated joints that travelers on these roads must be getting. Power cuts and shortage of water are already well known and widely despised. The stink is the latest in the litany of woes that Gurgaon inhabitants – and visitors and workers – face.
What did the government and the builders think when they built and booked those gleaming offices and spiraling houses? That somehow ‘the stink’ won’t show up?
With 2 million people cramped in condos, malls, offices and cars – and counting – you bet it would!
My guess is it would take a minimum of two to three years in time and at least half a billion dollars in money to set things right. And yes, a whole lot more in political and executive will.
Meanwhile, The Hindustan Times is carrying a series of articles titled Gurgaon Collapsing.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Free Pisstakes of My Life
I went to the Delhi Book Fair in Pragati Maidan a couple of days back and had a day’s browseful of books. Needless to say, it was a refreshing experience - as leafing through books always is for me.
Apart from a leaner crowd compared to last year’s (at least in terms of the days when I visited), there was something unusually obvious this year. Umm, what was it?
Oh yes, yes, I got it! Arrrgghhh!! Hmmmph!!! Can’t escape it – few book-watchers in India can. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life.
As if writing the title of Chetan Bhagat’s latest teeny bopper sensation three times will serve as an act of my own triplex of confessions! But I just had to get it out of my itching throat and steaming head. Excuse me, I’ll say it once more: The Three Mistakes of My Life. Sigh.
The book fair seemed to have been unfairly booked by Bhagat’s publisher as well as other opportunistic exhibitors, many of whom had plastered handwritten posters on their stalls: The Three Mistakes of My Life and other books by Chetan Bhagat available here. Many prominently displayed a bookcase pack of all the three novels by what The New York Times has called India’s best-selling English author.
While I was busy flipping through Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies or Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, some chick or the other was heard eagerly asking: “Baiiya, do you have The Three Mistakes of My Life?” Most of these naïve young ladies had trouble speaking Hindi and couldn’t pronounce the usual “Bhaiya” [meaning “brother” in Hindi, without any intended brotherly, motherly or any otherly feelings] that all salespeople, hawkers and attendants in India are supposed to be addressed as. But the girls were Indian enough to know that if they wanted to grab their attention, Bhaiya was the word. (Before I’m termed as sexist, let me tell you that there were quite a few boys, too, asking for Three Mistakes as well – even if in a rather sheepish accent or a voice borrowed from their friends who happened to be girls. Okay, call me sexist if you must!)
I hold nothing against Bhagat or his publishers. I haven’t read any of his books, but saw some reviews that were not as flattering as the sales. But I just can’t stop wondering, Must the marketing propaganda succeed where literary merit failed to make a mark? And what about India’s true literary geniuses, who have slogged much more and deserve much more sales hits?
I’m sure most of India’s less-than-bestselling literary lights must be sulking and squirming…
Meanwhile, I overheard one youngster remark to another: “Ernest Hemingway? I think I read his name somewhere but am not sure how he writes, so can’t give you my reco [recommendation]. Have you tried Chetan Bhagat?”
Apart from a leaner crowd compared to last year’s (at least in terms of the days when I visited), there was something unusually obvious this year. Umm, what was it?
Oh yes, yes, I got it! Arrrgghhh!! Hmmmph!!! Can’t escape it – few book-watchers in India can. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life.
As if writing the title of Chetan Bhagat’s latest teeny bopper sensation three times will serve as an act of my own triplex of confessions! But I just had to get it out of my itching throat and steaming head. Excuse me, I’ll say it once more: The Three Mistakes of My Life. Sigh.
The book fair seemed to have been unfairly booked by Bhagat’s publisher as well as other opportunistic exhibitors, many of whom had plastered handwritten posters on their stalls: The Three Mistakes of My Life and other books by Chetan Bhagat available here. Many prominently displayed a bookcase pack of all the three novels by what The New York Times has called India’s best-selling English author.
While I was busy flipping through Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies or Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, some chick or the other was heard eagerly asking: “Baiiya, do you have The Three Mistakes of My Life?” Most of these naïve young ladies had trouble speaking Hindi and couldn’t pronounce the usual “Bhaiya” [meaning “brother” in Hindi, without any intended brotherly, motherly or any otherly feelings] that all salespeople, hawkers and attendants in India are supposed to be addressed as. But the girls were Indian enough to know that if they wanted to grab their attention, Bhaiya was the word. (Before I’m termed as sexist, let me tell you that there were quite a few boys, too, asking for Three Mistakes as well – even if in a rather sheepish accent or a voice borrowed from their friends who happened to be girls. Okay, call me sexist if you must!)
I hold nothing against Bhagat or his publishers. I haven’t read any of his books, but saw some reviews that were not as flattering as the sales. But I just can’t stop wondering, Must the marketing propaganda succeed where literary merit failed to make a mark? And what about India’s true literary geniuses, who have slogged much more and deserve much more sales hits?
I’m sure most of India’s less-than-bestselling literary lights must be sulking and squirming…
Meanwhile, I overheard one youngster remark to another: “Ernest Hemingway? I think I read his name somewhere but am not sure how he writes, so can’t give you my reco [recommendation]. Have you tried Chetan Bhagat?”
Friday, August 22, 2008
No Reliance on Their Connectivity and Service?
In my last post, I had written about how technology can play spoilsport in your daily life. But it was all in a lighter vein.
This time around, I want to highlight the serious lack of responsiveness on the part of companies that provide technology to the masses. We tom-tom the great strides we have taken in telecom and Internet connectivity and our top companies thump their chests on huge subscriber numbers they keep on achieving month after month. But what about listening to the customer? What about the quality of their products and services? What about tons of customer complaints they receive?
It is indeed extremely outrageous that the telecom companies show a pathetic customer attitude toward those who are their very reason for existence (and fat profits).
To cite but one example, my friend Rakesh Raman, who runs a multi-faceted global technology site, wwww.mytechboxonline.com, is facing a harrowing time getting his complaint of dead-slow internet connection addressed by Reliance Communications - one of India's top telecom service providers that prides itself on its so-called 'superior' CDMA technology.
