Desicritics Satire

Fiction: A Few Reasons to Return Home

Vinod Joseph — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 00:47:28 EST

Sreejit's face has a look of intense concentration as his fat index finger glides over his Blackberry's scroller. No, Tim hasn't replied to his angry email yet. To be honest, Sreejit isn't expecting a reply from that bastard. Tim's last email had made it clear that the next round of discussions would take place only after three months.

The man sitting to Sreejit's left has a respectful look on his face. A Blackberry is not a very common sight in Kerala, not even in the first class waiting room at the Ernakulam Junction railway station. The man wants to tell Sreejit something, but Sreejit refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he opens old emails and reads them, his eyes focussing on the screen intensely as if he is reading something very important, as if they are unread emails.

An announcement is made over the loudspeaker. 'The Netravati express is 'shortly expected to arrive on platform number 3.' Sreejit rolls his eyes in exasperation and puts the Blackberry into the travel pouch around his waist. 'I don't believe this,' he says loud enough for his neighbour to hear.

Sreejit's neighbour does not let go of the opportunity. 'This train is always late. Today it is late by only forty minutes. Usually it is late by at least four hours.'

Sreejit exhales and tells his neighbour, 'before leaving for the station, I called up Railway Enquiries and asked them if this train was on time. And they said it was.'

'IST stands for Indian Stretchable Time. Forty minutes late ... that's not late at all!' the neighbour guffaws. 'Once this Netravati Express was twenty four hours late. It came exactly on time, the next day!'

'I guess I've got used to seeing things done in a different way. I've been away from all this for almost five years now.'

The opening is not wasted. 'Are you from the States?'

'No, from the UK. I mean, things are not perfect over there. Trains do run late once in a while. But, this ...' here Sreejit stops for emphasis. 'This is incredible. They don't even apologise for the train being late. And of course, there is no need to explain to us why the train is late.'

Sreejit's neighbour becomes an apologist for Indian Railways. 'Netravati is coming all the way from Bombay. A journey of over 24 hours. So it can be a little bit late.'

'I ought to have taken a taxi to Trivandrum. I was told the train will be more comfortable. Now I'm not too sure.'

'My name is Babu. What's your good name?'

Sreejit is trapped. As a rule, he does not talk to strangers when travelling on trains. A habit inculcated over five years cannot be ignored. But he does not have a choice. He is forced to admit that he answers to Sreejit.

The train enters the station majestically. There is a rush of activity. People rush to the doors and mill around. Some people start getting inside even before the passengers have got off the train. Sreejit and Babu are travelling first class and so they don't have to fight their way into the train. They settle in a section of the compartment which has only two other people, an old man sleeping in a corner and a woman in her thirties.

The first class seats are reasonably comfortable, but there's dirt on the windows. Sreejit takes care to ensure that he doesn't touch the window sill.

The train has been at the station for fourteen minutes now. Sreejit looks at his watch and gives Babu an enquiring look. Why not? Babu is more than happy to explain matters. 'This train has come all the way from Bombay. At this stage, it won't be very punctual.'

'Makes a lot of sense to me. It's a 28 hour journey to Trivandrum, isn't it? Why be punctual for the last leg from Ernakulam?' Sreejit does not hide his scorn.

'It's scheduled to stop for ten minutes. Since it is late...'

'Since it is running late, I would expect it to leave as early as possible. It's been here for almost fifteen minutes now.'

Babu changes the topic. 'Are trains very punctual in England?'

Sreejit sighs and gives Babu a happy smile. He takes his time in replying. 'You know, I have a rather long commute to my place of work. I live in Reigate, that's in Surrey and I catch a train to London Bridge from Reigate everyday. Once every ten days or so, a train will be late, by a couple of minutes. And once a month or so, a train will be held up for say, ten minutes.'

'Is that all? In India we are used to trains running late all the time....'

'When a train is late by a few minutes, we start cribbing. In the UK, people complain about minor things. Out here people are passive. People don't care if the trains run late.'

'There's not much point in cribbing in India. We have too many people and not enough ...'

'I don't think so. It's also a question of attitude. If a train is late, there will be an announcement every few minutes explaining the reason for the absence. They'll tell us the train is held up at such and such a place due to such and such a reason.'

'You must find it so difficult here after living in England.'

'I hate to say this, but after living in the UK, it's so difficult to adjust to the way things are done here.'

The train moves off and Sreejit heaves a sigh of relief. 'Finally,' he exhales. Babu sighs in relief as well, as if he is too embarrassed at having been let down by Indian Railways in front of a foreigner.

