banthehyphen

Toasty

2010-07-23T08:35:00.001-04:00

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My first post on Nextbillion.net

2009-09-25T23:50:00.004-04:00

Anecdotes and Analysis: The Microfinance Bubble

It went up on Monday, just got around to posting it here, so please do check it out if you're passing through here. It may not all make sense to people who aren't familiar with social entrepreneurship and the Base of the Pyramid... well, all I can suggest is... Google it! :-)
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Anecdotes and Analysis: The Microfinance “Bubble”

An article in the Economist, 'Froth at the bottom of the pyramid' brought to my attention an interesting ongoing debate about the possibility of an emerging 'bubble' in microfinance. While news of a bubble is in itself extremely interesting, the argument also highlights a fundamental weakness we currenty face in analyzing the BoP space. The lack of large scale quantitative data and analysis to back our arguments.

The debate is as follows: Based on the findings of a research study in the silk making town of Ramanagaram, in the south of India, a reporter from the Wall Street Journal wrote about a groundswell of discontent among microfinance borrowers in the town and warned of an emerging 'bubble', as lenders chased potential borrowers who would not have the ability to repay their loans. Based on interviews with residents of the town, academics and investment funds, she finds evidence of a 'credit crisis' brewing, as over-indebted borrowers find it difficult to pay back their loans. She talks about poor neighborhoods in India being 'carpet-bombed' with loans, which are mostly being used to pay for weddings, purchase goods and pay off other lenders, rather than for any income enhancing purposes.

Vikram Akula, founder of SKS Microfinance, one of India's largest microfinance lenders, strongly refutes the WSJ article in a letter to the editors. According to Akula, the anecdotal findings from a particular town in India about the over-indebtedness of some of its residents can hardly be generalized to the entire microfinance industry. He goes on to point out that the data suggest a very different story, and microfinance institutions in India, which now serve over 22 million clients, have consistent repayment rates of 95% and above. He goes on to argue that the research study cited in the WSJ article used a small sample of 20 clients in a 3 month period. He also highlights the fact that the authors of the study qualified their findings by stating that it was difficult for them to answer the question whether it was excessive supply or surging demand that was driving the rise in credit.

Akula's rebuttal is compelling, and he backs it up with data and findings from statistical studies of the microfinance sector. While the question of a microfinance 'bubble' is an important one, and certainly merits further analysis, this debate really underscores the importance of having valid data and the use of appropriate analytical methods to back your arguments.

The BoP space has so far relied largely on anecdotal evidence and case studies for analysis. It would be extremely wrong to say that case studies and qualitative research are not valuable tools in BoP evaluation, but it is important to understand their strengths and limitations. Case studies are useful for answering 'how' and 'why' questions about a particular situation, but their findings cannot be used to draw generalized conclusions about a larger population. A case study can help you understand how a particular process achieves a particular outcome, and why it works in a particular way, but it cannot tell you if the process will work in other situations, under different conditions. Without reliable, accurate quantitative data collected from a reasonably large sample of respondents, it is impossible to draw generalizations of the sort made in the article.

As the BoP movement matures, there will be increasing scrutiny from businesses, funders, the academic community and traditional development practitioners for credible data and analysis. As it grows to scale and opens itself up to outside inspection, BoP practitioners and theorists must start collecting quantitative data and measure their impacts in objective ways.

As for the bubble? It may still happen, but the doomsday predictors will need to make a more convincing argument.

Search for the Black Swan*

2009-08-11T12:37:00.002-04:00

* Note on the title: The 'Black Swan' is based on the concept of 'falsifiability' - which means that a particular statement can be proven false by experiment or observation. This does not mean that the statement is false, just that it can be proven false.

This was based on the idea that if you see a white swan, you can say 'There is a white swan'. If all the swans you see in your life are white, you might make a universal statement like 'All swans are white'. This is a statement that you believe to be true, but can never prove to be true because it is impossible for you to see every single swan in existence. There may always be a non-white swan in existence that you haven't seen. However, it can easily be proven false by the observance of a single black swan. If you see a black swan, then that statement is immediately proven false (And in fact, the discovery of the Australian Black Swan disproved the validity of that particular statement).

So you can either choose to believe that all swans are white, or search for the black swan.
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This blog post is the first of an attempt to document my life as a PhD student. I doubt anyone will really find this interesting enough to read, it exists more for my own reference, to document my path from a naive, misguided graduate student to someone considered somewhat academically proficient by other naive, misguided graduate students (and almost no one else). Something I wish I had done with more frequency as an engineering student to document my descent into madness. This time, while the descent may be slower, less pronounced, but by the evil eye of agomotto, we shall take notes!

I completed my first PhD class this summer. A ten week, intense session on Research Methods. While I've taken research methods classes before, this one, being a doctoral level class, was aimed at teaching me to 'teach' research methods. A once-upon-a-time flunker of statistics, learning to explain t-tests, multivariate regression and how to check for heteroskedasticity.

This class started at 10,000 feet, making me think, for the first time, about the philosophical base of my research and what I believed to be 'true'. For someone whose familiarity to western (or for that matter, any) philosophy has been limited to Monty Python's Drunken Philosophers' song ('Rene Descartes was a drunken fart, I drink therefore I am') and the odd Camus book**, making sense of ontology and epistemology is a tall order. What do you believe to be 'true' in the world, and how can you understand it? What does this have to do with multiple regression, contingency tables and case studies?

Quite a bit, actually.

While I do work at a 'think-tank', and my job title is 'research assistant', research takes on a different tone in a PhD program. While research at work must be practical and 'action-oriented', there are no such restrictions (which are doubtless useful in many cases) in the world of PhD research. Research begins at an abstract, somewhat unfamiliar level here, with a long introspective look at my own opinions, biases and vision of what is real and relevant.

Introspection seems to be the key feature here, and as trite as it may sound, it seems like this PhD may teach me as much about myself as it does about Public Policy. Which is somewhat better than engineering, where the only thing I learned were those immortal words uttered by a wise saint - 'It's not worth it'.

On first appearance, this seems to be worth it.

** Camus's thing was absurdism - nothing in this world makes any sense, so we should stop trying to make any sense of it, something I could easily identify with during the engineering days. Not so useful when you want to do a PhD in Public Policy - try telling your dissertation committee that nothing in this world makes sense so we should stop trying to make sense of it.

Pachacamac I: The Making of the Indian Engineer

2009-06-26T22:58:00.004-04:00

It is believed, in the chiropteran enthusiast community, that a colony of bats, when presented with the prospect of leaving the confines of their cave, most often choose to turn left on exiting the cave. Whether this is the result of instinct, centrifugal force, or intense pre-exit deliberation is unclear, but the lack of a well understood reason does not make the phenomenon any less interesting.

A similar phenomenon is exhibited by the mass of indian students that graduate from our schools every year, the bulk of whom almost always veer left and join the nearest (or sometimes farthest) engineering college.

In the year before the millennial, 5 such students of assorted characteristics joined this exodus and entered a world where logic and reason were mere theoretical concepts, never to be applied. As in the case of the bats, their reasons for choosing this direction are unknown. When quizzed about their motivation to become engineers, pollsters were greeted with blank looks and inconclusive answers such as “Dad said so”, “Don't know, couldn't think of anything else, and seemed like a safe option” and “Fuck off man, I have a paper today!”

The decision making capacity of eighteen year olds, newly initiated into the notion of adulthood, is limited to selecting which movie they want to watch when they bunk class. Making life changing choices, like selecting a career, can often lead to extraordinarily bad decisions that are regretted many times over. Pachacamac is the story of some extraordinarily bad decisions.

In subsequent posts, I will try to reveal some of these bad choices, and their consequences. Four (or five) years of sustained mental gymnastics. Stay tuned.

Before the next revolving year is through

2009-06-20T22:47:00.001-04:00

On the eve of my 27th birthday, I look around at the collection of papers, text books and piles of photocopied notes and wonder what I've gotten myself into. Wonder how far I've really come from the days of being surrounded by sundry piles of semi-digested information in the dark days beyond the gap of mankhurd.

Then I remember that unlike then, a lot of this stuff (not all of it, let's be honest) actually makes sense to me. More importantly, I actually care! Who would have thought a once-engineer who has failed more subjects than he can (or wants to) remember, would be taking the first daunting steps to a PhD in public policy just a few years later. Who could have imagined that I, who had failed statistics twice, would actually grow to love it so much that I would be able to teach it to others.

It has been a pretty long journey since the days of Pachacamac. And while I haven't achieved a lot of things I thought I wanted to, I've done a lot of different, perhaps better things. I remember listening to this song ten years ago (feels a bit scary saying that, 'ten years ago'), and wondering how things would turn out.

'So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty, though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true.

There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty, before the last revolving year is through'

Though well past the twenty year mark, in retrospect, the years and dreams have turned out pretty well.

