Notebook Chaos

New Blog

2011-06-26T18:18:00.004+05:30

Its been a long while since I posted anything here. I've recently started a new blog on the socio-economic development of India and the world. Some of the topics I hope to cover are:

Microfinance as a poverty alleviation tool
Right to Education Act - challenges in implementation
Food grains policy - why food rots in govt. godowns while the poor go hungry?
Choices the poor make - how whats rational to them is irrational to us
Notes from the field - my experiences from interacting with social enterprises and the Bottom of the Pyramid population they serve

For those readers who are interested in such topics, feel free to hop on to www.thesocialsectorblog.blogspot.com. The purpose of the blog is not just to disseminate ideas, but also provoke thinking and generate discussion. Do join in!

Course correction for Microfinance

2010-10-31T15:39:00.004+05:30

Microfinance has been a buzzword in the past few years and mainstream opinion of it has largely been positive. While it has been around in different forms since decades, in its current avatar, it has been championed by Muhammad Yunus who, along with his Grameen Bank, have become the face of microfinance ever since winning the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007. India too, has borrowed and adapted the concept, as an important means of rescuing people from being part of the largest poverty stricken population in the world.

But a lot has changed in the past few weeks and the current microfinance crisis in A.P. is a wake-up call to all the stakeholders in this industry. India has one of the largest and fastest growing microfinance industries and a lot is at stake. For those not familiar with the developments, a quick backgrounder: A. P. is the hub of microfinance activity in the country and Hyderabad it's 'capital' with most of the major microfinance institutions (MFIs) having their head offices in the city. It also has by far the maximum number of clients and penetration within the state. However, the state government has issued an ordinance to curb alleged excesses committed by some MFIs that are purportedly the cause of a spate of suicides amongst MFI clients. Excessive interest rates and coercive collection practices have been blamed and the ordinance grants the state power to strip any MFI its license to collect loans. This has led to MFIs being unable to collect repayments for their outstanding loans, with politicians and other vested interests promoting mass non-repayment amongst borrowers. This could destroy the admirable credit discipline that borrowers have historically shown and cripple the industry.

If you've read Muhammad Yunus' book or interviews where he talks about his inspiration and motivation for starting microlending, you'll realize that it seems like money is the only thing required by the poor. It is as if they have the means, knowledge and access to generate sufficient income and a small amount of cash is the only missing piece of the situation that has billions stuck in a poverty trap. Microfinance, by providing that sole missing element completes the picture and everyone lives happily ever after.

Or do they?

Having been engaged in doing secondary research on MFIs in the past few weeks, I've realized how little is known about the end use of the loans lent out by MFIs. All the lenders are aware that their money needs to used for income generating activities and not immediate consumption by the borrowers, so that over the long run, they are able to own and produce enough to be able to raise their standard of living. However, this is the poor and extremely poor we're talking about, for many of whom the next meal is the most pressing concern. We've seen such a scenario, though milder, play out earlier. Remember sub-prime mortgages? Runaway consumption facilitated by easy credit? Is it too hard to imagine that when access to easy credit could induce irresponsible consumption behavior by a literate middle-class, the same would not happen with an illiterate and desperately poor? There is anecdotal proof that multiple lending is present and in some areas widely prevalent and that is just inviting trouble.

In my view, the rapid growth and acceptance of microfinance as a vehicle for good is partly due to its apparent simplicity. But there are several other missing pieces of the puzzle of poverty that are being inadvertently ignored. Skills enhancement, financial literacy inculcating investment & saving discipline are all critical pieces without which any permanent upliftment is impossible. That is where the big gap now lies that needs to be filled by someone. To be fair, some of the more enlightened microfinance operators have realized this need and moved away from offering just credit towards more holistic services required by the poor. (See Basix, that has moved from being just an MFI to becoming a 'livelihood promotion' institution) But unfortunately, such instances of enlightened management are relatively scarce in an industry that has experienced explosive growth over the last few years and resulted in a windfall for the most aggressive ones. The SKS IPO, a topic of heated debates on its own, has shown just how much of quick wealth can be made by MFI promoters and is it not reasonable to expect that some of the new entrants do not have similar ambitions?