Sreejit decides to re-read the email he received from Tim a few days before he went on leave. It doesn't matter how many times he has read it before, Sreejit feels a fresh pang of rejection each time. Tim's email was very blunt and to the point. As discussed at the review meeting held the previous day, Sreejit's performance was not satisfactory. They didn't think he was capable of fulfilling the requirements of his role. They realised that Sreejit had a demanding role, but if Sreejit could not improve his performance and meet the five objective parameters set out below in the next three months, they would ask him to leave.

A vendor arrives with lunch boxes - there's chicken biriyani, sambhar rice, curd rice, fish curry rice etc. Sreejit buys a chicken biriyani while Babu settles for some curd rice. They start eating.

'I heard that food in England is very bad. Is that true?'

'Not at all. It is very hygienic and clean. You won't fall ill if you eat food from a vendor on a train.'

'Oh! Do you have people selling food items like this?'

'No, but each train, especially the long distance ones, will have a buffet trolley with an assortment of sandwiches and beverages.'

'Sandwiches! Is that all you get? It must be very difficult to live on such things?'

'I am used to that now. Actually, these days, I don't like spicy food. Come to think of it, why add spices to food? They don't have any nutritional value. In fact, they deflect the real taste of food. If you eat spicy food all your life, your taste buds will slowly die. You won't be able to appreciate subtle flavours. In fact, Indian food doesn't have subtle flavours.'

They go back to their foil packed food. Sreejit chuckles to himself. At the pub the day before he went on leave, he had nicknamed Tim Dr. No and everyone had laughed. Hopefully the name would stick. Tim had a habit of starting every sentence with a No. They all hated Tim and his joke had made him very popular. But Sreejit was the first of Tim's victims. Why had Tim picked on Sreejit?

Sreejit finishes his lunch first, because he doesn't eat half of it. He looks around for a bin to dump his foil pack, but doesn't find one. 'Just throw it out of the window,' Babu tells him. Sreejit is disgusted beyond words, but he reluctantly opens a window and throws out the wrapper. He then goes to the end of the compartment to wash his fingers in the tap. When he comes back, Babu is the process of disposing his lunch wrapper through the window.

'I just don't understand why there can't be a few bins in every compartment? Labour is cheap in this country. It won't cost too much to have the bins emptied at every other station!'

'We are used to all this,' Babu put in mildly.

'I guess I shouldn't be shocked, but I am. Each time I return to India, I get a jolt when I see the way things are done here.'

They are silent for a while. The train reaches Allepey, but no one enters the first class compartment.

Sreejit opens Tim's email once again. He goes through the five parameters they have set for him. They appear objective but they are not. His technical knowledge apparently is not good enough. How the heck can such an allegation be called objective? Before Tim arrived on the scene with a mandate to 'trim' the company, no one had complained about his technical knowledge. If at the end of three months, Tim 'objectively' decides that his technical knowledge is still not good enough, they can fire him and there is precious little he can do about it. He has consulted an employment lawyer. His company is entitled to fire him as long as it follows all the procedures, he has been told. He can take his company to the employment tribunal claiming unfair dismissal, but unless he can prove that his termination is on account of race or religion, he is unlikely to win. No, he can prove nothing of that sort. All his colleagues are polite to him outwardly. No one has assailed him on account of his religion or skin colour. He isn't a homosexual or anything is he? his lawyer had asked him wistfully. If he is and is being harassed about it by his boss, he might sustain a claim that he is being terminated on account of his sexual orientation. No, I am not gay, Sreejit had politely replied though he wanted to scream at the lawyer who charged him 300 pounds an hour.

It is actually the last of the five parameters which hurts the most. He can live with an allegation of inadequate technical knowledge since he knows that it is a lie. But he cannot live down the allegation that his client handling skills need to be improved. He has been asked to work on his verbal skills so that clients can understand him better. It was the last parameter which forced him to shoot off an angry reply to Tim just before he caught the flight to India. Yes, I do speak with an accent. However, I've never had trouble communicating with anyone. That idiot who complained about my accent last month is prejudiced. He is biased. He is a racist. You don't have to believe him. Surely you know me better than that. I have been in the UK for 5 years now and my accent had always been legible. It was not as if I spend all my time talking to clients. Not more than ten percent of my time is spent with clients. I have been with the company for three years now and there had been only one complaint so far.

He knows that Tim won't reply to his email. The Human Resources department has prepared Tim's email and any response will also be prepared by HR. They have done it many times before. The UK has some of the most employee friendly laws in the world, but if an employer wants to fire an employee, he can do so, provided he is patient and is willing to pay lip service to all the rules.