Why am I taking up Rakesh's cause? Not only because I know him personally and professionally, but because I've been personally through the painfully slow speed of wireless Net access that I once used from Airtel. Recently, my brother also got a USB net connection from Reliance - with fast speeds promised - and is facing the same hassles as Rakesh. (Read Rakesh's story of Reliance's callousness at http://mytechbox.wordpress.com)
These large companies make tall promises to customers during the 'acquisition' time - and later keep them running from pillar to post when those same customers find the promises shattered by shoddy service and want to voice their grievances.
I'm sure many of you would've come across similar tales of apathy by large telcos, banks and other 'growing' organizations whose call center service support is deteriorating by the day.
What will make these companies listen?
This time around, I want to highlight the serious lack of responsiveness on the part of companies that provide technology to the masses. We tom-tom the great strides we have taken in telecom and Internet connectivity and our top companies thump their chests on huge subscriber numbers they keep on achieving month after month. But what about listening to the customer? What about the quality of their products and services? What about tons of customer complaints they receive?
It is indeed extremely outrageous that the telecom companies show a pathetic customer attitude toward those who are their very reason for existence (and fat profits).
To cite but one example, my friend Rakesh Raman, who runs a multi-faceted global technology site, wwww.mytechboxonline.com, is facing a harrowing time getting his complaint of dead-slow internet connection addressed by Reliance Communications - one of India's top telecom service providers that prides itself on its so-called 'superior' CDMA technology.
Why am I taking up Rakesh's cause? Not only because I know him personally and professionally, but because I've been personally through the painfully slow speed of wireless Net access that I once used from Airtel. Recently, my brother also got a USB net connection from Reliance - with fast speeds promised - and is facing the same hassles as Rakesh. (Read Rakesh's story of Reliance's callousness at http://mytechbox.wordpress.com)
These large companies make tall promises to customers during the 'acquisition' time - and later keep them running from pillar to post when those same customers find the promises shattered by shoddy service and want to voice their grievances.
I'm sure many of you would've come across similar tales of apathy by large telcos, banks and other 'growing' organizations whose call center service support is deteriorating by the day.
What will make these companies listen?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Does Technology Get Your Goat?
In our digitally loaded lives, it’s hard to imagine what we would do without technology. We wouldn’t, for instance, be able to check our email every five minutes if there were no email. On the contrary, it’s not much difficult to imagine that we would achieve certain things faster if tech didn’t play spoilsport.
We’ve all read with sympathetic fervor about the system-bashing tendencies that a hung computer induces in the most non-violent of workers. There was a short video clip, even, in which a man literally pounds on his machine and throws it off his desk. Poor chap.
Over time, I’ve compiled my own hate-list of instances when technology, instead of increasing our productivity, increases our brain temperature by unwelcome degrees. Sometimes I wonder if the gadgets, networks and software come together in a combined conspiracy against workerkind.
Let me begin the ordeal with the good old telephone. Suppose you are trying to concentrate on something that seems important and the telephone rings. You choose to ignore it for sometime but, after many unrelenting rings, decide to pick it up. And there you are! Soon as you pick up the darned thing, it stops ringing. No matter how many rings you allow to pass, the moment you pick it up, it goes silent when it really wants to annoy you.
Things are no better when you are dialing in, especially the customer service of a telecom or banking company. With most companies now using IVR (interactive voice response or irritating voice re-routing, take your pick), it seems easier to get access to George Bush than the company’s customer rep. Some IVRs are especially configured to avoid giving you any option to talk to somebody – or the option is hidden deep down several press-this-key-and-press-that-key loops. At times, when you finally get down to hearing the human “hello” on the other end, you are so tired punching buttons that you just ask the person to hang up.
Those who are used to exercising their fingers on mobiles for SMSes would also have encountered this next item on my agenda. It’s called “Message not sent this time” – an error you get after your attempt to send an SMS results in failure. So you try another time, and another, and yet another time – until you see the message fly away from your outbox. Ultimately, you end up getting an SMS from the party you are trying to reach: “Stop spamming me, will you!”
The Internet offers its own share of irritating tricks to unsuspecting users.
“Internet Explorer has encountered a problem and will be shut down” screams the message bang in the middle of the screen – just when you thought you found what you were Googling for. Now, your only option is to tell Microsoft about this problem through a link. But irrespective of what you tell those nerds or what they later do about it (if anything), all your IE windows will be shut down. No, sir, you can’t do zilch about it, thank you very much for reporting this problem!
Automatic page refresh is another trick that can make you go bonkers while you are in the middle of reading something on a web page. I do not doubt the good intentions of the developers who wanted an automatic mechanism to update the page so the surfer gets current information. But imagine the spark of fulmination an automatic refresh causes when you are suddenly taken to the top of the page from wherever you were in your reading. You have to inch your way back to that place – and hurry up reading the page if you don’t want to be hit by the refresh wave again.
I could go on about umpteen other Netty things that get my dander up – and probably yours too. But at the moment, in another window open on my desktop, I’m just trying to figure out the stupid blurry characters in a patch that I must copy into the registration field of a website to prove that I’m not a bot. Darn!
We’ve all read with sympathetic fervor about the system-bashing tendencies that a hung computer induces in the most non-violent of workers. There was a short video clip, even, in which a man literally pounds on his machine and throws it off his desk. Poor chap.
Over time, I’ve compiled my own hate-list of instances when technology, instead of increasing our productivity, increases our brain temperature by unwelcome degrees. Sometimes I wonder if the gadgets, networks and software come together in a combined conspiracy against workerkind.
Let me begin the ordeal with the good old telephone. Suppose you are trying to concentrate on something that seems important and the telephone rings. You choose to ignore it for sometime but, after many unrelenting rings, decide to pick it up. And there you are! Soon as you pick up the darned thing, it stops ringing. No matter how many rings you allow to pass, the moment you pick it up, it goes silent when it really wants to annoy you.