And the eyes in his head see the world spinning round...

2009-06-02T17:44:00.004-04:00

Ever so often, you think about pausing your life to consider the direction you're taking. Think about what you do, and why you do it. Contemplate change, and potential paths you may take to an imagined future. At such times, a break, a lull in the routine of life can be helpful to help you organise your thoughts and think about where you want to take your life.

Of course, I had no such luxury.

After my first epiphany almost four years ago , which helped me decide that I wanted to quit engineering and venture into the relatively unknown (to me at the time) field of development (a word I have since struggled hard to define), earlier this year I came to another decision making point in my life.

For the past year and a half, I have been working as a research assistant at the World Resources Institute. Since most of you have never heard of the World Resources Institute, I should start off by saying we are one of the many 'think-tanks' that dot the DC landscape, though we differentiate ourselves by referring to our institute as a 'think-and-do' tank, placing our work somewhere in between The Urban Institute and Greenpeace.

If none of that made any sense, don't worry about it. I probably don't understand anything about your job either.

I had always planned to pursue my PhD after working for a while, and I sent in my applications last winter, hoping to get into a decent public policy program starting Fall 2009. I was accepted at two universities, and was faced with the decision to either pursue my PhD as a full time student at a new university, or to do it part time at George Washington University, where I got my Masters degree, while continuing to work at WRI. On the one hand was a new school, new advisors and all the uncertainty of going back to being a full time student. On the other hand was the thought of returning to a familiar environment while continuing to work at a job I enjoyed, but perhaps being completely overwhelmed by the combination of a full time job with a PhD program.

But instead of taking some time to slow down and think about it, I was planning a three week trip to Bangladesh, India and Cambodia to study companies that provide clean energy solutions for people in rural areas. So after some deliberation, mainly on my daily commute, I decided to return to GWU and pursue my PhD part time, while keeping my job. I sent in the form confirming my acceptance, and proceeded to apply for visas, look up hotels and figure out my travel arrangements. It was only as I sat at Dulles airport, waiting to board my flight to Dhaka, that I began to wonder if I had made the right decision, and ask myself why I had made the decision I did.

The weeks that followed both allayed and heightened my concerns, but I returned to DC believing I had made the right choice.

The next few years should be interesting. Intense, but hopefully, interesting too.

Anyway, I plan to update this blog a bit (let's not over commit now) more regularly... starting off with some reflections from my trip.

~~More updates soon!~~

More updates eventually.

What it means to be a child

2009-03-21T00:29:00.001-04:00

To play outdoors when everyone else is inside. To embrace the weather rather than try to escape it. To play cricket in the burning sun, football in the pouring rain, to dive into a bank of snow.

Blogarithm 2.Ohh?

2009-01-28T15:57:00.001-05:00

Trying again

From the dust and the detritus. From the scattered remnants of a once almost blogger. Along the uncertain, infrequent path again.

Why did you stop, you might ask. Was there nothing to write about? The adoring public has long left, only the mechanized spam-bots named Alex that leave comments like this "Tutt and the driver flonase of the stage.. The Colonel was approached--until his statementnexium that he should consider any attempt to overcome his professional secrecy a personal reflection withheld further advances.." remain.

I cannot quite put my finger on the reasons for the more than two year hiatus except to point out that I'm inherently and inordinately lazy. The kind of laziness that the two-toed sloth (not the three-toed variety, which are generally faster moving) aspires to on a Sunday afternoon. That, and a commitment to procrastination that could probably lead me to great heights in government.

It's not that I didn't want to write, or didn't have things to write about. I just... didn't. That's all.

But that changes today!

Or perhaps tomorrow. We'll see. (yawn)

if you don't know where you're going.... any road will take you there....

2006-10-13T02:51:00.000-04:00

Years in review... why now?

because I just drank a gallon of coffee and cannot find any more episodes of the Daily Show on Youtube.

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Sometime last year.... I,

Became an engineer.
Went on a rural survey in Fatehabad, Haryana.
Had a life-changing experience. Fortunately, also took pictures.
Drank chai. Lots of it.
Wrote reports.
Applied to Graduate programs in Public Policy, Urban Studies and Regional Planning
Went to Leh-Kargil.
Sat in a stall in Leh, drinking namkeen chai with three excellent people.
Ate wild apples sitting by a mountain stream on top of a mountain in Kargil.
Again, took more pictures.
Read about being accepted to GWU in a cybercafe in Kargil town.
Listened to the Beatles
Wrote more reports.
Returned to Bombay in December for three weeks.
Walked along Marine Drive.
Ate Salli-Chicken + Pav at Cafe Military in Fort.
Ate Bombay Duck at Grant House Restaurant near Crawford Market.
Said goodbyes.
Celebrated New Years in Bombay.
Said more goodbyes.

This year... I,

Packed my life into two suitcases, leaving behind a comic book collection and a murky sea.
Whittled my existence to a mattress and whatever would fit in those two suitcases.
Lived in the library.
Read about Politics, Economics and Statistics.
Wrote about Outsourcing, Globalization, New growth theory, Urbanization and the Digital Divide.
Worked at The University Police Department. The GW Center for the Study of Globalization. The National Council for Public Private Partnerships.
Met old friends, once lost to foreign shores.
Listened to the Beatles (some things never change)
Found a road... quite deserted and and without streetlamps... but promising nonetheless...
Walked.

mutter

2006-09-10T22:54:00.000-04:00

I miss....

red double decker buses
the gentle stench of rotting fish
noise
black and yellow taxi cabs
crows cawing in the afternoon
jhinga fry
a cool beer at mondies
walking around a deserted fort area on a sunday
running for a train
stuffing the last corner piece of an overstuffed 'sendweech' slathered with butter, chutney and ketchup into my mouth
the madness beyond mankhurd
kulfi
the creaking seats at sterling and movie tickets printed on the paper thinner than the wings of a makkhi
hearing suttey paishe kaada instead of 'exact change only please'
that salty taste when you lick your lips after walking along marine drive in the monsoon

Some forever not for better... Some have gone and some remain (part II)

2006-08-22T17:16:00.000-04:00

The mechanics of a blog make it difficult to serialise posts... but please do read the previous post before you read this one. Oh, and this is a long one too...!

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The rest of the survey team arrived that night. There were six guys, all students of Social Work, Economics or Sociology, all had done rural surveys before. Not for the first (or the last) time, I felt a little out of place. Then again, I felt completely out of place through four years of engineering, so it wasn't exactly a new feeling. We were staying at the local Panchayat Bhavan in Fatehabad town, which was a guest house for visiting politicians and hadn't been used (or cleaned) since the last election in Haryana. After dinner at a dhaba across the street, which was an unlimited vegetarian thali for twenty rupees (though they may have changed the 'unlimited' policy soon after we left), there was really nothing to do except call home from the local PCO booth, call a couple of friends in Bombay who were wondering where the hell I had disappeared to, and go to bed.

I woke up at 6 am, the electricity had come and gone several times in the night, but I was too exhausted to care. I woke up, had a long drink of water and decided to get ready. Sanjay woke up soon after and we met Farah to go back to the DC's office. The DC had arranged a car and driver for us, to take us around the district to the villages scattered around the region. Farah and I would go to the farthest village, dropping off the other survey teams in the villages along the way. Once we were done with our survey, we would pick them up on our way back.

The purpose of the survey was to monitor the progress of two Government of India rural development schemes on water and sanitation. The Government, through the 'Total Sanitation Campaign' and the Swajaldhara schemes would provide subsidies to schools, aanganwadis (day-care centers) and to families below the poverty line to build toilets and to get drinking water connections. We were supposed to determine whether the local district officials had disseminated information about the schemes and if people were using these subsidies that were meant for them.

Farah and I reached Badalgarh village in Ratia block at about 11 am, driving through fields of crops and dusty tracks. We stopped at the local primary school. It was the only school in the village, and after completing primary school (class 5), children were expected to attend the secondary school in the next village about five miles away. Many however, would drop out after primary school.

The school itself was a single building, with an empty playground in front, and 3 classrooms. More cups of chai with the headmaster as he listened to our questions. No, he had not heard about the subsidies the school was eligible for. The school had about 150 children, between 5-12 years of age. Yes, they were taught about health and hygiene as part of their curriculum. The school had just two toilets that had been built over eight years ago and were in terrible condition. There was a tube well in the school compound that the children used and the water was relatively clean. Although we were only supposed to ask about the water and sanitation, the headmaster told us about some of the other problems the school faced, with only 3 teachers for 150 students, little assistance from district officials, and how they had no funds to upgrade the school facilities.

We spoke to the children next, walking into their classrooms. Farah, noticing that I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, asked most of the questions. I watched as she knelt in front of a wide-eyed and confused five year old and asked him if he washed his hands before eating. He looked at me, at his teacher and nodded with a shy smile. He wiped his hand on his light blue shirt and showed Farah, who also smiled and scribbled in her notebook.