'So you don't see yourself ever returning to India, do you?' Babu asks him.

'Actually, I might. There are so many things about India I don't like, but India is still home. I will come back to Kerala one day and settle down here.'

'Really! That's very good. I thought you are....' Babu hesitates and then continues, '..you are one of those who hate India so much that they will never return.'

'Ha! Ha! Of course not! I have gained so much from my experience in the UK and when I return, I will have a lot to contribute.'

'I'm sure of that. When are you likely to return for good? Anytime soon?'

'I don't know. I may come back in a year's time, I may return after ten years. It all depends.'

Babu is too polite to ask what it depends on and merely gives Sreejit a smile as he goes back to his Blackberry.

Survival of the Creative Fittest

Suresh Naig — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 06:41:46 EST

It was just 4 years since I was married; the euphoria of love marriage had drained for my wife, which was replaced by other weighty and worldly things. Her warmth and compassion towards me had seen several ups and downs, putting even the Sensex to shame.

Whatever she had admired and loved in me during our courtship, she felt, had turned against her. She liked my openness and friendly nature, which had ensured a large friends’ circle for me. The same friends, whom she felt, I earned due to my humorous and witty nature, had become hindrances in her opinion, prying on our privacy.

She was very creative; even till date she continues to be one, she started focusing her creativity in turning my friends into foes. It was the age old tactics, which she adopted. Comparing my inadequacy with their positive side, so much so she had the knack in picking up only the positive side of each of my friends, and pitted it against my negative sides.

She had compared me with a friend of mine, who was very considerate in helping his wife in domestic chores, but he being a “Harry Potter” did not bother her. His name is Hari and who was fond of “pot”, the fact which she conveniently forgot, and never took it up for comparison. Or for that matter with another friend, who never missed an opportunity in gifting his wife, at times for as flimsy a reason as cooking palatable food, yet he being a “Birbal” didn’t bother her. My wife knew he had earned the nick name, for his unbridled love for ale, turning his tummy to the shape of a beer barrel, which was never taken up for comparison.

All her tactics failed to evoke the desired effect and it never impacted me, for two reasons. The day I decided to get married, I had resolved not to get provoked, a euphemism for thick skin. Another reason for her failure was, my creativity being a shade better than her. I told her, ‘if you want me to imbibe all good things from all my friends, soon you may feel that you are sleeping with a stranger than me. I am what I am, and others are what they are’. Still it failed to cut ice with her.

Eventually I told her to put all the things she didn’t like about me on a paper and I would do the same thing about her. She agreed readily, for she was confident that my paper would be blank, but I proved her wrong.

She could manage only two sheets of paper and 30 minutes, but I went with more than six sheets of paper, and well past an hour. I was enjoying her discomfort and anxiety to look into what I was writing, but I refused to show her. We had neatly put our papers into separate envelopes, pasted and as agreed, the waiting started. We had agreed earlier to open it only in bedroom in the night. I was not at all anxious to look into what she had written, as I knew it verbatim, having listened to it for long. I could also predict the reaction of my wife, on witnessing my scribbling.

And it was as I expected. Tears welling up in her eyes she started punching me, followed by a tight hug, whispering in my ear, ‘you dirty sweet scoundrel, I love you too, though you don’t deserve’.

All the six sheets of paper contained only one line, repeated like an imposition writing, as we did in our school. And it was,

“I love you, for what you are, and not you will”.

Swami and His Foes

Suresh Naig — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 13:32:52 EST

It was one winter evening at Coimbatore, in the year 1984. Even till date I couldn't recollect the reasons, which made me to visit Bharatiya Vidhya Bhavan, to listen to a lecture of a Swamiji.

It was a moderate crowd of less than 100 persons, most of them having attained superannuation, found the lecture an inexpensive entertainment. The Swamiji, whose name I forgot, was no different from any other Swamijis. Like many of the Swamijis he was also 60 plus, but beyond which his proper age was not discernible. He had also sported a long beard, like any other person of his clan, which had turned grey, had long unkempt hair and he worn a long piece of cotton jubbah, which had obviated the need for a dhoti, though he was wearing one.

At a much younger age, I had a problem of differentiating one cine actress from the other, since I felt all of them looked alike with heavily made-up face and all the cine heroines of yester years appeared to me as padded horses! of a different kind.

As I grew up, I developed the skills in identifying a female cine personalities, but my problem of identification shifted to Swamijis, who not only looked alike, but also behaved alike, with their monotonous uninspiring lectures. This swamiji was no different.