The case of suicides by poor clients in the wake of harassment and coercion at the hands of MFI recovery agents is a tragic wake-up call for all. This scenario could and should have been seen and prevented, but individual greed always initially trumps collective conscience. But now that everyone has been temporarily stung, it is my hope that the government can provide an effective and much needed regulation (not in its current draconian form) that brings back the mission with which MFIs working for poverty alleviation ought to work.

A Case for Optimism

2010-10-06T09:44:00.002+05:30

My last two posts have been on existential angst and a fruitless pursuit of happiness. It is only fair that I balance it out with a little optimism, not just for the sake of it, but because there is a case for it.

For as bad as the global economic, social and political situation might currently be, it is still the best time to be alive on planet Earth. And things will keep getting better. Fifty years from now, we will live in a different world. To get a glimpse of that future take a look at the commercial below and read the Millennium Development Goals.

The eight Goals are:

All this by 2015. And that is certainly a case for optimism.

Happiness

2010-08-19T18:33:00.004+05:30

I need to write. Writing will make me happy. Writing on a blog will get me comments. Comments will make me happy. Replying to comments ensures people return to my blog. That will make me happy. Having 100 followers of my blog will make me happy. I have 96 followers. I've had 96 followers for several months now. New people are not reading my blog. That makes me unhappy.

The post that I share on Indiblogger gets promoted by many people. That makes me happy. I removed my last post after sharing it. Many people promoted the post that did not exist. That makes me very unhappy. I should stop blogging. Maybe that will make me happy.

I have other followers. Every other day I get a new follower on Twitter. It doesn't make me happy. I am being followed by a growing number of people I've never heard of. Why should that make me happy? Why do they add me when they don't even know me? Does it make them happy? Why would they be happy following me if they don't even know me? I don't tweet.

Maybe tweeting will make me happy. But isn't it like blogging? Isn't it just blogging without the effort or skill? Why would that make me happy? I don't like twitter.

I don't think any number of comments or followers will make me happy. I need to write for myself. Writing for myself will make me happy. I need to do everything for myself. Only then will I be happy. Will doing everything for myself make me selfish? Can a selfish person ever be happy? Is there anyone who is not selfish? Is there anyone who is happy?

I think listening to music makes me happy. I wish I could make my own music. That would make me happy. But I don't have any musical talent. That makes me very unhappy. So many musicians don't have any talent. But they make music and that makes me unhappy. I hate music because it makes me unhappy.

I like football. Watching football makes me happy. My team has not won anything for a long time now. That makes me very unhappy. I hate football because it makes me unhappy.

I like art. Discovering art makes me happy. I don't understand modern art. No one understands modern art. New artists only create modern art. That makes me very unhappy. I hate art.

I like thinking. Thinking makes me happy. Thinking makes me find faults. Finding faults drives away the happiness. Thinking leads only to conclusions. Conclusions don't bring happiness. I hate thinking.

The Cliff

2010-08-05T12:57:00.005+05:30

Do you know what it feels like to jump off a cliff? No? Let me tell you.

But let’s start from the beginning shall we, and the beginning, in this case, as in all cases, must always start from the base, from the ordinary, and the commonplace. Because doesn’t every story worth being told begin there?

Now you’re at the base, going about your daily business, when once in a while, like everyone else, you look up in the distance to see the cliff, towering, powerful, solitary, and wonder what it would feel like standing there on top. How far would you be able to see and what would your field of vision contain? When you looked down at where you are now what would you see? Would you want to share that view, the beauty and the splendor of it all, with everyone you knew? But these thoughts enter only an idle brain, and your busy life scarcely allows you the luxury to let a thought linger too long before you banish it hastily in favor of action.

Except that for some, it is not that easy to banish such thoughts. For them, a thought once thought is impossible to shake away. Like a silent ember, the more they wish to blow it out with a whiff of logic, or a puff of reason, the brighter it burns. All the reasons it can't be done only serve to fan the flames of desire. I am one of those unlucky few.

Over time, the idea of the cliff started growing in my mind, threatening to usurp all the territory that had been hitherto governed by logic. I began having dreams in which I was on the cliff, and imagined a multitude of worlds that could only be seen from that vantage point. It had become my very own stairway to heaven.

Only if you’ve been consumed by such a desire yourself will you understand what I’m trying to convey. Ambition is the brother of love, both the children of desire. Both the siblings are impossible to express, yet irrepressible when felt.