There are adjectives, colourful phrases and witty words I could use to describe what I was thinking at that moment, but I won't. Words rarely capture emotion, they leave you with a hollow description of events and thoughts, devoid of any measure of sensation.

We walked out of the school to start the household surveys. We were supposed to survey twenty-five households in the village, asking questions about water and sanitation and at least twelve of the households had do be below the poverty line. In India, families that are judged (on various criteria) to be below the country's official poverty line are given yellow ration cards, which makes them eligible for the various subsidies that the Government provides. In reality, there is a thriving black market for the yellow ration cards and you can often find rich farmers proudly displaying their yellow card sitting on a brand new tractor.

The first family we interviewed lived in a plain mud and brick hut, with a small court yard where a woman sat and washed her steel vessels, while her two small children played in the mud. She talked to Farah about her life, her children and something about rural surveys struck me. The same survey in any city would have yielded a series of slammed doors and the odd surly response. Here, in this quiet little village, the fact that someone from outside was interested in their lives meant that in every house we visited, we were offered chai, food, water...

Sitting in a charpai in the shade, we listened to this woman talk about how she had to walk a mile to fetch water every morning, about how they didn't have the yellow card, but the family farther up the street had one that they used to buy subsidized rations sometimes, about how nobody from the government had ever come to their village to talk to them and what was Bambai like, and how the kids liked to study but she didn't know how they would go to the secondary school in the next village after class five.

We wrapped up the survey and split up for a few more. I was feeling a little more confident about this work now and I drank another six or seven cups of chai and interviewed more families. It was almost three p.m. when Farah and I met at the school again. We still had four households to survey and we decided to finish them together.

We sat outside another house, and I pulled out our survey sheet to ask an old man, sitting on a stool in the courtyard about his family. I filled in his answers as he mumbled them to me through tobacco stained teeth. His face was creased with wrinkles, and he wore a spotlessly clean white turban round his head.

I asked him if he was literate, no. Did his house have a yellow card, no. How many members in his family, six. I went through the list of questions on the survey and looked up when I got to the last page, because I didn't catch his answer. I looked at him.

A single tear started to trickle down his cheek. I clutched my pencil tightly and glanced at Farah. She was silent as she glanced back at me. We had two questions left on the survey. He wiped the tear with his hand, leaving a streak. I asked the next question. Farah was still silent. I noted his answer. Another tear. Last answer. Tear wiped away. I capped my pen. I opened my mouth to ask a question. Farah took my hand, said quietly 'Chalo'.

We got up and walked to the car that was waiting for us. Farah didn't speak about it until later that evening. Neither did I. I still have no idea why that old man in Badalgarh village cried while we asked him about water and sanitation subsidies. I suppose I will never find out. But I had an answer.

It wasn't an answer that would satisfy most of my friends who would join business schools, or who would work for Microsoft or Infosys. It wasn't an answer that would satisfy my engineering professors wondering why I didn't want to 'do MS in VLSI'. It wouldn't satisfy Mr. Ajay Kumar who was wondering what an engineer from Mumbai University was doing conducting rural surveys.

But it was an answer that satisfied me.

There are places I'll remember...all my life, though some have changed.... (part I)

2006-08-20T01:44:00.000-04:00

This has been a long time coming. Scribbled in a notebook thousands of miles away, a lifetime ago under the flicker of a dusty tube light. Scribbled in a desolate room at the end of the corridor of an almost deserted building in the town of Fatehabad, Haryana.

Our lives are expanses of existence punctuated by moments of epiphany. Unlike the movies, there is no background music rising to the crescendo of self truth to indicate the significance of these moments. That becomes evident only on reflection, the quiet realisation while lying in bed on a dull Sunday afternoon, that your life changed in those moments.

I used to be an engineer. I still have the degree, so I suppose I still am. I used to design circuits and write software. I used to know the different types of capacitors (well, I probably didn't). Like thousands of engineers like myself, there was a certain path set out in front of me. It wasn't an unpleasant path. It probably led to a lot of money. It probably led to an easy life.

But I took a left and wandered into that tiny lane that nobody takes because it's too dark, filled with potholes and smells bad.

It was soon after clearing my final engineering paper, when I was sitting at home eating a fried egg when I received the call. I had been thinking about working in the development field for about a year now, with three economists in the family it was hard not to be interested in issues like poverty and sustainable development. I was supposed to start working on a database of information gathered from a series of rural surveys on poverty, water and sanitation for a research institute. It was a way of using my engineering background and getting involved in development, and I was looking at it as an opportunity to understand more about the field.

However, before this database was created, the data would have to be collected. They needed someone to help conduct a survey on water and sanitation in rural Haryana. They needed someone to start in five days.

It took me about three seconds to say yes, three hours to book a train ticket to Delhi, three days to wrap up my life in Bombay into a suitcase and a backpack, leaving behind memories and my copy of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which just wouldn't fit. There were some people confused, some hurt and as the Rajdhani left Mumbai Central station, I felt a sensation of increased momentum. I felt, like someone smart put it, 'on the verge of something significant'. And it wasn't just a regular caffeine high.

Delhi presented itself to my window the following morning, and I went straight to the office. A brief introduction to rural water supply and sanitation schemes later, I began to pack my backpack. I would leave with Farah and Sanjay, both of whom had years of field experience, tomorrow morning.

Farah and I met Sanjay at the Bus station at 7 am, and took the Haryana Roadways bus which would take us to Fatehabad town, described aptly as 'around 8 hours from anywhere'. We were to take a survey of twenty villages in the district, interviewing twenty-five households, two schools, a day-care center and the Sarpanch in each village. As the bus trudged on the dusty road, Sanjay napped peacefully as Farah told me of her experiences in the field, working with rural micro finance and community empowerment projects. I listened quietly, with little to add about my own experience of sitting in a cubicle writing software for Patni Computer Systems. The urban landscape started to soften. Through a mud splattered window and dusty glasses, I watched green fields, single room houses of exposed brick and mortar. Dust, desolation and the occasional buffalo. Scenes that I have only seen through a train window seem powerfully close.

It is almost three by the time we roll into the bus depot in Fatehabad town. Dust covers everything in sight and the rickshaws weave through the buses on the streets. We find our way to the local Deputy Commissioner's office, not surprisingly one of the largest buildings in town. We meet the local official, a Mr. Ajay Kumar in charge of implementing the government's Water and Sanitation programs. His office is filled with dusty files and we drink cups of hot sweet and extremely milky chai sitting in his office. Scenes from English August flow through my mind. He is interested to hear that I am from Bombay, and surprised to hear I am an engineer. I am asked a question, variations of which I soon become used to in the days to follow. 'So if you are an electronics engineer, you should think of MBA. Such good salaries. Why are you doing this type of work?'

I had no answer for Mr. Ajay Kumar at the time. I had no answers for my friends who asked 'Dude, I got into Infy! Where are you working?' I had no answers for the people who asked me 'So, what are your future MS plans? Going to go into VLSI, or software?' I couldn't explain to the people who asked me 'Have you thought about giving the CAT, you should try for IIM-A. I heard the starting salary for this year was xxxxxxx!' that I hadn't considered it for a moment.

I didn't even have an answer for myself.

Next: The answer or something like it

Theres no time to lose, I heard her say....Catch your dreams before they slip away

2006-07-22T20:22:00.000-04:00

I'm not good with titles. I never know what to call a post... so it's usually the first or seventh thing that comes to mind that will qualify for a title. Often a random phrase from a song, long forgotten that pops up when the random feature of my playlist does clever things.

More photos were promised. Images of Elephants, donkeys and hippos.... but those will have to wait for a less contemplative mood. I've spent the last hour going through old files, pictures and various bits of computer clutter that have made the trip from my old Pentium II in 1998 to the PIV in 2004 to the white laptop that I type this on.... old emails, snippets of interesting conversation, impossibly bad writing, images of a past life, a delightful rant entitled 'Happiness is Abbey Road'.... to the soundtrack of the Doors, Pearl Jam, Elliott Smith, the Rolling Stones and Cake.

Different times, different people... and life, inexplicably... goes on...

wise words come flooding back....

Peeling,

Coming from the ceiling,

Now and then revealing,

Paint of long ago…

(in E and E#)

Some will get that... others will squint and say 'huh'? Still others will order a vada pav and a cutting chai and give it no consideration....

Pastel Irony

2006-07-15T01:03:00.000-04:00

It would appear that this post, oddly titled 'pastel irony' for reasons that shall not become apparent later on will be the one to kick the Colaba to Kargil series of the front page of this blog. Of course, that is largely due to the infrequent updation policy I seem to have adopted.... it isn't that I don't have much to write, but most of it is tossed into academia leaving only scraps for the odd (and I gather they are odd) blog post every now, then and whenever....