He opened his lecture praising the U.S. from where he had returned, after a long and fruitful visit. He said, 'I was discussing with few young Americans about Indian culture and our ancient practices aimed at healthy living. This discussion happened in the house of my host, an Indian settled in U.S.A. The American youth were casual in their approach, some with cigarettes dangling from their lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke, some with coke bottles in their hand, some casually lying on the sofa and yet showed seriousness in learning about our culture. I was astonished by their questions and eagerness to learn new things.'

When the swamiji continued his monotonous lecture, praising the new found land of his opportunities, a person who was sitting in the front row was infuriated. He burst out at the Swamiji, 'I have not come here to listen to your praises for America, I had expected that you would deliver a lecture on Geeta or Mahabharat.' Sitting four rows behind, I was curiously enjoying all these things.

When the Swamiji tried to reply to the infuriated man from the first row, with an innocuous smile, the agitated person in his early forties fumed and left the hall in a huff. It appeared to me that the person left the hall out of envy, on the Swamiji's foreign jaunt.

Unfazed, the Swamiji continued his lecture. His lecture was centred on the need to live in tandem with nature, with abundant examples from his day to day observations. He was narrating, 'the other day I saw some people eating cucumber bought from a road side vendor, peeled, cut and after applying salt and pepper powder on it. If God wanted us to eat cucumber with salt and pepper, he would have put the same in cucumber.' His lectures continued on the same line with many more examples, which all of us would have commonly encountered on a daily basis.

His concluding punch was, 'we have stopped eating to satiate our hunger since long, we have stopped drinking to quench our thirst since long. Since our acts no longer reflect the purpose, we are facing certain peculiar problems. If all our acts are purposeful, intended for the specific and natural purpose, we no longer would need to worry about our physical and mental health.' The Swamiji concluded his lecture and the forum was open for questions from the assembled audience.

My question was specific. 'Swamiji I agree with you on many of the points, which are parallel to the views expressed by Van Dyer in his book Sky is not the limit. However there is one act in India which is very purposeful, and we are witnessing the population explosion. Is it not right to indulge in it, relegating the purpose, for the benefit of the society?'

Before the Swamiji could respond, many in the audience, tried to show their disapproval for my question. Swamiji, after some thoughtful silence for maximum effect, opened his mouth fondling his grey beard. 'it is easier said than done, but regular practice of Yoga is the answer for your question.' And he left it at that.

After so many years I felt otherwise. In 1984, when I was young I felt, "It was easier done than said" and now at my 50+ age I realise it is easier said than done".

Heidi Klum - Halloween Kali

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 7 Nov 2008 02:05:43 EST

Hindus once again have reasons to get offended by the antics of a blundering Westerner. Heidi Klum dressed up as Kali this Halloween. She didn't look pretty nor did she look magnificently hideous. What she did look was blue and bat shit crazy.

Dramatization of Gods is a common practice in India. When Ramayana is re-enacted the actors dressed as Rama and Lakshmana are often given godly adulation by not only the simple minded folks but also by some of the educated.

Some years ago there was a great uproar when Tina Turner was going to act as Kali in a Merchant Ivory movie. Due to the protests the movie was never made and we never got to see sensuous Tina as Kali.

At the time Tina Turner said that she had utmost respect for India and for Hinduism and she wanted to visit the country.

But all that fell to deaf ears. The lady known for her mini skirts and fake wigs would have defamed the fabled goddess. The Hindu mind could not get beyond the 'whats love got to do with it' persona to the real woman who probably would have done justice to enacting one of the most powerful goddess of Indian mythology.

That was then and this is now. Heidi Klum mocking the goddess.

I am tickled pink and waiting for the saffron clouds to gather around her horizon.

Heidi, let me be one of the soon to be many to ask for an apology for your insenstive impersonation of our beloved goddess.

I Am Jill's Social Microscope

IdeaSmith — Thu, 6 Nov 2008 10:44:38 EST

Lunch at the cafe, alone. At long last. My thoughts and I dine together.

The host wants me to sit in any one of the dingy corners and ignore the brighter, roomier booths in the center. I make a wry face so he concedes and lets me take the bright corner. The cafe isn't even crowded after all.

They enter some five minutes after I've settled down, by which time I've placed my order and am sipping my wine. I notice him first. All I see is the back of their heads and a profile view in a flash.