Things are no better when you are dialing in, especially the customer service of a telecom or banking company. With most companies now using IVR (interactive voice response or irritating voice re-routing, take your pick), it seems easier to get access to George Bush than the company’s customer rep. Some IVRs are especially configured to avoid giving you any option to talk to somebody – or the option is hidden deep down several press-this-key-and-press-that-key loops. At times, when you finally get down to hearing the human “hello” on the other end, you are so tired punching buttons that you just ask the person to hang up.
Those who are used to exercising their fingers on mobiles for SMSes would also have encountered this next item on my agenda. It’s called “Message not sent this time” – an error you get after your attempt to send an SMS results in failure. So you try another time, and another, and yet another time – until you see the message fly away from your outbox. Ultimately, you end up getting an SMS from the party you are trying to reach: “Stop spamming me, will you!”
The Internet offers its own share of irritating tricks to unsuspecting users.
“Internet Explorer has encountered a problem and will be shut down” screams the message bang in the middle of the screen – just when you thought you found what you were Googling for. Now, your only option is to tell Microsoft about this problem through a link. But irrespective of what you tell those nerds or what they later do about it (if anything), all your IE windows will be shut down. No, sir, you can’t do zilch about it, thank you very much for reporting this problem!
Automatic page refresh is another trick that can make you go bonkers while you are in the middle of reading something on a web page. I do not doubt the good intentions of the developers who wanted an automatic mechanism to update the page so the surfer gets current information. But imagine the spark of fulmination an automatic refresh causes when you are suddenly taken to the top of the page from wherever you were in your reading. You have to inch your way back to that place – and hurry up reading the page if you don’t want to be hit by the refresh wave again.
I could go on about umpteen other Netty things that get my dander up – and probably yours too. But at the moment, in another window open on my desktop, I’m just trying to figure out the stupid blurry characters in a patch that I must copy into the registration field of a website to prove that I’m not a bot. Darn!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Nuclear Energy – Are You Clear?
When following some of the biggest news stories of our day, many times it so happens that the readers or the audience lose track of the real issues behind the stories. As the stories progress – or shall I say drag on – all they get to see on prime time television or read on front pages in the papers is a vicious string of denials, sound bytes, counter-charges, backtracking and other circuitous paths that lead them nowhere.
So it came as a welcome relief – though it increased my anxieties on other counts by highlighting certain things – when I read on rediff.com this well-argued piece by Kanchan Gupta about nuclear energy and its relevance to a country like India (Will nuclear power benefit the masses?).
Let me give you a glimpse into some of the startling data highlighted in the story: Contrary to Congress’s claims of nuclear energy having the potential to provide electricity to significant numbers of people, the share of nuclear energy in India’s total power output will be only 8% by 2020 if new reactors are set up. Compared to the cost of producing thermal power at Rs 2.50 per unit, that of nuclear energy will be Rs 5.50 per unit. No new reactor has been set up in the US in the past 35 years, and only one is coming up in Europe (Finland) after a gap of 17 years. Arguably, the ones to benefit the most from the 123 Agreement will be US and French firms dealing in nuclear reactors.
I’m not saying that one should switch over to the anti-nuclear agreement lobby merely on the basis of one article, but we need write-ups like this to make an informed opinion on matters concerning our country or the world in general – rather than be forced to confront mindless buck-passing by opposing parties through most of our media.
So it came as a welcome relief – though it increased my anxieties on other counts by highlighting certain things – when I read on rediff.com this well-argued piece by Kanchan Gupta about nuclear energy and its relevance to a country like India (Will nuclear power benefit the masses?).
Let me give you a glimpse into some of the startling data highlighted in the story: Contrary to Congress’s claims of nuclear energy having the potential to provide electricity to significant numbers of people, the share of nuclear energy in India’s total power output will be only 8% by 2020 if new reactors are set up. Compared to the cost of producing thermal power at Rs 2.50 per unit, that of nuclear energy will be Rs 5.50 per unit. No new reactor has been set up in the US in the past 35 years, and only one is coming up in Europe (Finland) after a gap of 17 years. Arguably, the ones to benefit the most from the 123 Agreement will be US and French firms dealing in nuclear reactors.
I’m not saying that one should switch over to the anti-nuclear agreement lobby merely on the basis of one article, but we need write-ups like this to make an informed opinion on matters concerning our country or the world in general – rather than be forced to confront mindless buck-passing by opposing parties through most of our media.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tale of Two Cities: Bombay & Delhi - Part II
(This is the second in a series of posts on my experiences in Bombay and Delhi.)
During my initial days in Bombay, there was another wondrous thing that I noticed. Something that few places in the whole of India can boast of: twenty-four-by-seven electricity. For the first couple of days after I found a paying-guest accommodation – another Bombay novelty for India – at the Santa Cruz Railway Colony, I was uneasily at rest. And this unease was not from the creaking trains and howling airplanes that went by the house in disconcerting succession, but from the inconspicuous presence of on-tap electricity. Since I was used to sweating it out countless times a day in the sweltering heat of Delhi, the existence of this uninterrupted, unobtrusive supply of power dawned upon me only after I realized that I didn’t have to unduly exercise my forefinger on the switchboard even once in the past two days! This was something too good to be true. I mean, how could you have such a smooth-functioning utility in India! As the days – and nights – went by, my wonder grew into amazement and sheer appreciation at the bounteous fulfilment of this basic need of mine: continuous supply of electricity and the feeling that I live in a metropolitan city belonging to the Information Age and not some godforsaken remote village in the Dark Ages!