So here then, is a scintillating presentation of random pictures at GW. No doubt more will surface later....

The Student Lounge room, SPPPA (site of many a well meaning study group)

Academic Center Building (where gigantic Snickers bars reside in the basement vending maching and get you through that final paper)

Kogan Plaza, sort of the center of campus

The girl who took the picture was infinitely more worthy of being in it. Nevertheless... there I am

Oh, and this is where I work - Note the cool map of the Balkans

Coming up: Pictures of the Hippo, Elephant and Donkey found around campus. No, really.

After a long pawj.... an even longer pawj....

2006-06-06T20:29:00.000-04:00

There are those who might say.... what's the point?

What's the point of updating a blog weekly when there is nothing to say and once in two months when there is much to say?

To them I say.... pbpbpbppbth

To the others..... welcome back.... we are now ready to resume transmission.

A quick up-to-speed bringer -

1. I have now officially resigned from the KT club, having done rather bloody well in eggjams and such.... no doubt my place in the club will be filled by engineers of many castes and tribes.... Hopefully my humble contribution to the KT cause will not be forgotten.

2. I am working two jobs, writing a paper on Government Accountability in Public Private Partnership Performance (or GAPPPP ), which is more interesting than it sounds, and will be taking an advanced statistics course in July (maaro dikro states maa gayo)

3. Contrary to all expectations, I have not ballooned up despite a diet of cheese, french fries, cookies and doughnuts.

4. On Saturday I made nimbu paani.

5. I will continue my quest to find a cup of chai in this hopeless outpost of civilization. The outlook is grim in this rough frontier town where Starbucks stalk the streetcorners with the menacing grins of a pack of hyenas crowding around a marmot at brunch.

Yeh thi khabrein aaj tak.... Intezaar kijiye kal tak.... ya shayad parso tak.... uh... nest week... dafinet!

boss.... score kya hua?

2006-03-22T21:39:00.000-05:00

Cut off as I am from the chaos and the cricket, my only recourse are the twenty two hundred cricket websites that provide 'live' commentary on the game.

In such events, I usually turn to BBC sport, and I clicked my way into the live updates of the India-England test in Mumbai.

Surprisingly, it is actual commentary, not just 'Tendulkar out at silly point'

And while it's not as exhilarating as listening to Navjot Singh Sidhu..... you do come across some interesting moments....

LATEST ACTION (All times GMT)

0527: The TV cameras unfortunately zoom in on a rotund Englishman not wearing much. Other than that it's been a good day for the tourists.

Got me on my knees...

2006-03-14T20:48:00.001-05:00

"I'm so glad Clapton called the song Layla. 'Patti' would have just sounded stupid."

- said to me many years ago by a very wise girl.

For those who have no idea what I'm talking about....

BBC Radio 2

No Outside Food

2006-02-11T23:17:00.000-05:00

Scavenging through the 'My Documents/Random Pics/Bombay' folder, painstakingly copied onto my new laptop..... I came across the perfect Bombay picture... well, close enough anyway...

And it really makes me miss that satisfying 'crunch' of a genuine khari biscuit.

The tear inducing chutney of a sendweech. That's right. Not the Subway imposter.

Nimbu pani

But more later.... if I start on food, I'll be writing till Tuesday.

Urban Clutter

2006-02-03T01:32:00.000-05:00

The trees are bare, stripped of all colour, the streets much the same. Somewhere, by the curb, their leaves yellow into oblivion, besides black garbage bags and yesterdays flowers. People pass by, with the inevitable Starbucks coffee cups in hand... A slight drizzle forms a puddle by the side of the road that reminds me of home....

But this rain is not the same.... it's a gentler rain, it falls without emotion... it dampens, it doesn't drench.... it doesn't feel the same... it doesn't smell the same....

There are no kids splashing in the puddles. They're all home with playstations. No big red buses rumble past, though the SUVs are almost as big.... There's a starbucks next to the library, not a chaiwalla....

There's a familiar song on the radio, one that I remember listening to five years ago on a Wednesday night....

A plane flies overhead, I look up. A drop of rain lands on my lip. It doesn't even taste the same....

*Like I said - Increasingly random and incoherent.

Vashi to Washington....

2006-01-19T22:43:00.000-05:00

Well... it's been two weeks since I got here and things are only just beginning to settle down. I have a feeling posts are going to get increasingly random, rambling and completely incoherent in the near future, as I wade through the intricacies of policy (public).

It's a little disconcerting being the baby of the class, pretty much everyone here is so much older than me... and vastly more experienced.

But now I will go back to my wonderfully illustrated book that does its best to explain the laws of supply and demand (supply curve goes up, demand curve goes down, somewhere along their respective ways they meet and that's a nice place to be. Equilibrium!)

Photos may follow in subsequent posts. Then again, they may not.

And now, as it nears midnight, I will stop reading about the exploits of the venerable Sehwag (it is the coke, it is the ICC it is the Sehwag) , close the report on 'Recent Trends in the Telecommunication Industry' which is still open on page 3 (of 34), pull out my pen drive and trudge through a pretty windy street to my minimalist existence of a mattress and two suitcases.

Kargil - Closer...

2005-12-27T13:30:00.000-05:00

well.... probably the last of this series.... for a while anyway, though I'm sure I'll be getting back to this sometime in the future...

This was Kargil.... a little closer....

On our way to the top....

... and it was a long way....

Looking down at Kargil town....

Chai at Wakha.... Sonu Sharma's Tea Stall....

The Future Buddha statue at Wakha....

Pashkum Village.... Primary School

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who?!?! where?!?!?!

2005-12-18T14:15:00.000-05:00

Just wondering.....

Scattered around the world... are the people who populate this blog....

Argentina.... Colombia.... Turkey.... England.... Singapore... a whole bunch of people from North America....not to mention the venerable motherland

which is all very nice.... it's nice to know you're being read by red dots around the world.....

Unfortunately.... not too many of them leave comments so I don't know who they are....

But please.... please.... who is the guy reading this blog over the Atlantic?

A thousand miles off the coast of Africa.... someone above, on or below the Atlantic is reading this....

In a plane? In a boat? Yellow Submarine?

Who are you?

Kargil.......

2005-12-15T12:55:00.000-05:00

25th October, 2005

Kargil. A name I had heard only in the news.... war... shelling.... bunkers.... LOC.... the only words I could associate with the name. Another part of Kashmir under attack.

But this is not Kashmir. This is Kargil.

Kargil. Of bare, craggy peaks and unforgiving rocky paths. The flowing green Suru river, with wooden bridges criss-crossing. Apple and apricot trees dotting terraced mountains.

Kargil. Of five languages and -40 degrees celsius villages. Kargil, with endogamous Aryan tribes.

Kargil....

------------

If there is a moment that approaches perfection... it is this....

You are sitting on a mountain peak. You have just finished interviewing a primary school teacher in the village of Shilik Chey, 6 miles from Kargil town. After answering your questions, she fills your bag with two dozen apples. You sit on the mountain, having just washed the apples in a clear mountain stream, and bite into the sweetest, reddest, most natural tasting apple you have ever tasted.... interviewing the village Sarpanch. He answers your questions slowly, as he oversees the construction of a road from Shilik Chey to the next village. The India Sri Lanka cricket commentary crackles on a small FM radio.

-----------------------------

and he lands with a 'bwwwshhsh'

2005-12-14T11:57:00.000-05:00

And so, once again... I'm back in Bombay....

the silent smell of gently rotting fish wafting past the open window...

and I know I'm back....

back where the buses are red...

and some touch the trees....

where ricks aren't let lose on the roads.... (well not in the south anyway)

where traffic lights serve a purpose

Where the intoxicating mix of street food hits the olfactories from a mile away...

...and to think I only have 3 more weeks in this city....

oh well.... as a wise saint once said....

'another beer?'

Colaba to Kargil - II

2005-11-17T01:32:00.000-05:00

Leh, 23rd October, 2005.
-----------------------
One year ago, I was sitting in a cramped room, wading through books with terrifying names like 'Industrial Automation' and ' Principles of Digital Communication'.

Today I'm sitting in a room, where the temperature is a pleasant -2 degrees Celsius, wishing I didn't have to take off my glove to write this.

-------------------

24^th October

Encased in four layers of clothing, of varying degrees of thickness and warmth, resembling a blob of vaguely human origin, I walk down the icy steps of the Tso-Mori hotel in Leh, into the front seat of a Tata Sumo.

It is about 7 am and my only thoughts are (1) My nose is an icicle and will fall off at any moment (2) Will I be able to click this damn camera without taking off my gloves. (3) Should have carried some brandy in a hip flask.

And the houses start to give way to desert, the tourist signs announcing ‘Italian, German, Israeli, American, Indian, Kashmiri and Ladakhi Cuisine!’ give way to limitless expanses of sand, dust and rock. A sparse sprinkling of trees near the riverbank and a road that stretches out into infinity.