So, there was only one thing left for me to do. Drop everything and against the well-intentioned advice of everyone, set upon the long arduous journey to the top. Any journey is marked by struggles, obstacles and its difficult moments. I had prepared myself to face all of those. What I hadn’t prepared for, and hence what hit me the hardest, is the loneliness. I never thought I was the sort that needed company to feel comfortable, nor did I ever seek validation from others to judge if what I was doing was right. In fact, having been used to a life of fighting my surroundings to retain my independence, it was slightly unnerving to have freedom, absolute and complete, thrust upon me. This lack of a constant struggle to preserve my freedom was, in some perverse way, hindering that freedom. I learnt that it is sometimes better to have people who oppose you, than have no one care at all.

Persist I did, and I reached the top, as if there was any other possible outcome. Achieving what I had long desired and struggled for was a strange experience. The euphoria, the pleasure, perhaps even joy, all mixed into an indistinguishable surge of emotion. Then the tidal wave that threatened to drown me with its intensity passed over and I found myself washed up, alone, on the shores of purposelessness. ‘Now what?’ the voice inside me screamed. Except to run towards the edge and jump.

P.S. 1: The cliff is metaphorical. The jump signifies renunciation.

P.S. 2: Apparently, the theme of the piece has a well-known name. Existential Angst.

Invictus

2010-07-22T22:49:00.001+05:30

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

Curse of Nike!

2010-07-07T23:15:00.004+05:30

Watch Nike's 'Write the Future' commercial that was released before the World Cup. Hard to pick who among the ones showcased was the biggest flop. Was it Wayne 'no-goals' Rooney, or 'Il Capitano' Cannavaro and his whimpering Italians. Or maybe Ribery of the Les Miserables, or Ronaldo 'the sulk'. Of course, Ronaldinho and Theo Walcott didn't even make it to the Finals.

Amazing coincidences, don't you think?

Ek Alif

2010-06-26T17:14:00.004+05:30

Here's inspiration, in the form of a soulful rendition of Baba Bulleh Shah's immensely deep poetry. Lyrics and translation (picked from the web) follow.

Parh parh ilm te faazil hoya
(You read to become all knowledgable)

Te kaday apnay aap nu parhya ee na
(But you never read yourself)

Bhaj bhaj warna ay mandir maseeti
(You run to enter your mosques and temples)

Te kaday mann apnay wich warya ee na
(But you never entered your own heart)

Larna ay roz shaitaan de naal
(Everyday you fight Satan)

Te kadi nafs apnay naal larya ee na
(But you never fight your own Ego)

Bulleh Shah asmaani ud-deya pharonda ay
(Bulleh Shah you try grabbing that which is in the sky)

Te jera ghar betha unoon pharya ee na
(But you never get hold of what sits inside yourself)

Bas kareen o yaar
(Stop it all my friend)

Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar
(stop seeking all this knowledge my friend)

Ik Alif teray darkaar
(Only an Alif is what you need)

Bas kareen o yaar
(stop it all my friend)

Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar…
(Stop seeking all this knowledge my friend)

Allah Sayyaan Allah Sayyaan
(God is Greatness, God is All)

Nee main jaanaa Jogi de naal
(I shall follow the Jogi {ascetic/Sufi})

Jo naa jaane, Haqq ki taaqat
(those who deny the strength of Truth)

Rab naa devey us ko Himmat
(God does not give them courage)

Hum Mann ke darya mein doobey
(We have drowned in the river of Self)

Kaisi nayya? Kya manjhdhaar…
(the boat and the flowing waters do not matter)

Bas kareen o yaar
(stop it all my friend)

Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar
(stop seeking all this knowledge my friend)

Allah Sayyaan Allah Sayyaan
(God is Greatness, God is All)

This, to me, beautifully expresses the difference between chasing knowledge and finding wisdom. If you know how to think, even an Alif is enough. If not, then all the degrees in the world aren't enough.

World Cup Breaking News!!

2010-06-07T00:23:00.004+05:30

News just coming in from the training camp of the Netherlands football team has sent the entire nation into a state of frenzied expectations. Long been regarded as one of the best teams to have never won the World Cup, this dramatic turn of events has thrown the pre-tournament betting odds for a toss. It can now be confirmed that all the major bookies have listed The Oranje as odds on favorite for the title. This despite the injury scare to the mercurial match-winner, Arjen Robben.