He looks familiar - for a vague instant. In that not so nice way that makes you glad you spotted the person first and hope they don't notice you back. He probably looks a little like the friend of someone I want to forget. That's still too close for comfort but not so close that I want to scat. She's totally unfamiliar in a familiar way. That is to say, she's the typical nice-looking, a tad too 'healthy' to be one of the stick-insect-model-types. An Indian woman. A pretty Indian woman.

What strikes me is their clothes. Ah, his clothes. He's wearing a mildly striped full-sleeved shirt with cotton trousers. It's not quite formal enough to be workwear but it seems a little too dressy for Saturday. Unless, ah of course. One of those dates that he feels he must dress up a bit for. Still dude, it's just nearing 2pm, that shirt is Saturday evening territory we're meandering into.

For awhile I wonder what it would like if I were his ex- and he were to spot me. The carefully coiffed look would probably shatter in an instant. He's really trying very hard to be on his best behaviour and impress the girl with him. And what if he were to bump into someone he didn't treat that good, who knew him well...only too well...underneath that polish.

But he's nervous. His hands aren't quite shaking but there's that high-strung air of tension surrounding his being and I can feel it sitting 30 feet away. Like when she takes a call on her cell, he turns his face away in an attempt to appear polite and respect her privacy. But he's fidgety and the minute she hangs up, I can almost see him counting his breaths before he can turn around and resume conversation.

His smiles and laughter seem a little too eager. Not quite offensive but just like he's relieved to be able to laugh off some of the tension. She, on the other hand, is natural. Smiling just enough, movements easy. Almost. Her gaze wanders ever so slightly in each direction. Sizing up. The surroundings, the people around, the arena. She's playing and she's just taking stock of the field.

That taken care of, my attention returns to him. It's not that she's uninteresting, she's just 'figured out'. Besides his nervousness draws me again. And I wonder what makes him so nervous. He obviously wants her to like him. Why?

Is it because he likes her as much? What does he want from her? Reciprocation of affection? A night or a weekend in bed? Respect? A month or so as trophy girlfriend? Awe and devotion?

My chicken satay is here and my glass needs a refill. I set to devouring my solitary, perfect lunch and put aside the messy questions of people for awhile. When I look up again, their orders have arrived and they're waiting for the waiter to finish serving. Then they wish each other Bon Appetit and start eating. I walk out, content with a good meal and some foodside realtime entertainment.

Medical Ignorance and Patient's Bliss

Suresh Naig — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 14:55:03 EDT

The young boy of 14 years was lying on the hospital bed, concealing his amusement. He was amused seeing the anxious face of his father, whose second nature was anxiety. His father exhibited the same anxiety as he would every time, before signing the school report card. Between now and the report card, it was his helplessness which caused the anxiety. While signing the school report card of his son, he was helpless to understand his consistency in scoring just above average grades. In the hospital he was at a loss to piece anything from the conversation of the doctors.

With all the sudden attention, the boy was feeling elated, but he never had reason to know that it was the virus inside his body, which had created all this. He was afflicted by Dengue fever, a viral fever causing no pain, no swelling, no vomiting for the afflicted person, but only anxiety for the parents and the doctors alike.

On the third day in the hospital, fever was erratic rising on and off without warning, rashes appearing all over the body, yet without any pain. His parents wanted to do something, but having no clues on what to be done; they constantly beckoned the duty nurses, who compounded their problems. Instead of one paediatrician who visited the boy regularly, a gang of doctors descended on the bed, where the young boy was lying, appearing pink and smiling. He appeared pink due to skin rashes all over the body, yet complained of no itches, which was a hitch for the doctors.

The doctors were confused; the boy never exhibited allergic reaction for he never had itches, neither his blood pressure was lowered to conclude anaphylactic shock, yet the rashes were a cause for concern. They were discussing the case in English, yet it was difficult for the father to catch up with, as their conversation had liberal dabbling of jargons. The physician was telling the paediatrician it is "idiopathic", which the father clung to, and conveyed the same to me, when I visited the hospital during visiting hours, a courtesy demanded by the society. The father narrated the whole episode of doctors' visit, and concluded his son's condition as "idiopathic", to my amusement.

I refrained from saying anything to my friend, as the hospital and doctors were my best of clients, contributing huge sales for my company's products. On the 5th day the boy was discharged from the hospital, without any apparent damage. He was his usual, bubbly and peppy. The credit for his discharge without any damage was due to his condition "idiopathic". The boy was rendered only palliative treatment and not therapeutic.

"Idiopathic" literally means not comprehensible, because it never fitted into any known parameters, since it was a new affliction, less documented. Had it not been for the physician's pronouncement as "idiopathic", they would have started treating the patient, which would have triggered chain reactions.