Passing picture perfect villages, snapped right out of a postcard. Whitewashed houses with wooden window frames and thatch covered roofs… stopping for much needed tea at a tiny stall that advertises namkeen chai, eggs, biscuits, and the ubiquitous ‘meat rice’. In the distance, a fort of indeterminate age and origin stands perched on a cliff.

Passes are passed with much more excitement than Maths papers…. The landscape is decidedly lunar, as the existence of the ‘Hotel Moonland’ seems to confirm. The road winds through mountain passes and we close in on Kargil as the greens become more evident. Only close to the river though, the mountains are still bare, rocky and as desolate as the moon.

A small patch of green along the river, sprinkled with aluminium roofs and a single road…. Kargil

* It's been a while, I know.. but hopefully posts will be a bit more frequent now.... and all about this trip, despite other things happening all around.....

Colaba to Kargil - 1

2005-11-05T12:57:00.000-05:00

... and it's taken a while....

on the 23rd of September, I was working my way through an egg (fried and peppered), perfectly sure that the rest of the week would turn out much like the first....

on the 28th of September, I was sitting in a Haryana Roadways bus, munching on a slice of coconut, a bit unsure of what the future held....

And as the Jet Airways flight 9W 609 took off from IG airport, New Delhi to Leh.... I was completely clueless.

The approach to Leh is treacherous, terrifying and completely bloody lovely. Sharp jagged peaks, desert sands capped with effortlessly spread white snow.... The sun streams through the airplane windows as if you're landing in the middle of the Kalahari....

...and a pleasant voice announces, 'baahar ka taapman shunya se saath degree kam hai' (the outside temperature is -7 degrees celsius)

We have landed in Leh.

It is the 23rd of October. The first of many hundred cups of tea are consumed. Leh is empty and freezing. The tourists have left last month, and the shops, restaurants and hotels are deserted.... wandering through deserted streets, stopping only for a kabab or three....

Tomorrow, Farah and Trisha stay on in Leh, to monitor the water supply and sanitation situation here. I turn on the taps at the hotel, water a hundredth of a degree above freezing trickles out...

Tomorrow, I leave for Kargil.... 220 kilometres in the middle of a Tata Sumo. Eight hours. Two passes. Four cups of chai...

but more on that later.....

Fatehabad Photo Feature

2005-10-18T05:26:00.000-04:00

Well, this was Fatehabad...... with little time for the usual captivating captions....

View from the Sarpanch's house, Shakkarpura village Village school, Shakkarpura

3 generations.... Badalgarh village
Badalgarh Village primary school
The purpose of our visit.... Girls toilet at the school.... I'll spare you the close ups...
No roads to the village... no worries.... there's the dried up canal we can use....
...as long as there's no flood...

oh... it's lunch time....

2005-10-17T21:20:00.000-04:00

Well, it's been a while since the last post.... I just have time to scratch out a few lines before office closes....

I wanted to post pictures, but blogger seems to disagree.....

oops... turns out I don't have time to scratch out a few lines!

coming sometime in the increasingly randomly generated future.... the Fatehabad Photo Feature - An Online Odyssey of Rural Sanitation and Water Supply....

There may be a bit of news... but I will say no more until it's confirmed....

No, no... don't stop me!

a few litres of chai later...

2005-10-03T13:03:00.000-04:00

I'm back in Delhi, courtesy the Haryana Roadways bus service...

Not everything I've seen has quite sunk in.... but flipping through the first few pages of my little yellow notebook, it appears that that there may be things to say....

firstly, what I'm doing here.

Briefly - going to some villages in Haryana and seeing if they have toilets....

29/09/2005 - Wednesday

Woke up early in the morning to take the Haryana Roadways bus to Fatehabad district with Farah and Sanjay. Much sleep, a cup of tea (the first of many), a slice of coconut and some interesting conversation later.... and the brutally urban landscape begins to soften. Through a mud splattered window and progressively murkier spectacles, green fields, single storey houses of exposed brick and mortar. Dust desolation and buffaloes. Scenes I have previously only passed from the comfort of a train compartment are beginning to solidify....

subsequent days in subsequent posts.... I'm supposed to be working now...

Some pictures too....

After a long pawwj... a longer pawwj....

2005-09-26T16:32:00.000-04:00

Well, it's been a while since the last post....

it might be even longer to the next.... unless I spot an 'e-choupal' along the way....

off to the villages of Haryana and Rajasthan to set up a water monitoring system, whatever that may be....

Maybe ride a camel or two....

subsequent updates when I'm near a computer...

Kalyug II - A Lifetime in the Day...

2005-09-09T15:12:00.000-04:00

A brief glimpse into the day of an engineer....

Overflowing with boundless optimism.... there's nothing quite like a bracing circuit diagram early in the morning....

The indispensible ally....

And as the day wears on in a convoluted blur.....

And the night descends to a smear of regret.....

...and five minute breaks extend unto infinity....

The truth is only too evident.....

* All notes are copyrighted by A.Garg
Toes by S. Palit

Thoda Adjust

2005-09-07T15:56:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, the battery of an mp3 player can run out at the most timely moment.

--------------

'X' and 'Y', first seen here, both belonging to that strange species that inhabits the Mumbai train eco-system, can often be found engaging in countless philosophical discussions on the the burdens of urban existence that rival Vikram and Betaal in their profundity.

The scene starts at Kurla 'tation, as alternate floods of humanity gush in and out of the train in twin tidal waves of sweat, dirt, plastic bags, newspapers and obscenities in at least six languages.

The hero of the story, henceforth known as 'X', with the skilled eye of a regular, spies three people settled comfortably on a seat clearly meant for three and a half. The almost imperceptible movement of his neck indicates to the three denizens of the bench that he too, would like to submit half his behind to the relative comfort of the perch they so expansively occupy.

The briefest of movements from the trio and 'X' is kindly presented with a not completely unwelcome five inches. He sits.

A quick glance to the right confirms his suspicions. Despite the eloquently delivered request, 'Y', occupying the window seat, sits with his legs splayed out in blissful semi-slumber.

'Arrey boss, thoda shift karo naa', in that remarkably evocative language that is heard only by the inhabitants of the island city.

'Kidhar jaayega? Khidki se latkoon kya?' replies 'Y', clearly upset at being startled out of his reverie.

'Arrey thoda to....'

Y closes his eyes to ignore this young upstart.

'Haan, tu kyon hilega? Teri hi toh train hai. Arrey, aaram se, taang phaila ke baith naa!'

Clearly, X's patience is wearing a bit thin.

'Kuchh chai-pani bhi laoon, seth?'

Still no reaction. Not from Y anyway, though the rest of the crowd seem to be enjoying the exchange.

'Haan, Laloo Yadav toh tera maama lagta hai na? Bas, apni hi train samajh ke baith.'

This final acerbic retort is rewarded with a palpable shifting of bums as our hero claims another three inches with immeasurable pride.

-------------------------------------------------------------

*The dialogue, I'm afraid is truly untranslatable and would completely lose all effect in any other language.

Good advice for all

2005-09-06T12:26:00.000-04:00

Kalyug

2005-09-04T04:53:00.000-04:00

Just like that. But slower. Much, much slower.

It's too early for nostalgia. And it's far from over for some.

One lucky bastard got away with minor scrapes and bruises, leaving behind nothing, not even the big blue coffee mugs.

The others stuck around longer...some stick still

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* ing....

Almost burnt down the house (just this one, not the other three). Was later taught how to do the job properly by the resident arsonist

Wandered the night with his teardrop shaped earphones, mumbling the lyrics of 'Even Flow'. Destroyed by a pair of simultaneous equations in 2002.

Spent his days in penguin-worship. Could take apart a computer in 23 seconds. Put it back together in 6 months or less. Terrified of Daal. Was once chased around the room by a bowlful of the stuff by....

Arsonist. Alcoholic. Saahitya Lekhak. Addicted to pistachios and afraid of numbers over 40.

(Caption suspended pending further investigation)

oops

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pirates of the Lamington

2005-08-29T16:20:00.000-04:00

Pirates of the Lamington

Well, here's what the wonderful folks at Microsoft have to say about software piracy -

The word 'piracy' has a wonderfully swashbuckling feel, conjuring up a vivid picture of adventure, the high seas and men with jaunty eye patches. But software pirates today are far removed from that romantic image. Alarmingly, many modern counterfeiters may be heavily involved in organised crime. According to the Entertainment & Leisure Software Producers Association(1) in 80% of their raids there is evidence of other criminal activity operating alongside piracy, including drug trafficking, pornography and even terrorism.

"Software piracy isn't simply about somebody copying a piece of software and selling it at a car boot sale," says Julia Phillpot, Licence Compliance Manager for Microsoft Ltd. "It attracts global networks of organised crime groups and we are concerned that customers may suffer."