We can now bring you reactions to this breaking news from the players and coach of the team themselves:

"We knew we were a great team with some terrific players. But to win such a tournament, you need something extra. This news has convinced us that we have what it takes to win the World Cup" - Wesley Sneijder

"I was worried if I could go the whole tournament without injury. Now I have no doubt" - Robin Van Persie (Van 1)

"This news makes it unnecessary for me to motivate my players. I can see the belief in their eyes" - Coach Bert Van Marjwik (Van 2)

"Though I'm not sure why I'm the captain, this news makes me feel like I already have one hand on the trophy" - Captain Giovanni Van Bronckhorst (Van 3)

"We Vans wanna win it for the fans" - Van 4, 5 & 6

"I'm not a Van, but I feel like one" - Dirk Kuyt, who was as usual, clueless.

Meanwhile, rival teams have reacted with shock and awe at the sudden news. While some tried to put on a brave face, others were more honest about their feelings.

"I'm glad I'm not the captain anymore" - John Terry

"At least now we have a ready excuse when we get dumped out in quaterfinal" - Frank Lampard

"It's almost a relief that I won't be starting any of the matches" - Thierry Henry

"But they still can't stop me. From diving" - Christiano Ronaldo

"Overcoming Maradona was tough. This makes it impossible" - Lionel Messi

So here it is folks, the news that is sending ripples of joy across the tiny nation where it is legal to fly, and shivers of foreboding amongst all others. I will be supporting the Oranje!

Victory

2010-05-09T22:50:00.002+05:30

To win. To be called a winner. To not be amongst the vast majority of non-winners that mankind is comprised of. If you haven't won, have you necessarily lost? A question none of us want to face. And so we all want to win.

But what does it take? Everything. A deceptively simple answer, yet a potent secret. A well-known secret, like so many others in life.

Along the way, there are defeats. Not once, nor a few, but necessarily several. Large soul-shattering ones, and small repeated nagging ones; both kinds testing your resolve, again and again. But there is a silver lining. That they do more than test you. They teach.

It is a peculiarly human trait. We can know from the examples of others, but we only truly learn from our own lives. So every lesson must be found in the debris of failure, every dream must have its roots in the depths of defeat. Everything else is transient, superficial, an idle wish that will be extinguished in the violent gusts of fate.

The pursuit of victory is ennobling. It is a purging of yourself from the seduction of the mundane. Sacrifice is essential. It is only in the giving up of the valuable that you let yourself know that which is most valuable. But isn't that the hardest thing to do? Not really. Not when you know you're on the right path, towards the dream that keeps you awake at night. And when you are, every sacrifice along the way is easy.

Isolation

2010-04-07T02:20:00.002+05:30

Break off all contact. From everyone you know, from every place you frequent, from everything familiar. Be alone, devoid of concern for any other, bereft of care, unaffected by affection, untouched by expectations, your own or anyone else’s. Live in the moment, in your skin. Breathe in, breathe out. Sense and respond. Think. Think a lot. And deeply. But seek not answers. No, that trap is all too seductive. Seek not answers to questions asked of you, nor answers to questions you wish to ask others. No, no answers now. Only thoughts, just ideas, bereft of purpose or design.

Shield yourself from the incessant bombardment of your being by the debris of other’s feelings. It takes practice, to be unmoved, to be indifferent, to be free. But only when you’re free from the clutter of an ordinary existence, can you learn to hear your own voice, discover your own self. Unlearning a lifetime of experiences, overcoming influences, to seek that which existed in yourself from the beginning, that which you doubted even existed, but that which makes all the madness worth it. For you are not a social animal. You are only an animal.

Assumptions are foolish, predictions are untrue, and explanations, useless. The truth is arrived at by consensus, by an invisible, unobservable referendum, on every issue, for every belief. Accept, if only to cease the onslaught, to declare a reluctant truce in the relentless meaningless battle. Because that is the only way they will let you be.