Had they known that it was a haemolytic fever, reducing the platelets significantly, prompting them to infuse platelets from another donor, which would have increased platelets subsequently, threatening internal clots mostly in veins, leading to a condition of premature DVT- deep vein thrombosis, triggering the hospital to prescribe an anti-coagulant, which would have caused epistaxis- nasal bleeding and capillary bleeding resulting in urticaria- skin rashes, demanding platelets infusion from a donor. The perpetual cycle was broken by the ignorance, euphemised as "Idiopathy". Ignorance could be bliss, at times in medicine too.

Colas and Religions

Suresh Naig — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 13:03:35 EDT

What’s the similarity between Colas and religions? I posed this question to one of my friends and regretted later, for he had given a long lecture, instead of a short answer. Though he started only with a short answer, soon he got into the mood to expand the answer. While I felt it was long, never have I felt it was impertinent and hence I am sharing it here.

His one line answer for my question was, ‘both are useless, and that’s why they need powerful marketing strategies to thrive.’

Colas are not staple food for the mankind to survive and at best it can be qualified as an accompaniment. So also the religions, which create emotional bonding between people, yet it cannot qualify for strong emotions such as love and compassion.

Colas, though positioned as accompaniments with main course of food, soon people were made to feel that Colas are the main course and the food as accompaniments. Colas are so versatile they can go well with “masala dosas” and also with Kentucky fried chickens.

Many of the religions and its customs though started as a part of cultural need as demanded by geographical and climatic conditions, soon acquired the propensity of inevitability among the people. Many customs are either redundant or unnecessary.

Colas have created brands for the convenience of their customers, while religions have branded their customers. Colas come attired in different shape of bottles and colours, while the customers of religions come in different attires. Some with huge turbans, some with beards, some with marks on their forehead and some with incision marks.

Religions have originated from East and conquered the West, whereas Colas after conquering the West corrupted the East. Colas have become indispensable with break-fast, with lunch, with dinner, with alcoholic drinks and with supper.

Religions have become indispensable in every sphere of life from birth to death. It may be birth, christening, initiation into education, marriage or death. The invisible hands of religion are felt everywhere, and in the absence of one, people were made to shudder.

With Colas, one can switch brands with ease, but with religions it is deterred. A brand ditcher is ditched by everyone. First by the alienated religion and later by the alien religion.

Marketing wars of Colas and religions are mostly similar – decent and ethical. At times it can turn nasty and bloody. A brand of Cola would buy all the empty bottles of another brand and destroy it, creating a temporary vacuum in the market, which is filled by the competitor’s Cola.

Religious marketing would at times stoop to the level of denigrating the other religion, for its benefit, triggering a bloody bath. However, the marketing of both Religions and Colas are not without benefits, since it creates employment opportunities for so many persons and the money generated out of it is awesome.

He concluded with his usual punch. ‘The other day a market researcher came knocking at my doors, when I told him that I don’t drink any Cola, he diligently recorded it. Whereas when an enumerator came to my house for my voters ID card, threatened me that I would never get my voters ID card, if I said that I didn’t belong to any religion.”

Machiavellian Fire Fighters

thunga — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 00:10:21 EDT

I have been obsessed with this parable since I stumbled upon it a few days ago.

In ancient China, there was a family of healers, one of whom was known throughout the land and employed as a physician to a great lord. The physician was asked which of his family was the most skillful healer. He replied, “I tend to the sick and dying with drastic and dramatic treatments, and on occasion someone is cured and my name gets out among the lords.

“My elder brother cures sickness when it just begins to take root, and his skills are known among the local peasants and neighbors.

“My eldest brother is able to sense the spirit of sickness and eradicate it before it takes form. His name is unknown outside our home.” LINK

The world is so much filled with mediocrity and fighting the mediocrity to create a better world that fire fighters are celebrated more than actual creators and value adders. The person who was most well known in the above parable is the fire fighter.

This behavior is from time immemorial. Every developer who has coded a module will be aware of fire fighting. Every project manager who has handled a slightly complex project will be aware of fire fighting. What is more surprising is that it is not just the complexity of code or project which substantiates the parable but every team consisting of more than four people promotes and celebrates fire fighters.

It is always better to add to problems or blow up the problem to unmanageable proportions and then get recognition for fire fighting than to nip it in the bud. Some beautiful examples were also discussed in Nassim Taleb's book 'Black Swan'. One of the examples quoted by Taleb is about the 9/11 event in the US. If 9/11 event could have been in some way predicted, it would have never got the publicity that it has enjoyed helping the politicians the misuse for their own personal benefits than to help the humanity and the economy.