Right. So obviously, the seedy, single tube-lit shop 'Novelty Electronics' at Lamington Road, Bombay is the new target for the 'War Against Terror'.

A Business Software Alliance (BSA) - International Data Corporation (IDC) survey puts the rate of software piracy in India at 73%. China 91%. Japan 37%. USA 22%.

Do you see a pattern forming here?

Microsoft Windows XP Home Edition costs $199. Anywhere in the world. The Professional Edition costs $262.

Now that's probably more than the average middle class salary in India. So while the SUV driving American who earns $50,000 dollars a year and can live his whole life on credit can easily afford to pay two hundred dollars for software, the average Bajaj scooter riding Indian can't. (Though the question the American should be asking is 'if all major software companies are saving massive amounts of money by off-shoring their programming work to India, why is software still so bloody expensive?')

While computer hardware prices have been dropping steadily and you can now buy a pretty decent computer for under Rs. 20,000 (about $400), software prices have been steadily rising. Now when computers were really expensive (70,000 rupees and more), software companies could somewhat legitimately argue that if you can afford the hardware, you can afford the software. That is no longer true.

So do you really expect the average person who has to save up for months to buy his first computer for 20,000 to spend roughly the same amount again on licensed software(Windows, MS Office, Anti-virus software)? When he can buy it all from his friendly neighbourhood pirate for under a thousand?

The 'Law of One Price to Rule Them All' for software is so completely ludicrous that even Microsoft woke up this year and announced they would be releasing a 'Starter Edition' of Windows XP for 'developing countries'.

This version apparently retails for $36, runs at 640 X 480 resolution and can only run 3 windows at one time. AND.... they'll be providing 'local, country-specific' screensavers and wallpapers with the system!

Because obviously having a picture of the Taj Mahal on your screen will make up for the crippling, condescending Operating System on your computer.

So which do you go for? XP Starter Edition that will take 20 minutes to load your MSN Hotmail page for $36 or a nice pirated full version of Windows for $10....

Sure, there are risks involved with pirated software, but the price difference is so great, the risk is more than acceptable. Besides, I return to the point that few people can even consider paying those prices for software, forget about the 'risk'.

Sure, I know the cost of developing software is tremendous. R & D, marketing, hiring professional writers to come up with helpful error messages like 'Rundll Access Error #1029283_293 in twain_32.dll'....

But now for something completely different. Or perhaps not.

This is a copy of Fundamental Methods of Mathematical Economics by Alpha C. Chiang and Kevin Wainwright. It retails at Amazon for $72 in paperback. $128 for Hardcover.

This is my copy of the same book. The International Edition. Cost – Rs. 360. (About $8)

It's the same book. It has all the chapters. They didn't leave out the chapter on 'Optimization with Equality Constraints' (though I truly wish they had) simply because it was a 'cheap' edition for 'developing countries'. It's published on decent paper, it has everything I need (and some things I don't) and it costs $8. And in fact most publishers have low cost, or Asian editions of popular books. They realise that no one here can afford to pay $72 for a book, so they price them accordingly.

So why not software?

Beer and Ice Cream

2005-08-23T17:52:00.000-04:00

Inspired by this post by Gypsynan, the memories of my last encounter with a gym come back (to me).

Many moons ago, before puddles ruled the earth, I went to a gym.

And one muggy evening, as I tied up my shoelaces, a shifty looking character walks in carrying a box.

It looked cold.

Half expecting him to start handing out steroid samples, I edged away inconspicuously.

It was a dozen little tubs of Baskin Robbins ice cream. Lined up in neat little rows. I edged closer.

The guy happened to work at BR and had decided to share the new flavour of the month with his gym buddies (of which I immediately became one).

Cut to five people sitting on various pieces of gym equipment, attacking frozen dairy with little plastic spoons.

But the next day.... there was no ice cream.

That was the last time I went to the gym. The ice cream place is closer anyway.

Brief Geek Interlude

I read somewhere, a couple of days ago that Ernest Hemingway's favourite beer was Tusker beer

and I thought... 'hang on a sec, where's that odd looking empty beer can I had saved?'

This was Hemingway's favourite beer. That is so cool. They should put that on the can (though I'm glad they didn't).

The beer, by the way, was excellent. Anyone in Nairobi with an extra case or three.... umm....?

The Venerable Sri Bhoothnath Gaitonde salutes the spirit of the Mumbaikar

2005-08-19T14:52:00.000-04:00

So in a stunning display of spirited intent, Shahrukh Khan and Prity Zinta picked up jhaadus, (their delicate hands hygienically encased in clear plastic) and decided to clean up Bandra. They swiftly cleared up scraps of debris littering the cratered environs of their existence. Pausing only a few dozen times to deliver inspiring quotes to the waiting cameras.

“ We have to take an initiative to keep our surroundings clean. We waste too much time blaming others. If all of us living in Bandra think it is simple logic to start cleaning our own neighbourhoods, all will be fine ”

Brilliant idea. In fact, so many famous people today seem to be advocating the 'Lets talk about our duties, not our rights' theory of civic governance, maybe we should all quit our jobs and clean the streets.

Now I don't throw trash on the streets. In fact, I even leave my bus and train tickets in my pocket, so I can carefully dispose of them at home (of course, after repeated medium wash and spin cycles, they form a wad of fibrous compressed paper in my pants... but then I do dispose of them. I segregate my wet and dry garbage. I gave up taking notes in class entirely to save on paper.

And I don't mind doing more either. If someone has a brilliant, revolutionary concept on waste management, bring it on. But lets look at some facts first.

Over 50% of Bombay lives in slums. Most of these slums are little more than precarious erections of corrugated iron and plastic that cost more to live in than the average flat in Indore. The cost of living in Mumbai is higher than any other Indian city. We pay higher taxes on everything (ever notice the Rest of Maharashtra price on a product?) And yet, more people keep coming here everyday, to live in these overpriced slums and pay higher taxes. Why?

Because you can also earn enough here to actually live here. If you're willing to work your ass off, 18 hours a day. If you're willing to hang onto the door of a train going at 60 kilometres per hour.

So when an intrepid TV reporter asks the peanut-vendor at Kalina how he can go back to work so soon as if everything is normal, and isn't he concerned about the city, the answer is simple enough...if he doesn't go back to work, what the hell is he going to do? Every day he doesn't work, he makes no money in a city that is only getting more expensive to live in. He may have lost a child, a wife to flood and disease, but he has to stay alive. The poor don't have the luxury of grief. Or the luxury of civic duty. Life, for most in Mumbai is still a struggle to exist.

It's easy for us to talk about social responsibility, but lets not absolve the administration of all blame. We pay the BMC to clear the garbage. Officially or unofficially. We pay them to maintain the roads. We pay them to fix the drains. We do this because most people in this city can't afford to take a day off work to 'clean our own neighbourhoods.'

So yes. It is the administrations fault. Yes, they aren't doing their jobs. And no amount of citizens groups will change the scenario until we hold local officials accountable. Until we take the local BMC official to court or blacken his face and bust his office Shiv Sena style. It's our responsibility to ensure that our officials do the jobs that they are supposed to do, not to do their jobs for them.

Just south of the gap of Mankhurd lies about an acre of unclaimed garbage that hasn't been touched in the five years that I've passed by it. Last year, the BMC commissioner, Johnny J declared in the newspaper that there were only '352 potholes in entire Mumbai' (well, in that case about half of them were between my house and the bus stop 200 metres away). 200 people dead of Monsoon related diseases? 'No, no need to panic. It is under control. We salute the spirit of the city.'

If I had to live in a 6x6 shack with four other people and assorted vermin, two feet from the railway tracks, while the government continued to replace acres of defunct mills with malls, I wouldn't give a damn about civic responsibility either.

----------------------------------

* An interesting fact (from informed sources): Less than 10% of the money collected by the Income Tax department actually goes to the government. The rest makes up the salaries of the Income Tax Department employees (not counting personal donations, special discounts, miscellaneous outgoings, extra-contractual payments, administrative overheads and Introduction fees of course)

Haffy I-Day!

2005-08-15T04:54:00.000-04:00

Nobody remembered him, that perennial cipher. He stood unmoved, perched on a fast submerging black-yellow taxi. The rain hadn't stopped for over eight hours. He had eaten nothing, filling his stomach only by occasionally opening his mouth to the unrelenting sky. He had waded through what had started out as an assortment of puddles that quickly conglomerated into a torrent of muddy water, chest deep in places.

Still, the rain didn't stop.

A terrified ten year old floated past on a hand-cart. An old woman huddled under the awning of a coconut vendor's stall. Her thin cotton sari clung to her frail body as tightly as she held on to the bamboo pole that held up her blue plastic shelter. A drowned dog, bloated and rotting drifted into a tiny by lane.