The company of people is addictive. To feel more than your singular self, to never feel lonely, to never feel at all. To drown out the unfamiliar uncomfortable voice within. To not have a single thought of your own. That is the only way to convince yourself that you are happy. Till, if you are unfortunate, you find happiness is not enough. The guilt of your happiness will gnaw at you and the smiles become harder and harder to smile. The effort of acknowledging everyone around you will drain you. Of the capacity to think, of even the awareness of its need. Embrace that fate. Or, break off all contact.

Hepburn - Incomplete

2010-03-03T20:55:00.005+05:30

Trying to make a version of the classic Hepburn picture. It is very much a work in progress. The mouth clearly needs reworking. I'm yet to decide whether to include her hand and whatever it is she's holding in it in the original picture. But considering that I'm already worried about the amount of effort sketching her hair will take, I'll probably end up skipping the hand.

Any suggestions on how this should turn out? Any other flaws you can notice? Comment away..

Arsenal-ysis

2010-02-25T01:22:00.001+05:30

A tough sequence of matches for Arsenal ends with no surprises. A horror show by Fabianski against Porto in Champions League makes for an intriguing return leg. Earlier, comprehensive defeats at the hands of United and Chelsea brought another Premier League season built more on hope than ability to an abrupt end. Victory over Liverpool was expected and duly achieved, and much depends on how many points the other two, Man Utd and Chelsea, drop over the remaining games. But I, for one, believe this Arsenal team, like all the others in recent seasons, has far too many weaknesses to come anywhere close to a title challenge. That they are still in the top 3, and have Man Utd and Chelsea in their sights, is a testament to Wenger's managerial ability. But that is also where the problem lies.

The old adage 'Good is the worst enemy of great' comes to mind when describing the Arsenal sides of the past few years. They've been too good to become great. Built with a modest budget, which is dwarfed by that of most teams in the top half of the EPL, while servicing the debt of an expensive stadium, Arsenal have stuck to their policy of developing home-grown talent. Buying teenagers has been the modus operandi of Wenger, blooding them into the first team and sticking with them despite many failures. I can't count the number of players who, when they first played for Arsenal, seemed so horrendous, that it was incredible they could be playing professional football at all. Yet, in the past, this unique approach to building a team paid rich dividends, with players like Adebayor, Flamini, Hleb going from virtual unknowns to reputed performers at the highest level. Turning ordinary players into good ones is commendable, but a great team is not made of good players alone. It needs to have a few good ones that can develop into greats. Past Arsenal teams had these by the dozen. Viera, Henry, Pires were all good players with potential and went on to become Arsenal greats.

As I see it, Arsenal has problems in four areas. Forward, Midfield, Defense and Goalkeeping. Everything else is good. I'll start in the order of the place they take on the pitch, because I really can't judge which of the problems is more (de)pressing.

1. Forwards are needed in any football team

This basic axiom of football is being flouted with abandon by Wenger, with potentially disastrous consequences. His failure to bring in any sort of striker in the January window could be one of his most questionable ones in the recent past. How he felt the team could go on without a single striker playing up front, with the makeshift deployment of the talented yet diminutive Arshavin, to face title rivals and expect to win, is a mystery. Sure, Arshavin can score goals and very good ones at that. Yet, he is no match for the tall and bulky central defenders of any team and Arshavin himself said as much. In his spell as a striker, he scored less than he did from midfield and made a far lesser impact on the game in general. In addition, he got battered physically and now joins Van Persie on the treatment table.

So why didn't he buy someone to lead Arsenal's attack in January? Because of one Nicholas Bendtner.

You know you have a problem when Bendtner is called upon to save the day. The Dane has been on the fringes of the Arsenal first team for a long while, and his every performance has exposed his questionable technique and lack of composure in front of goal. Yet, it is he who is championed by Wenger as the man who can provide the goals. A bad first touch, inability to dribble and a tendency to sky every shot are too many faults for a striker to possess. Yet he is tall and strong and young. And these are qualities that form the basis on which Wenger hopes to turn this profligate player into a player worthy of wearing Arsenal colors. It is a feat he achieved with Adebayor, turning the giant with terrible technique into a fearsome striker capable of momentary brilliance. Alas, his lack of loyalty and greed eventually led him to richer pastures where one wonders if the excess of striking options will ever let him make the forward position in the team his own.