Although I took to Bombay as a fish takes to water, I never stopped wondering about how the city continued to survive. For survive it did despite enormous population pressure, including my own which - I can say with some saving grace - was not at all enormous. Despite organized crime and disorganized politicians. Despite huge swathes of jhuggi clusters and growing numbers of skyscrapers, the more recent ones being in residential areas. Despite several metric tonnes of human and industrial waste spilling out into the sea…
Ah, the sea! To me, nothing symbolizes Bombay more than the sea, lapping at its shores with renewed vigour in each successive wave. Never mind that the waft coming from the sea often carries a sharp sting of foul smell, I cannot but look admiringly at the Queen’s Necklace – the epithet given to the crescent-shaped Marine Drive along the sea. Especially as it sparkles with lights from the buildings dotting Mumbai’s famous skyline and the headlights of vehicles moving steadily along the road. The sea also makes an emphatic statement whether you are looking over the romantic ruins at Bandra Bandstand or crossing the bridge to New Bombay (a suburb created in the hope of decongesting the main city). In its vastness, tranquility or agitation; in its expansive beauty; in its calming or prodding effect upon the mind, the sea never fails to connect with you. The sea is there even in the non-coastal areas, through a recurring stench of fish or moist breeze. The first thing I remember when I think of Bombay is the sea – both of water and people.
There’s an old barb I remember about the stifling crowds of Bombay. It is said that space is at such a premium that even dogs in Bombay have to wag their tails up-down rather than sideways! While I failed to spot any canine calisthenics of that sort, the gibe is not without bite. The crowded bazaars from Borivli to Haji Ali bear visual testimony to a space-starved city. You know the real meaning of the idiom ‘rubbing shoulders with others’ in case you happen to be one of the gazillion people forming a part of that crowd! And you need a mix of correct posture, attitude and evasiveness to pass through the crushing mass of people unhurt or without getting interminably delayed to your destination.
Not that Bombay can’t offer you any breathing spaces, but such spaces are few and far between the crammed dwellings that mostly make up the city. Two such breathing spaces I recall are the famous Sanjay Gandhi National Park and Azad Maidan (sadly, the environment of the former is threatened by encroachments while one can’t enjoy the openness of the latter because there’s a large procession of commuters passing through it all times of the day). Another breathing space is the large paved area outside Vashi station, which is in extreme contrast to the packed-like-sardines scenarios in and around most other stations.
In fact, the geography of Bombay offers an interesting insight into why the city is cramped in most places. Bombay is more or less spread out linearly – from the southern thin tip, the downtown, to the gradually broadening northern parts, the suburbs. Put simply, it’s a triangular strip of land, with two coastal sides very long and the third, joining the other two, quite short. The net result: the closer you go downtown, the more difficult – or expensive – it is to find larger areas. So if you go northward into the suburbs, beyond Virar on the Western line and beyond Vashi on the harbour, you are more likely to see appreciable breathing spaces. As I was once told by a colleague: “Go that side if you feel claustrophobic here in the middle of the city.” I considered the idea many times, but the horrors of an increased commute time in locals held back my fetish for open spaces.
Bombay’s peculiar, strip-like geography once made a friend of mine remark: “Bombay is like a dirty drain, and there’s only one way to travel in it - by flowing in that drain from one end to the other!” His jibe, of course, didn’t flow too well with the staunch Bombay crowd but I, as a dispassionate observer (and as a flailing dirt speck in that drain!), could see a ring of truth to it. Later on, whenever I happened to travel in the locals for a rather longish duration, his remark would come rushing to my memory like the reeking smell of a drain. The analogy of the drain is even more apt if you take into account the filth that follows you all along the iron rails.
Railway tracks are perhaps the perfect place for squatters in Bombay. Which may be fine for you as a commuter if it’s not for the muck that this rampant squatting creates almost as sinuously as the tracks go. You can actually see people squatting on abandoned rails a few feet from the track your local is running on - and doing what they must do each morning (or most mornings if they do not have constipation). You pinch your nose with your fingers to stop the inflow of the stench but, pretty soon, realise that you’ve been holding it tight too long and need to take a breath in order to complete your commute alive! Because, it’s the same story everywhere – people defecating on a mass scale and jhuggis lined up along the tracks, their ‘backyards’ serving as convenient dumping grounds for all kinds of waste (I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to name them). I was even told by a ‘long-standing’ fellow commuter, who couldn’t help but notice that my one hand was employed in pinching my nose instead of supporting the other in holding on to the handgrips overhead, that there were accomplished commuters in the city who, blindfolded, could give out the name of each station as it passed by matching the place with its peculiar stink! I never knew the human brain could store, segregate and retrieve so many disgusting smells with such precise efficiency – until he told me, of course.
At this point, let me warn you against making a biased mental picture of the beautiful city called Bombay based on my positive or negative portrayals of its varied aspects. Bombay must be seen, lived and described with a multi-faceted prism capable of reflecting the innumerable hues concealed in its unified persona. The city is, in fact, a mesmerizing mix of glamour and grime, surplus and scarcity, calmness and cacophony…Nowhere else in India can one see the juxtaposition of the paradoxical vagaries of life brought out as starkly as in Bombay. So any attempt to singularize the city’s essence or see its way of life with a blinkered vision will not do justice to its motley character.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
G Ate; Others, Please Wait!
As the G8 Summit of the world’s richest countries is on in Hokkaido, Japan, I’m thinking of the growing disparities and despairs of the world – the current so-called boom in India and other developing economies notwithstanding. Today, many point out that global warming and green initiatives have become bigger issues than terrorism. Leaders of the world are worrying less about third world war and more about the “devastating growth” in third-world countries (which are second-world, by the way?)
Recently there were some interesting articles in Economist and Newsweek on the future of energy and the greenness – or lack of it – on the only orb we got here. For all the hype and the hoopla, apparently less than 1% of the current energy is supplied by renewables. On the lines of GDP, thinkers are coming up with calculation of EPI (Environmental Performance Index) for various countries. The only ones who seem to fare well on the index, apparently, are sparsely populated nations of Europe.
Making all sorts of calculations and coming up with theoretical models keeps economists and scientists busy – but does it really help solve the problems? It may or it may not. But IMHO, it often certainly does create complications – like those we saw with the misplaced corn-ethanol frenzy and carbon-trading. Shifting resources or carbon emissions elsewhere is something like sweeping your house clean but depositing the pile of garbage on your neighbors’, or, sometimes, “distant relatives’”. Only, the fumes from the garbage now reach far and wide – causing weather nightmares everywhere.