Frustration clashed with determination. Desperation combined with despair. Hopelessness with helplessness. The cipher trudged on, abandoning the Shree Krishna Gents Tailors plastic bag that held his empty lunch box, to join the innumerable others. Children returning from school. College students who had thought they were going for a movie. The thousands who found their one hour commute turned into a twelve hour nightmare.

A tea stall on higher ground, and our cipher was offered a free cup of steaming cutting chai. Buoyed by this brief refreshment, he covered the remaining miles to his home, only to find it washed away. The cheap second hand sofa and collapsible table that was his living room was destroyed. The plaster from the ceiling dropped intermittently into the rising damp of the floor. There was no electricity. No telephone. No water. No daughter.

She had not yet returned from school. There was no way of knowing where she was. Whether she was safe in school or stuck in the flood. Desperation overcame exhaustion and the cipher strode out into the river that was once a street. Munching only on a few soggy biscuits he found in a cupboard, he shivered through the alleys of the tiny slum town in the suburbs of the city towards the municipal school that stood terrifyingly close to the open flowing drain that had already burst its banks....

Unknown. Rarely acknowledged and never recognized. The common man however, is not an ordinary one.

Oh Haffy Independence Day all.... we may not have healthcare, education, roads, drains or justice.... but atleast Sam Uncle is impressed by our atom bombs! Gotta hand it to the surd.

England 143-2

2005-08-14T10:46:00.000-04:00

So it seems I will not be making a none too graceful exit from the venerable motherland just yet. And as I emerge, slightfully (to use a familiarly unlikely word) disoriented from a mountain of papers, I can't help but feel a bit relieved.

Relieved because I can put off the little nagging decisions that I would have to make. Decisions that having been pecking away at my eardrums for some months now.

How many of my books can I take? Yes, I need clothes, but do you really expect me to leave behind my Hitchhikers Guide?

And what about my CDs? Yes, through the miracle of modern technology we have mp3 now, but there is something fundamentally special about prying open that cracked CD case, easing out the frayed inlay and flipping through the cover art.

But anyway, now I can stop thinking about all that and vegetate in front of the television as Billy the ump indicates a six, with an action that would have had him put under observation were he not in the middle of a cricket pitch.

*If you are not watching the Ashes, do so now.

**A special thank you to someone who diligently emailed me every song from the the Zombies Odyssey and Oracle. I've been listening to it all day.

Odometer Odyssey

2005-08-03T02:30:00.000-04:00

Wonsaponatime, when the sky was still bright with anticipation, a plodding ornament of XIC, whose white hair gave the deceptive aura of wisdom remarked quite casually that people read my blog.

Considering the only advertisement of the fact that I had a blog was my occasional and regularly infrequent comments to the randomly generated people who populated my life, this was surprising news to say the least. These unashamed plugs were usually followed by an enthusiastic 'Uh huh....yeah....cool'.

So it was with some skepticism that I enlisted the services of the venerable freelogs.com website that promised to give me an accurate picture of the traffic that paused at Hon'ble Sri Banthehyphen Chowk.

And as I watched the clear black numbers rolling over, not unlike the odometer of my blue Maruti 800 (Actually, since a branch fell on it on Monday night, that odometer isn't going anywhere), I saw the numbers steadily ticking away, until some time on Sunday, the 31^st of July, a mere eleven days after putting the counter, the machine binged its way to a hundred.

Who are these people, these 8.82 people a day, who wander through the overpopulated wasteland of irregularly updated online scribbles? If you do indeed exist, leave a comment or three to indicate your passage... the only scraps that an unpaid online inditer can ask for.

*any offers to alter the 'unpaid' status, are of course welcome.

** Coming Soon! The legend of Vir Ghatotkach! In Technicolor!

From the shallow end of the wading pool.....

2005-07-28T16:22:00.000-04:00

So I looked out of my window on a Tuesday afternoon and saw nothing. The world had disappeared, so I went back inside and had lunch.

I looked outside again and saw an ice cream cart being wheeled across the road. Mewad Ice Cream. Falooda. Milk Shek. The streets were empty but for the occasional plastic-clad figure dashing through puddles that quickly threatened to mutate into pools.

The strip of land that called itself Nariman Point slowly faded into the gray. As did the hill that proclaimed itself Malabar. The gently curved bay that distinguished itself as the skyline of Bombay was enveloped and eventually surrendered.

The city, however didn't.

I sit watching watching the news, images of submerged cars, sinking buses and stranded people peering into the camera flashed past. Damp reporters holding up umbrellas asking people where they are going. Soaked children making faces at the camera. Even in the relatively unaffected South Bombay, I feel distinctly cut off from civilization as my telephone, my cable and my Internet connection go off line.

As the phones start to slowly spark back to life, messages start coming in...messages from people stuck in their offices, others in the deafening stillness of traffic, where despite cars stretching out for miles ahead, people are still honking out of boredom.

I can remember sitting in the car, seven years ago in a similar situation. Stuck between Dadar and Matunga for 5 hours. People coming out of houses to pass around khichdi and tea. Traffic inching slowly into town. Eating bhurji-pav at a tiny Irani restaurant in Mahim.

Flip back a few years further.... I'm nine years old and the street outside is flooded. The scene looks like the Amazon in flood, with only the battered palm trees indicating the middle of the road. The muddy brown water laps at the gates of my building, occasionally sliding up the ramp that leads to the garage. Two kids float past on an inflated inner tube. I poke my dad on the shoulder and say 'Let's go for a walk.' Three or four incredulous looks later, we are out in what is waist-deep water (for me anyway), clad in plastic and rubber. We walk to the end of the street and back. It takes us twenty-five minutes.

So I can only begin to imagine what people went through, trudging up to 30 kilometres, often in water reaching up to their necks.... maneuvering submerged cars, stalled trains and more rain.

*A special cheer to Mr. Raskit Doshi, who proved once again the indomitable power of hunger, and it's motivating effect on himself. Long live the khakra! May it inspire you to ever greater heights (and widths).

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So how are things in your side of the wading pool today?

It’s getting deeper, to be sure. The water is already up to my fingertips, but only when I hold my hands above my head.

Split Pea Soup

2005-07-14T15:57:00.000-04:00

More than a month. The world has tilted a few degrees further on its axis, moved a few yards further along the path to murky enlightenment. I on the other hand remain firmly in suspended goo, unaware of the the Machiavellian machinations of the powers that be.

This blog began as an exercise in absurdity, an elastic retreat of plastic dimensions... an assortment of speech spewed sporadically to the gyrating beats of the pulsating music...'twhatever 'tmay be.

It descended (to much applause) into deeply cathartic passages on various farmyard animals, flirted mysteriously with the past and landed with a dull thud into the present (actually it was more of a krezzzinnnnng....BHUD!)

But we write to dispense our wisdom. That accumulated aggregation of thoughts, dogmas, ideas, emotions and vaguely ticklish feelings that we gather like philatelists steaming off prized stamps from envelopes recovered from the garbage. And wisdom they say, comes from the strangest sources.

Even the 1656 Bandra local. In fact, mostly from there.

It was as I was poised to step off the train that I felt the slightest of nudges. As the train slowed to a halt, the nudge matured into a shove. The shove transmuted to a full bodied heave as the train expelled its contents and I found myself deposited onto the grey solidity of Bandra station. I paused for the briefest of moments to glance back at the flood of humanity only to be told quite firmly

'arrey peechhe kya dekhta hai? Aage chal (expletive deleted)!'

Words to live by.

A Reflective Study in Fuschia

2005-06-11T13:24:00.000-04:00

In the beginning.... there were but two.... But not at the same time....

'One stayed while the other went. Other times, the other stayed while the one went. Of course, sometimes one was gone longer than the other. Which is not to say that the other did not go, but one must realize that one had more pressing matters than the other. Otherwise, of course, the other would have been out as often as one. One way or the other, they both went out, but not, however at one time. Both, the one and the other, they went at times that were different from the other (and the one).'
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... that being said... let us now turn our attention to the events of 12th December 2001 -

The freezer is finally defrosted (to much applause). For those of you who have lived in a world of frost-free refrigerators (Kelvinator 3: Rise of the Penguins), such ancient pagan rituals may seem antediluvian to say the least… but for the quado (duo, trio, quado?) existing (for living would be an exaggeration) in Parimal Apartments on the outskirts of a suburb of a suburb of Bombay…. It was a necessary practice.

The ice thus obtained was smashed all over the terrace and hurled at unsuspecting passers-by. The location, being remote and isolated (not Kamchatka peninsula remote, more like Takla-makan desert remote), passers-by were few…………………………………………………………………………… and far-between….

At dinner, there is a lengthy discussion about pink pillows, generally regarded as the lowest point in conversational history. All future low points are now measured by this benchmark.

Guitar and Gas. A reflective study in fuschia.

Nothing on top, but a bucket and a mop.....