Outlook: Chamakh's move seems to be happening, and I am tempted to believe reports of his summer move especially because of a non-arrival this January. Why Wenger decided to sacrifice a perfectly good season, with a chance at silverware, so that he can get the player on the cheap for next season, beats me.

2. Weak little kids can't be defensive midfielders

Arsenal has plenty of attacking midfielders. Fabregas and Arshavin are world class, as is a fit Rosicky. Nasri, Walcott and Diaby though inconsistent, have potential. None, however, can fill the defensive midfielder slot left vacant by Flamini. Wenger shouldn't have let Diarra go as easily as he did. We are now left with baby-faced Denilson with strength of schoolboy to fill that crucial position that lets all the creative playmakers flourish. It is a job he does with considerable ineptitude. Weak in the tackle and a limited passing range, he is everything you don't expect in a Brazilian. Song is being groomed for the role, but as of now, he doesn't have the presence to ably perform in that role.

As a plus in the midfield, Rosicky has looked sharp after returning from his long injury. Strength, passing, vision and shot, all seem to be reaching top levels once again. He can only get better. Walcott is going to be a question mark, and he'll need more than a solitary good outing against mediocre opponents to convince me he is improving at a respectably trajectory.

3. Back from the grave defensive back-ups

I shudder to think what would happen if a day comes when Sol Campbell and Silvestre combine in the center of defense. The former was done and dusted, playing in not the Premier League, not the Championship, not the League One, but in League Two! And if you believe in miracles and the legend of the phoenix, he is back scoring goals in the Champions League for Arsenal. But soon enough, played a big role in the goal giveaway that followed.

While Vermaelen and Gallas are good together and have managed to stay fit (touchwood) for most of the season, there is urgent need for a solid back or two. Especially since Gallas can have only a season or two left in him.

4. Goalscoring goalkeepers

When your goalkeepers are more prolific than your forwards, something must seriously be wrong somewhere. First, Almunia set the example by pulling in Nani's harmless cross into the goal. Then Fabianski, eager to impress and outdo Almunia to become the Arsenal number one, scored much more emphatically against Porto. And if any doubts were left about his ability to create a goal from a non-threatening situation, he proved it by eagerly picking up Sol's backpass. But the blame for the error, for putting an underprepared goalkeeper lacking temperament into a pressure Champions League match must lie with Wenger. Goalkeepers have the ability to work behind the scenes, never hog the limelight, but yet play defining roles in the title challenges of any team. No team has every won any title with a suspect goalkeeper. All attempts to do so have resulted in failure, and this is a fact Wenger should have recognized by now. Almunia is not good enough. Fabianski is far from being ready.

Predictions:

Premier League: Third Place. They'll be close to second, and well away from fourth. I just hope that Wenger doesn't call it a 'good' season and maintains the status quo, team-wise, in the summer.

Champions League: Depends on the draw. A semi-final would be great though it seems unlikely.

Short Story: 'The Psychopath'

2010-02-05T22:33:00.005+05:30

This is written as a guest post ~~demanded~~ requested by Nikita and you can find it here on her blog. After several ~~threats~~ gentle reminders from her, here is the result. A word about Nikita first. She is a great inspiration to all us ordinary bloggers who live in the hope of the day when we too can get others to write our posts for us. For this piece, she has given the first line as a prompt. The blame for the rest of it lies solely with me.

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As she fumbled with the keys, partly because the biting cold had numbed her hands and partly because of his piercing gaze, she could feel her mouth going dry. After several nervous seconds, she managed to insert and turn the ignition key, and the roar of the engine broke the heavy silence that had hung in the air. She flicked on the car lights and pulled out of the parking spot. As the headlights shone on him, he started moving to his right. To her horror, she realized that he had his own car parked nearby and had no intention of letting her get away. She had to get out of that deserted parking lot fast.

She recalled the newspaper headlines in the last few weeks that described the horrific murders of young women. There had been five of them in the last three months. All women like her, single and alone, found dead with evidence of brutal rape and torture. Strangely, the police couldn’t find any trace of DNA left behind on any of the victims. A serial killer was on the loose and the police were clueless as to his identity.

For the past week, every news channel had aired countless psychiatric experts describing the prototypical serial killer. A psychopath, they said, had neither conscience nor empathy, the very qualities that let humans live in social harmony. Without them, he becomes a predator, ice running through his veins, capable of acts of extreme violence, without as much as batting an eyelid.