While people at the top (those with the power to make policy decisions that can have country-, region-, or globe-specific impact) lunch and munch together – not to much avail – the consumers and citizens of the world are getting increasingly confused about “their tiny bit” in bringing down their carbon “footprint”. According to an essay ‘I’m So Tired of Being Green’ by Susan Greenberg (what a surname! – no offense) in Newsweek, there’s an entire branch of eco-psychology growing out of people’s eco-anxieties.
It’s OK for people of rich countries – who have been devouring resources and gallivanting around the world for several decades – to now feel a pinch of conscience at their profligate ways. But who will nudge the minds of hundreds of millions of developing-country consumers who have barely begun to guzzle gas, munch meat and throng ‘1,000 places to see before they die’?
All these tree-uprooting, carbon-sooting and vehicle-scooting years the rich have left a deadly trail of environmental destruction and economically-induced cult of consumerism – which the poor and upcoming are only too happy to emulate. Do the paunchy leaders of different countries have the stomach to ask these billions to wait? And even if they do, will they wait?
Recently there were some interesting articles in Economist and Newsweek on the future of energy and the greenness – or lack of it – on the only orb we got here. For all the hype and the hoopla, apparently less than 1% of the current energy is supplied by renewables. On the lines of GDP, thinkers are coming up with calculation of EPI (Environmental Performance Index) for various countries. The only ones who seem to fare well on the index, apparently, are sparsely populated nations of Europe.
Making all sorts of calculations and coming up with theoretical models keeps economists and scientists busy – but does it really help solve the problems? It may or it may not. But IMHO, it often certainly does create complications – like those we saw with the misplaced corn-ethanol frenzy and carbon-trading. Shifting resources or carbon emissions elsewhere is something like sweeping your house clean but depositing the pile of garbage on your neighbors’, or, sometimes, “distant relatives’”. Only, the fumes from the garbage now reach far and wide – causing weather nightmares everywhere.
While people at the top (those with the power to make policy decisions that can have country-, region-, or globe-specific impact) lunch and munch together – not to much avail – the consumers and citizens of the world are getting increasingly confused about “their tiny bit” in bringing down their carbon “footprint”. According to an essay ‘I’m So Tired of Being Green’ by Susan Greenberg (what a surname! – no offense) in Newsweek, there’s an entire branch of eco-psychology growing out of people’s eco-anxieties.
It’s OK for people of rich countries – who have been devouring resources and gallivanting around the world for several decades – to now feel a pinch of conscience at their profligate ways. But who will nudge the minds of hundreds of millions of developing-country consumers who have barely begun to guzzle gas, munch meat and throng ‘1,000 places to see before they die’?
All these tree-uprooting, carbon-sooting and vehicle-scooting years the rich have left a deadly trail of environmental destruction and economically-induced cult of consumerism – which the poor and upcoming are only too happy to emulate. Do the paunchy leaders of different countries have the stomach to ask these billions to wait? And even if they do, will they wait?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
In the Name of God
The title of this post is the secondary title of a movie I just saw, the primary one (with the same meaning) being "Khuda ke Liye." Without intending this to be a review of the movie, I must say it's a great attempt to foster a better understanding between Muslims and non-Muslims. The underlying message is that no unethical, wrong or persecutional thing can be - or rather should be - justified in the name of God.
At least for me, the movie has done tremendously well in clearing some of the misconceptions and long-ingrained notions of what true Islam is. The very word means peace with God and a Muslim is one who "submits to God or the will of God". But the big question: Who is God and what is His will? Now that's where all those Muslim clergy - many of them rather than all - cause confusion amongst the impressionable and, often, uneducated, youth all over the world. How many of us have studied Islam and its tenets? (I certainly haven't. And while on my personal beliefs, I haven't studied any scriptures of any religion and am still an "explorer" when it comes to a single God - but that would be a series of blogs! But I do believe in the absolute values of ethics, morality and goodness.)
One sureshot way to multiply hatred is to blame an entire community of the wrongs done by a few. Painting the West morally bankrupt is as bad as calling all Moslems terrorists.
Why do most of us carry on with our ill-conceived notions of people who are "not like us"? Can we pause to understand the other viewpoint and, more important, spread that understanding? I think this might work better than shock and awe or terror and bombs...
At least for me, the movie has done tremendously well in clearing some of the misconceptions and long-ingrained notions of what true Islam is. The very word means peace with God and a Muslim is one who "submits to God or the will of God". But the big question: Who is God and what is His will? Now that's where all those Muslim clergy - many of them rather than all - cause confusion amongst the impressionable and, often, uneducated, youth all over the world. How many of us have studied Islam and its tenets? (I certainly haven't. And while on my personal beliefs, I haven't studied any scriptures of any religion and am still an "explorer" when it comes to a single God - but that would be a series of blogs! But I do believe in the absolute values of ethics, morality and goodness.)
One sureshot way to multiply hatred is to blame an entire community of the wrongs done by a few. Painting the West morally bankrupt is as bad as calling all Moslems terrorists.
Why do most of us carry on with our ill-conceived notions of people who are "not like us"? Can we pause to understand the other viewpoint and, more important, spread that understanding? I think this might work better than shock and awe or terror and bombs...
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Flame of Tibet
So. The Olympics torch is carrying on with its journey round the world. Yesterday, I read that the relay passed off "without incident" in Delhi, the city that many thought would cause more "trouble" than Paris or San Francisco. I'm sure the Red brigade in China would've heaved a sigh of relief.
But what many consider trouble or incidents are, to me, Tibet's rallying cry to appeal to a callous world. I believe their protest should have had a better outcome on the minds and motives of powers-that-be across the world than the muted murmurs of sympathy we get to hear.