The winner in today's corporate and social world is the person who can create the loudest noise about solving a problem than a person who can actually add benefit through better processes and care which will nip the problem in the budding stage itself! If you belong to the latter categories of elder brothers, find joy in your inner abilities and strengths and not in worldly recognition.

Have you had some similar experiences?

Indian Traffic Sense - Unity in Diversity

Suresh Naig — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 13:02:04 EDT

I am sure Owning your own vehicle in Bangalore is not going to be different from owning one anywhere else. But what about driving one in Bangalore?

When I posed this question to many of my friends in Bangalore, all were unanimous in their opinion, it is hell. Except for one ingenious guy, a maverick like me, who said, "I don't drive on Bangalore roads, I navigate."

Comparatively new to Bangalore, he often loses his way in confusing famous "one ways" of Bangalore, which keeps changing often, losing its intended purpose, of improving the flow of traffic. He even mentioned, once he became a traffic offender by a day, when he left his car in the right direction on a stretch of road, which turned out to be the wrong direction, the next day. He also mentioned that Bangalore could be the only city in the world to have a traffic signal on a fly-over.

Leaving Bangalore apart, traffic in any city in India, could be no better with signal jumping, driving on the wrong side of the road, driving through one ways, provided no traffic cops around, would remind us that we are in our own country of unlimited freedom. Unlimited freedom to defy law and law enforcing authorities. The worst traffic sense everywhere in India is our unique unity in diversity.

In addition to Bangalore, I have lived in many other cities in south India and visited few in other parts of the country, where I was overwhelmed with the unifying traffic culture of our country men, always chaotic. Not to be left behind, women in India are vying with men in defying traffic rules and I feel this is one area where women have certainly overtaken men in India.

I had the taste of this recently, when I visited Chennai. A girl (or a woman), was blocking the free left in a traffic signal and when the chauffeur of my borrowed car honked the horn for the second time, she turned back and mouthed a real bad word in Tamil, which though we couldn't hear, could certainly decipher. Against my expectation of a fitting rebuke, the driver of my friend's car, turned back and gave a meek smile to me, as if it was nothing new to him. I felt perhaps, he was conditioned for long not to react to an angry woman.

I felt this undisciplined traffic culture is unique to India, for I have not witnessed signal jumping or any compulsive traffic offences in other countries including Nepal and Sri Lanka. When I pondered over this for long, I could blame only the British and Gandhi for this worst traffic culture in India.

The British unified India and M.K. Gandhi taught us to defy laws through his civil disobedience movement.

Fiction: Pink Slip Cover

Suresh Naig — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 08:26:24 EDT

Necessity is mother of all inventions. Having read so many success stories originated from this ever green principle - the concept of Credit cards out of necessity by Robert McNamara, the metamorphosis of snake oil to Viagra and a plethora of successful products was the driving force behind the success of Anand Zusur.

His original name was Anand Padmanabhan, which he changed to Zusur, because it conveyed his versatility better - A to Z. Very soon he became popular among his colleagues of all directions, upwards, downwards and sideways, in identifying an opportunity in every threat and strengthening the strength, by weakening the weakness.

Zusur, a mastermind in inventing new products in the insurance industry, took up a challenging opportunity in the land of opportunities. He knew that the insurance industry thrives on "fear concept" - fear of losing something, tangible and intangible - the driving force, forcing people to insure anything and everything. As an insurance expert he had classified threat as "safe threat" and "unsafe threat". A safe threat is one, on which insurance companies thrive, creating fear among the customers on its potential loss, yet statistically less prevalent, amounting to less than 2 or 3 percent of claims from among the total insurers.

It might be the losses of goods due to a burglar's wilful act, theft of valuables due to thieving in transit, again due to wilful human act, in the eyes of insurance companies, qualify for a claim. While allowing wilful acts of burglars and thieves towards a claim, it excludes the wilful acts of God, such as natural disasters, for a claim. While denying a claim for the acts of God, insurance companies have elevated certain human beings to the level God.

By denying claims arising out of wars - a man made misery, insurance companies equate war mongers with God. Not that the insurance companies acknowledge the presence of God, nor they respect the leaders, equating them with God, in both these cases, claims would be more than the premium collected and hence, the indemnity clause absolving the insurance companies from settlement of claims. For the insurance companies, more than the acts, the percentage of people claiming insurance money is more important. Lesser is profitable.