This ordeal had begun over an hour ago. She had noticed him first in a clothing store where she was shopping. He didn't seem particularly interested in clothes. When she saw him again in the shoe store, she became suspicious. After she had caught him glancing towards her a few more times, she began to get worried. There was no mistaking his intentions. She had begun running towards the parking lot. It was a move she would regret.

As she sped towards the only exit from the parking lot, she realized she was trapped. He had already blocked off that exit with a car. There was only one thing she could do. She pressed hard on the gas and rammed into the stationary land rover. The screeching tyres and the crunching of metal were the last sounds she heard before passing out.

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She woke up with a splitting headache. The throbbing in her head was overpowering. She tried to move but couldn’t. She was tied up, to a steel chair, in a dark room, with a single overhead lamp. The light from it stung her eyes. Gradually, her entire body started registering pain. And with it, the memory of her predicament came flooding back. The man, the chase, the parking lot, the car crash.

She heard sounds outside. The door swung open and her captor walked in. He pulled up a steel chair, sat across her, and slid a bunch of photographs towards her. They were pictures of the mutilated remains of the five dead women. She took a long time to look at them. She would not be intimidated. She looked up at him, straight in the eye, no hint of fear in them, and spoke in an unwavering voice, "You will never be able to prove that I did this."

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A story, a poem & a missed opportunity

2010-01-08T16:58:00.007+05:30

Here are my entries for a prestigious B-School competition. They served their purpose and got me to the next round and I eventually reached the finals. But an unavoidable clash of exam schedule and event dates forced me to skip the final round that is going on in IIM-C right now.

In this part of the contest, I had to pick two out of five pictures and write a short original piece of fiction based on it. Here are the pics and my write-ups.

Picture 1

The Story

It has been over a century since he had last killed someone. The memory of that day still made him shudder.
He had killed many times before, but he always chose his victims carefully so that he would not be haunted later by any stray pangs of remorse. He tailed his victims for months on end and only when he was convinced that their life of unrepentant crime and depraved debauchery had set them on the road to eternal damnation, only then did he move in to hasten their demise. But that night he had let impulse get the better of him. He picked her up on the street certain that this crack whore, had she been in her senses, would thank him for ending her miserable life.

It was only when he read in the papers the next day that a pregnant woman was found dead and bloodless did he realize that he had taken not one life, but two.

A century of grief filled remorse, starvation, isolation and repentance had shriveled him up to resemble a cold dead corpse. He would’ve suffered endlessly, the agony multiplied by the absence of the possibility of the sweet release of death.

Till one day he found a way. An old homeless drunk stumbled across him and fell dead in the dark alley. Before he knew it, he was kneeling down beside him and had sucked all his blood before the body could go cold.

And so he now waited by the bedside of the terminally ill, waiting for them to die.

_______________________________________________________________

Picture 2

The Poem

The secret we share,
I can no longer hide,
It is not fair,
To everyone we’ve lied.

Come out with the truth,
It is the only path,
Fear not their fury,
Or an invisible God’s wrath.

We have not chosen,
Our heart’s forbidden desires,
Why must we deny,
What our love requires?

You love me,
And I love you,
And while I profess,
You’re afraid to confess.

For it is love between us,
As commonplace as any other,
Yet the rarest thing there is,
Between one man and another.

When you can feel it in your soul,
Who can tell you it’s not true?
When it brings a smile, makes you whole,
Why wish that they approved?

Short Story: Far Away from Home

2009-12-29T00:10:00.007+05:30

It had been a cold dark day, one of many in the recent past. I looked out of the window and watched the last remnants of daylight fade slowly away, dropping the already sub-zero temperature outside even lower. It has been over a week since I had last stepped out.