About China, the less said the better. Here's a country that's had indisputably bad human rights violation record - one that's contaminated the simple and noble lives of lakhs of buddhist monks through repression, mindless economic expansion and other dubious means. Here's a country that's caused unspeakable suffering and environmental destruction in its march for modernism. Here's a country that's bent on displaying its might on the lofty pedestal of the Olympics by hook or by crook. And what do the great democracies, leaders and thinkers of the world do? Most of them worry about the "nuisance" or "irritation" caused by the pro-Tibetan protesters to the Chinese authorities. Many are sh*t-scared about disturbing their relationships with the world's fastest rising superpower.
In this mad scramble for seeing the Olympics torch through, who will carry the flame of Tibet that's in danger of getting completely extinguished?
But what many consider trouble or incidents are, to me, Tibet's rallying cry to appeal to a callous world. I believe their protest should have had a better outcome on the minds and motives of powers-that-be across the world than the muted murmurs of sympathy we get to hear.
About China, the less said the better. Here's a country that's had indisputably bad human rights violation record - one that's contaminated the simple and noble lives of lakhs of buddhist monks through repression, mindless economic expansion and other dubious means. Here's a country that's caused unspeakable suffering and environmental destruction in its march for modernism. Here's a country that's bent on displaying its might on the lofty pedestal of the Olympics by hook or by crook. And what do the great democracies, leaders and thinkers of the world do? Most of them worry about the "nuisance" or "irritation" caused by the pro-Tibetan protesters to the Chinese authorities. Many are sh*t-scared about disturbing their relationships with the world's fastest rising superpower.
In this mad scramble for seeing the Olympics torch through, who will carry the flame of Tibet that's in danger of getting completely extinguished?
Monday, March 31, 2008
Is luxury expensive?
The world is getting wealthier and more people are seeking luxury than ever in the history of humankind. In Delhi, there's this luxury summit organized by the Hindustan Times Group currently displaying how to splurge your money. As if the square upon square miles of retail shopping space weren't enough to tell the filthy rich how to get dirty with their desires!
Okay, don't misunderstand me - even I want a piece of the luxury happening all around me (so I'm not squeaky clean myself when it comes to wishes - just that I don't have oodles of money!).
But quite often, I wonder what real luxury is. Does it mean I can buy the watch I feel attracted to or does it mean I can have the time and do what I want to do in that time? Does it mean I can buy the specially designed pillow or does it mean I can afford to sleep as much as I want (the roadside beggar, by the latter count, can afford a luxury I can't)? Does it mean I can buy hardbound volumes of books to decorate my bookshelf or does it mean I can enjoy reading the books I always wanted to irrespective of how they look? And does it mean I can drown myself in parfum (isn't that how expensive labels spell perfume?) or does it mean I can feel fresh in my mind in spite of the stink around me?
(What are "filth" and "stink" doing in a write-up on luxury?! Anyway...)
Is it possible to have both? Can we enjoy an expensive meal with the same taste we find in street food? Can we wear a Rolex without feeling shortchanged on time? Can we wear our cologne without the nausea that often accompanies it in the company of many cologne-clad creatures?
Maybe. I really don't know...
Do you?
Okay, don't misunderstand me - even I want a piece of the luxury happening all around me (so I'm not squeaky clean myself when it comes to wishes - just that I don't have oodles of money!).
But quite often, I wonder what real luxury is. Does it mean I can buy the watch I feel attracted to or does it mean I can have the time and do what I want to do in that time? Does it mean I can buy the specially designed pillow or does it mean I can afford to sleep as much as I want (the roadside beggar, by the latter count, can afford a luxury I can't)? Does it mean I can buy hardbound volumes of books to decorate my bookshelf or does it mean I can enjoy reading the books I always wanted to irrespective of how they look? And does it mean I can drown myself in parfum (isn't that how expensive labels spell perfume?) or does it mean I can feel fresh in my mind in spite of the stink around me?
(What are "filth" and "stink" doing in a write-up on luxury?! Anyway...)
Is it possible to have both? Can we enjoy an expensive meal with the same taste we find in street food? Can we wear a Rolex without feeling shortchanged on time? Can we wear our cologne without the nausea that often accompanies it in the company of many cologne-clad creatures?
Maybe. I really don't know...
Do you?
Friday, March 7, 2008
News Media Inanity in India
Aren’t we all sick of the inanities that the current sackload of news channels in India keep bombarding us with? At least I am. Why, it’s become so goddamn difficult to turn on a news channel and just watch news rather than horror shows, domestic tiffs, or the same old celebrity crap!
They say the channel guys are doing it to raise their TRPs. But, looks to me, they are doing it more to raise the blood pressure of otherwise normal folks like me! Why can’t they just show some real news, which is what I – and I believe zillion others – would want to watch on a news channel? If we want some monkey business or celeb gossip, we’ll switch over to specialized channels that do it a thousand times better, no?
Another irritating thing about the news channels is the awful delivery of news by their reporters. The guys just drawl on and on and on, without coming to the main point and delaying what they should say right at the outset. To make it worse, they hum and haw, and say “umm…” and “aaa…” and mouth a few phrases they all have learnt to parrot again and again ten times in the space of a single stupid sentence.
Sometimes, I just feel like reaching out beyond the idiot screen and give them a vigorous shake by the shoulders!
They say the channel guys are doing it to raise their TRPs. But, looks to me, they are doing it more to raise the blood pressure of otherwise normal folks like me! Why can’t they just show some real news, which is what I – and I believe zillion others – would want to watch on a news channel? If we want some monkey business or celeb gossip, we’ll switch over to specialized channels that do it a thousand times better, no?
Another irritating thing about the news channels is the awful delivery of news by their reporters. The guys just drawl on and on and on, without coming to the main point and delaying what they should say right at the outset. To make it worse, they hum and haw, and say “umm…” and “aaa…” and mouth a few phrases they all have learnt to parrot again and again ten times in the space of a single stupid sentence.
Sometimes, I just feel like reaching out beyond the idiot screen and give them a vigorous shake by the shoulders!