2005-05-29T16:12:00.000-04:00

Another day in dust soaked suburbia. On the outer outskirts of Bombay, beyond the gap of Mankhurd... in the deepest recesses of Nerul, just missing the shade of the Western Ghats.... stood a building... Tall and imposing, where many happy people lived.

Right next to it...was where we did.

The road is empty. Dark. Silent. A row of dimly lit streetlamps stretch into the darkness and curve into infinity, illuminating a road rarely taken . A solitary sign reads quite simply 'BEST No. 21'. A white dog rolls in the dust, madly pawing the air. In a moment, he is gone and the crossroads are empty once more.

The view (Dogs Andya & Pandya in lower right)

Thinking Dabbe ke Baahar

2005-05-29T04:01:00.000-04:00

Life, they say... is lived in its moments (They? Who they? What they? I don't know any 'they', 'them' or any other suchlike!)

So, for the benefit of all, in the weeks to come Loll Inc. will present a selection of moments.... notes scribbled in the back pages of books.... pictures surreptitiously snapped... clippings, characters and cartoons of the glory days beyond the gap of Mankhurd....

for as the old jungle saying goes....

'The more you stay away from the madness, the more the madness gets to you (in technicolour!) Cheerio, it's that time again...'

Culled from an SMS sent by Garg (Abeer) on 5^th October,
2004 at 0108 hours, 10 days before exams.

Momuntary Lasp of Region

Map outlining the general layout of Pachacamac, otherwise known by the captivating name 'Jimmy Towers, Row House No. 7'.

You are here. Now go away.

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The Loo of Redundancy - No plumbing, no water, no problem.

A Place of Solitude

A Place of Reflection

A Place to Ponder

A Place to store old Vodka bottles in the basin.

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From the back pages of old Math books....

Q. Describe in your own words, the events on the night of December 10th, 2001

No work done. No harm done. Rakshit Doshi shifts his base of operations (including desk, white table lamp and cellphone charger) permanently to the loo (additional support by L & G).

Much discussion between A. Garg and S. Lall over the Plan of Action (POA) to be followed in the following days' Mechanics paper. 'Do Nothing, Say Nothing, Write Nothing' is the general
consensus.

A light bulb is stolen from the shop sign downstairs.
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Next Week (or maybe the week after, or even this week!) : The Adventures of Pudgyman, the Adipose Avenger.

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* In an effort to maintain historical inaccuracy, incidents are not listed chronologically.

Catharsis and Pigs

2005-05-12T03:26:00.000-04:00

They say that keeping a journal is therapeutic. An expression of emotion. An outlet. That a blog, much like this one can be cathartic... allowing one to express the innermost outpourings of ones' soul to thirty percent of the population of Azerbaijan.

Well, that's their theory anyway. I think it's a perfect way to share my views on various farmyard animals.

Having said that, glancing through these pictures that lie in the appropriately titled 'Pictures(Random)' folder on my computer, I find that words are simply inadequate. Words can at best describe emotions, never express them. Better men than I have spoken at length on pigs. Even composed hit singles that dwell extensively on the many fine qualities of swine. So I leave you, with a collectionof inspiring images from the recently concluded 'Pig Olympics'.

Bombay Duck *

2005-05-05T05:08:00.000-04:00

05/05/05

This auspicious day, the likes of which shall not be seen for another 1000 years aspires to be no different than the last. The innocent bottle of water that stands alone on my desk amidst a puddle of perspiration, yearning for the cool, comforting confines of the chill tray (where it had spend so many happy hours chatting up the carton of iced tea), bears transparent testimony to this desultory day.

It is infact, the perfect day to muse on the subject of ducks.

There are those who question my fascination for this humble, oft ignored water fowl. What about the swan, they ask. Geese? And why, indeed limit onself to fowl, when the majestic stork, the graceful heron and pink flamingoes quite well with the wallpaper?

It is true, the duck has none of the majesty, the grace or the beauty of these magnificent creatures. For although it has been immortalized in the unintentionally-gender-ambiguous, grumpy trouserless toon created by Disney (Walt), the duck is not a creature spoken of with awe or respect, but rather regarded with a mild affection, as one would an eccentric uncle.

What the duck (Mallard, Painted or regular old yellow rubber) has going for it... is nonchalance.

Observe, if you will, the average duck (Ignore the juvenile explosions of the Disney character mentioned above). The duck sits lightly in the water, beak perfectly parallel to the surface of the water. An occasional glance around for the rifle carrying human. A quick dive into the pond to grab a bite of duckly delicacies that abound below the surface. And we're back again to nonchalance. A comforable trip to the south with the family once a year, putting to rest the fears of Holden Caulfied once and for all. They return refreshed, spend some time puttering about and settle back into their routine. Life for the average duck, it would seem, is taken as it comes. And if nothing happens to come along, so much the better.

Coming Soon: The Penguin

*The 'Bombay Duck' is not infact a species of duck that lives in the swamplands of Sewri, but a thin, oily fish that is dried, fried and is rendered delicious with green chutney.

Blogarithm 'n' Blues

2005-05-02T03:35:00.000-04:00

This day begins with a fervent desire to clean up my desk. This line begins to the opening chords of a Pretenders song whose name I can't remember. Having lost all interest in the original, now declared insurmountable task... I turn to my all new Microsoft Office free computer with the enthusiasm of an overloaded pigeon flying to the nearest statue of Shivaji.

The whispers go around the city. 'Loll is back!', 'Is Loll back?', 'who is Loll?', for my brief hiatus has no doubt left many in the proverbial lurch.

The fact is, life is largely uneventful. Presumably to those who thrived on the excitement of chasing rats with sticks, cats with milk and fellow engineers with daal, the days seem placid. Idyllic. Much time is spent meditating at that great altar of passive entertainment, the television. An occasional trip to the gym allows for some exercise not related to that evolutionary triumph, the preaxial digit with two phalanges, that humble tool of the hitchhikers' trade.

But I digress. I digress because, quite simply, there is nothing else to do.

The song is over. So is the next one actually, and I didn't hear either. Outside a crow pecks at my pyjamas hanging on the washing line. I look at him menacingly. He looks back with a nonchalant 'what goes it of your father'?

I'll show him.

...to the gentle pitterpatter of lemon seeds

2005-04-22T14:45:00.000-04:00

Retrieved from the back pages of history... (circa 2003).

The days of early morning commutes and ill tempered obscenities hurled at innocent bystanders.

I sit alone, and the world passes me by. Scattered scenes re-enacted everyday
unto eternity. Lives, through rusted metal bars. Games of cricket, raging in parking
lots. Freshly washed laundry hung on clotheslines by housewives humming favourite
tunes. Traffic stops with white and red and blue cars. Brightly coloured shops that
flash Pepsi and Cadburys and Amul butter. The pulse of the city vibrates, and for
the briefest of moments, as the train rushes past, I am part of someone’s life. For one
instant, someone I never met, someone I glance at, through a speeding window
exists. A momentary glimpse…and another face lost in the haze of the hundreds
I see everyday…

Existential angst... or just a lack of caffeine?

There's nothing in this world so good that it can't be made better with ice cream

2005-04-17T14:36:00.000-04:00

The urban wasteland that rises, crawls and spreads around me, streams of humanity speeding through it’s veins…a relentless flood of faces flashing past as you wander the swirling lanes with a strange sense of focussed bewilderment…as if they’re not quite sure why they’re there…or how they got there…but they know where they have to be…and they’re running late…

Totally genius-should-make-me-rich-beyond-belief idea # 346 - Since car horns are ignored by one and all on the streets of Bombay, all cars should be equipped with water cannons to alert jaywalking pedestrians.

I will now return to the last page of my Probability notes and draw large colourful trucks in monochrome, the kinds with 'HORN OK PLEASE' written on them.

Crossbows 'n' Daisies - Figuring it all out

2005-04-11T00:03:00.000-04:00

We try to understand too much. We take credit for far too many things. We strive to condense everything into abstract equations in some foolish quest to understand the world. Life itself and the biology of our forms are reduced to pure genetic equations and vaguely precise numbers that map our very existence. But what is it that we actually create? We just use phenomena that exist, that have always existed, and twist them and shape them and give them names (sometimes in Greek and Latin). The straight line always existed, but we gave it length. We gave it coordinates and a slope to understand what we could do with it. The triangle always had three sides and three angles, and the rules that govern them always existed in abstract, all we did was figure them out and work out a way to use them. Infinite numbers exist, but we’ve got them down to ten digits. Pretty cool huh?

life, potato salad and hyphenated desserts

2005-04-09T17:15:00.000-04:00

At two a.m., any remotely philosophical thought that occurs to you seems either deeply profound, remarkably witty, or both. And you write down your life/world changing thought.

When you wake up the next morning, you realize you were just full of it.

This is two a.m.

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They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn them, they outvoted me.

-Nathaniel Lee (on being consigned to a mental institution, circa 17th c.)