In other industries selling a product involves producing goods; demanding personnel, precious raw materials, machineries and factory premises to produce goods. The sale of which ensures profit for the company. In insurance industry every product is an outcome of figment of imagination, highly appreciated as creativity.

Zusur was creativity personified, when it comes to identifying, a new concept, converting it into a new product, devising strategies to market the product and enriching the company by a few billions, while converting him to a millionaire.
However he never expected that things would change so dramatically, that before one could comprehend, it left so many companies and many more individuals stranded, on the foot path of economic highways. Suddenly he felt that the road to prosperity had turned bumpy, like the ones he had often encountered in his native country. He had also realised to his consternation, that there are no matching vehicles in the land of opportunities, capable of withstanding the bumpy ride.

He was one among the early birds to get the "pink slip" and his woes were compounded, when he found to his dismay, that there were no opportunities open to him anymore. A person who would not give up so easily, Zusur returned to his native country with alternative plans. Like always, converting a threat into an opportunity, his plans were ready at touchdown at Palam air-port.
He had converted his own experience, an uncertain future into an opportunity.

In spite of the jet lag, he straight headed for the pre-appointed meeting, after a quick wash, for an impressive presentation with an upcoming insurance company in Delhi. Having seen so many giants in insurance industry biting dust, decision makers of the insurance company were non committal and their reception was only tepid, to Zusur initially. Within ten minutes of the presentation, everyone was attentive, to the magic proposal of Zusur.
He started his presentation with a question. 'How many times in the past, any one of you received the pink slip unexpectedly?' No one responded, for the answer to his question was not a pleasant one to remember and recollect. Zusur proceeded further, 'pinks slips are always unexpected, without advance notice and I had received one recently, as recent as one week back'. He continued, 'not that I deserved it, nor many of my colleagues, yet we received it'. The CEO of the insurance company with a clean shaven shiny head, sporting a recently dyed French beard growled, 'we have not assembled here to sympathise with you and your pink slipped colleagues, come to the point'.

Unfazed, Zusur continued, 'that's the precise point. My proposal is for the insurance company to sympathise with the people who have received the pink slips, by financial compensation.' Everyone was attentive now for the new proposal of Zusur.

Zusur elaborated, 'unlike other countries, in India pink slips were rare in occurrence due various reasons of culture and militant trade unions. My target customers are not the ones who are unionised, but the recent breed of professionals, high salaried, but without security for the guaranteed employment.' He purposefully paused to drink water, so that what he said would take effect slowly.

'With all the financial mess happening all over the world, everyone I am sure is shaken from slumber, to the reality of uncertain future. This lurking fear is where my product is going to be positioned. To have a better and dreadful impact I have named the product as "Pink slip insurance" with the catch phrase, "No longer would the pink slip affect the pink of your financial health".
By then everyone was convinced on the success of the product and as always, Zusur landed in a prime post in the insurance company, heading the "pink slip division". The strength of the product as explained by Zusur was, in India seldom people accept the pink slip and often submit the resignation fearing future implications. Yet the fear is real and no one would take chance in the present precarious conditions of uncertainty, yet claims would be minimal as no one prefers a pink slip over voluntary resignation.

As per the salient features of the product, a person gets equivalent of last drawn pay, on receiving the pink slip. The payment would stop on getting new employment or three months, whichever is earlier. The annual premium is a variable in accordance with the pay packet of a person. The product was an instant success, contributing huge revenue for the insurance company, by way of premium and it had surpassed the projections of Zusur. Within a month Zusur had become the hero of not only the company where he is heading the pink slip division, but in the entire insurance industry.

The change started slowly, almost imperceptible, but people in claims department started noticing steady increase of pink slip claims and before an in-depth study could be conducted, claims started bleeding the insurance company.
By the time the company realised the reasons for the unprecedented claims, it was on the brink of bankruptcy. In the absence of pink slip insurance, people did not prefer it over resignations, contributed by the subtle threat of inhuman HR managers. However many ingenious employees preferred pink slips over resignations, and confessed with the subsequent employers, by citing the pink slip insurance cover for their exit through the pink route. Another important reason was the greed of big financial conglomerates in making fast and easy money, showing way for individual greed, in making fast and easy money, by way of pink slip cover. With pink slip cover, it was no longer a taboo for employers and employees in issuing pink slips and accepting it.

When one person convinced the future employer with the plausible reason and excuse for accepting the pink slip, the news travelled faster triggering more number of persons preferring it, bleeding the insurance company out of its wits.
Though the author of "pink slip insurance", when Zusur received the pink slip from his company he never had the cover.