Tale of Two Cities: Bombay & Delhi - Part 1
(This is one of several entries I intend to post about my experiences in Bombay and Delhi.)
I had heard a lot about it. Had read in papers how people’s daily lives depended on it. Seen the flashy images in so many movies.
But nothing prepared me for what I came face to face with when my 6:35 Churchgate local began to screech to a halt. It was a fateful evening when I met the fierce reality of travelling in Bombay’s local trains. (I still refuse to call the city ‘Mumbai’ because the word ‘Mumbai’ can’t give you the cosmo, go-getting flavour that only ‘Bombay’ can.)
I casually hung onto the steel pole affixed to the passage of the bogey I was travelling in. I was going downtown to attend my first press conference as a reporter in India’s City of Dreams and I was told that the best and fastest way to travel from Andheri to Oberoi Hotel was to take a local to Churchgate and then take a taxi. What my advisor meant by ‘local’ was local train, but the suffix ‘train’ is considered a wasteful appendage by Bombayites; only an outsider would call a local a ‘local train’. (Just as a Delhiite would drop ‘rickshaw’ from ‘auto rickshaw’ and merely hail, “Auto!”) Since I was moving from North to South - a direction opposite to evening peak-hour traffic – most of the seats were empty and, even though I could sit down, I stood near the door and enjoyed the breeze from the nearby Arabian Sea.
Now, as Churchgate Station approached, I came upon a horrible trait of humans – a trait native only to us Indians perhaps – that haunts me to this day. And as I was standing lost in my thoughts, I first encountered it through the sense of hearing. “Tak-tak-tak-tak!” the sound echoed in my ears like a magnified patter of giant raindrops on tin sheets. Only, the drops were not water but men, women and children hitting the iron floor of the bogey with terrifying speed. In a split-second, I was swept somewhere inside the compartment by the ruthlessly but systematically attacking mass of humanity that descended upon me from both sides. Every ‘occupiable’ inch of berth-space was taken up by this voracious mob, determined to crush anything that came their way. The whole spectacle was over in a matter of seconds. There were a few who, beaten to the punch by their more nimble-footed fellow commuters, could not find any resting place for their eager bottoms and, in exasperation, simply muttered obscenities at their own failure to perfectly time and execute Operation Berth Capture. By now the train had squeezed itself between the two platforms and just taken its last belch before agreeing to a final stop.
Dumbstruck, I slowly popped onto the platform, unable to believe the scale or speed of the entire episode. How could people pour into a train at such speed just like that, with utter disregard to those wanting to alight? Hell, how could well-dressed and (apparently) educated people scamper like raving rats just so they could travel seated? This was not what I had been told what Bombay was all about. If this was the shape that India’s own melting pot had taken, then I for one wasn’t going to be stirred in it. Not in the way the scene at Churchgate unravelled.
As I managed to find a standing space near a ticket-window pillar – without getting jostled around by the milling crowd, that is – my bewilderment continued. I saw tens of hundreds of people coming onto the platform from the subway and from across the road with a determination that belied their harrowing daily routines. Routines they must have been keeping for tiring years. Their gait was bouncy, not from excitement or pride, but from the urge not to miss their almost-always-on-time locals. That they had a few minutes to spare before the departure time did not deter them: they simply had to hurry. As if hurrying about was a prerequisite to being a Bombayite. Even years later, I cannot get a plausible explanation for all the hurrying around going on in Bombay – it must have gotten into their blood!
Leaving the protection of the pillar was not exactly a pleasant thought, but I had a conference to attend and so, plunging myself into the immense sea of people, I made my way to the taxi stand just outside the station. It took me quite a while to brush past that giant swell of human tide. (In fact, it would take me several weeks of practice in the art of dodging and pushing to learn how to negotiate the swarming railway platforms in Bombay while swimming against the tide, literally.)
Thankfully, all my experiences with Bombay and Bombayites were not ghastly – there were several pleasant surprises too. One great thing about Bombay, for instance, is the professionalism of its taxi and rick wallahs (auto-rickshaws, the three-wheeled taxis, are shortened to the spiffy ‘ricks’ in Bombay). The cabbies don’t look at you as if you are from another planet when asked to take you to a place not too far off from where you stand (which is what Delhi cabbies usually do, if they choose not to snicker at you in the first place). You can even hop into a cab before you tell the driver where you want to go. The best part is, you can take a ride in a taxi for less than two tenners – something the Delhi taxi guys would consider blasphemous.
Anyway, I took the taxi to Oberoi and, as the Premier Padmini cruised along Marine Drive, forgot about the hubbub at Churchgate and looked dreamily around me. This was Bombay, real Bombay! For Marine Drive and its line-up of skyscrapers is the scene almost every Bollywood flick shows you when your beloved rustic hero is transplanted from his humble village to the merciless, fast-paced world of a glamorous city. And which city in India can boast of glamour other than Bombay! I looked at the beautiful, placid sea to my right and envied the smartly dressed walkers on the pavement alongside. Especially the business tycoon-types who seemed to be regulars around those hours, many of them restraining their Dobermans or Alsatians at the leash. What would happen if they let go of the raring canines? I felt amused at the thought as the taxi swung into the entrance of the hotel.
Not wanting to tip the heavy-mustachioed janitor, who made for the taxi to open the door for me, I thwarted his move by flicking the taxi door open quickly and getting out in time. I paid the fare and quietly slipped into the hotel lobby. I’m not one of those (often fake) blue-blooded creatures used to other people opening doors for them, you see. I’m also not a person who allocates a good part of their meagre earnings for tipping people (which might be the real issue, actually)!
My first press conference started (almost) on time. Quite unlike those Delhi affairs that were pretty often late by half an hour to three full hours – the equivalent of an insipid Hindi movie. Other professional interactions that I later had with people in Bombay, whether it was a one-on-one meeting or a photo shoot, were mostly punctual. Bombay is more punctual than Delhi, I had always heard that, but now I could feel the difference myself. On that count, the city scored another brownie point in my appraisal book.
I had heard a lot about it. Had read in papers how people’s daily lives depended on it. Seen the flashy images in so many movies.
But nothing prepared me for what I came face to face with when my 6:35 Churchgate local began to screech to a halt. It was a fateful evening when I met the fierce reality of travelling in Bombay’s local trains. (I still refuse to call the city ‘Mumbai’ because the word ‘Mumbai’ can’t give you the cosmo, go-getting flavour that only ‘Bombay’ can.)
I casually hung onto the steel pole affixed to the passage of the bogey I was travelling in. I was going downtown to attend my first press conference as a reporter in India’s City of Dreams and I was told that the best and fastest way to travel from Andheri to Oberoi Hotel was to take a local to Churchgate and then take a taxi. What my advisor meant by ‘local’ was local train, but the suffix ‘train’ is considered a wasteful appendage by Bombayites; only an outsider would call a local a ‘local train’. (Just as a Delhiite would drop ‘rickshaw’ from ‘auto rickshaw’ and merely hail, “Auto!”) Since I was moving from North to South - a direction opposite to evening peak-hour traffic – most of the seats were empty and, even though I could sit down, I stood near the door and enjoyed the breeze from the nearby Arabian Sea.
Now, as Churchgate Station approached, I came upon a horrible trait of humans – a trait native only to us Indians perhaps – that haunts me to this day. And as I was standing lost in my thoughts, I first encountered it through the sense of hearing. “Tak-tak-tak-tak!” the sound echoed in my ears like a magnified patter of giant raindrops on tin sheets. Only, the drops were not water but men, women and children hitting the iron floor of the bogey with terrifying speed. In a split-second, I was swept somewhere inside the compartment by the ruthlessly but systematically attacking mass of humanity that descended upon me from both sides. Every ‘occupiable’ inch of berth-space was taken up by this voracious mob, determined to crush anything that came their way. The whole spectacle was over in a matter of seconds. There were a few who, beaten to the punch by their more nimble-footed fellow commuters, could not find any resting place for their eager bottoms and, in exasperation, simply muttered obscenities at their own failure to perfectly time and execute Operation Berth Capture. By now the train had squeezed itself between the two platforms and just taken its last belch before agreeing to a final stop.
Dumbstruck, I slowly popped onto the platform, unable to believe the scale or speed of the entire episode. How could people pour into a train at such speed just like that, with utter disregard to those wanting to alight? Hell, how could well-dressed and (apparently) educated people scamper like raving rats just so they could travel seated? This was not what I had been told what Bombay was all about. If this was the shape that India’s own melting pot had taken, then I for one wasn’t going to be stirred in it. Not in the way the scene at Churchgate unravelled.
As I managed to find a standing space near a ticket-window pillar – without getting jostled around by the milling crowd, that is – my bewilderment continued. I saw tens of hundreds of people coming onto the platform from the subway and from across the road with a determination that belied their harrowing daily routines. Routines they must have been keeping for tiring years. Their gait was bouncy, not from excitement or pride, but from the urge not to miss their almost-always-on-time locals. That they had a few minutes to spare before the departure time did not deter them: they simply had to hurry. As if hurrying about was a prerequisite to being a Bombayite. Even years later, I cannot get a plausible explanation for all the hurrying around going on in Bombay – it must have gotten into their blood!
Leaving the protection of the pillar was not exactly a pleasant thought, but I had a conference to attend and so, plunging myself into the immense sea of people, I made my way to the taxi stand just outside the station. It took me quite a while to brush past that giant swell of human tide. (In fact, it would take me several weeks of practice in the art of dodging and pushing to learn how to negotiate the swarming railway platforms in Bombay while swimming against the tide, literally.)
Thankfully, all my experiences with Bombay and Bombayites were not ghastly – there were several pleasant surprises too. One great thing about Bombay, for instance, is the professionalism of its taxi and rick wallahs (auto-rickshaws, the three-wheeled taxis, are shortened to the spiffy ‘ricks’ in Bombay). The cabbies don’t look at you as if you are from another planet when asked to take you to a place not too far off from where you stand (which is what Delhi cabbies usually do, if they choose not to snicker at you in the first place). You can even hop into a cab before you tell the driver where you want to go. The best part is, you can take a ride in a taxi for less than two tenners – something the Delhi taxi guys would consider blasphemous.
Anyway, I took the taxi to Oberoi and, as the Premier Padmini cruised along Marine Drive, forgot about the hubbub at Churchgate and looked dreamily around me. This was Bombay, real Bombay! For Marine Drive and its line-up of skyscrapers is the scene almost every Bollywood flick shows you when your beloved rustic hero is transplanted from his humble village to the merciless, fast-paced world of a glamorous city. And which city in India can boast of glamour other than Bombay! I looked at the beautiful, placid sea to my right and envied the smartly dressed walkers on the pavement alongside. Especially the business tycoon-types who seemed to be regulars around those hours, many of them restraining their Dobermans or Alsatians at the leash. What would happen if they let go of the raring canines? I felt amused at the thought as the taxi swung into the entrance of the hotel.
Not wanting to tip the heavy-mustachioed janitor, who made for the taxi to open the door for me, I thwarted his move by flicking the taxi door open quickly and getting out in time. I paid the fare and quietly slipped into the hotel lobby. I’m not one of those (often fake) blue-blooded creatures used to other people opening doors for them, you see. I’m also not a person who allocates a good part of their meagre earnings for tipping people (which might be the real issue, actually)!
My first press conference started (almost) on time. Quite unlike those Delhi affairs that were pretty often late by half an hour to three full hours – the equivalent of an insipid Hindi movie. Other professional interactions that I later had with people in Bombay, whether it was a one-on-one meeting or a photo shoot, were mostly punctual. Bombay is more punctual than Delhi, I had always heard that, but now I could feel the difference myself. On that count, the city scored another brownie point in my appraisal book.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)