It didn't matter how many layers of clothing I wore, the cold outside still swept inside through the seams, bored through my skin and sucked out all the warmth from within. First the fingers go numb even through the thick insulative gloves, as the body tries frantically to keep the core body temperature up and gives up on the non-essential extremities. Then your toes feel as if they're in contact with ice and walking becomes harder and harder. Your breath vapors start condensing on your lenses and you try to wipe them clear with your frozen glove clad fingers. By now, you're aware of the audible chattering of your teeth as the insides of your mouth start becoming dry. You can feel your tongue grow cold and stiffen so that you only mumble when you try to speak. And finally, the shivering sets in. The cold has now completely penetrated through the layers of warm clothing and the muscle tissues begin to vibrate with increasing amplitude trying to generate heat by expending energy. If you don't find a warm shelter soon, your entire body will start aching. And even if you do enter a warm place, it'll take several minutes for the shivering to stop and the feeling to return in your limbs again as the body temperature rises slowly.

Which is why I haven't been out in over a week. Nothing much to see and do outside either. When I first arrived here not too long ago, everything was fantastic in its uniqueness. Every rock, every structure, every sight seemed ethereal. The other-worldly quality of this strange place seemed strange and wondrous. Now it just makes me homesick.

Home is far far away, worlds apart from this inhospitable place. It is a place with sunshine and laughter and cool breezes across open spaces. It's been a while since I've heard laughter.

Everyday for the past few weeks, I've stood right here pressed up against this window at right about this time looking out at the distant horizon. For as the sky slowly darkens, a thousand brilliant stars come into view and I almost feel how the planet beneath my feet glides through the dark immensity of space, silently and irresistibly in motion, going around the distant giant ball of exploding gas.

I watch familiar constellations come into view and finally, the moment I wait for, no, live for, everyday is here. Amongst the hundreds of twinkling stars in the distance, there rises from the horizon a steady light, brighter and truer than all the rest, with a faint blue tinge.

That is home, and I am the first man on Mars.

Postcards from Europe - 8: Ridiculous Sweden

2009-12-20T03:02:00.006+05:30

I've come to the end of my almost four months in Sweden. But this post is not about reminiscing. It is about some of the very ridiculous (in the best possible sense) things about Sweden. Some of them are found elsewhere in Europe as well, but Swedes do like to take it a little further than most.

Once a month, when you're lazily sleeping in the afternoon coz it's too dark and cold to go anywhere outside, you'll be jolted by a really loud and irritating horn that goes on and off in the distance. As it doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and since muttering suitable expressions of extreme emotion aren't working, you turn to the source of infinite wisdom and search to find out what the hell could that sound be. As it turns out, it is the monthly testing of the air raid siren! Now the impending air raid is presumably by Russia, but the Russians just aren't obliging. It's been two centuries since the last Swedish-Russian battle, but the Swedes are still ready and waiting for them. Another use of the siren is to signal a nuclear disaster/attack (different signalling pattern from the air raid signal). You don't even have to ask if they've ever had one of those in their history.

You've been in Sweden long enough if whenever you enter a service center, it maybe a bank or a ticket counter or a currency exchange, you immediately look for the token machine. It doesn't matter if the center is empty and four counters are open. You still need a token to get to any of them. If it's very crowded, people will quickly form a queue to the token machine. Yes, you need to get in a queue to get a token number that puts you in queue.

Waiting at the bus stop wondering when your bus will arrive? Never gonna happen. Coz right beside every bus stop is an automated display board that shows you the exact time left for the next two buses to arrive for each bus route. Don't even ask if the buses always come exactly on time. Once on the bus, there's special seating reserved for elders. But that's not enough. There's also a reserved place to secure baby prams/wheelchairs. Also there are 'pets allowed' and 'no pets allowed' zones in the bus.

If you're unfortunate enough to have lost your eyesight, you can still lead a pretty normal and independent life. There are what I call 'cane-tracks', engravings on the footpaths, bus stops and train platforms using which a blind person can make his way. It's on every single train platform I've been to.

There's a government stipend available to Swedish students. You have to be a student, a Swede and between 16 to 20 years of age. That's it. It's guaranteed. And it's enough to live a normal student life. And no, you don't have to pay it back. The government really does pay you to study. Is it enough to pay your tuition fees? Well, there is no tuition fee. Not even for higher education.

Here's to hoping that one day, sooner rather than later, I can say some of the same things about India.

At the altar of Culinary Delight

2009-12-07T03:13:00.006+05:30

The past week has been momentous for me. I've discovered gifts I never knew I possessed, abilities that I thought were too far beyond me, accomplishing feats I never imagined I could. It has been a moment of self-discovery, of empowerment, of hope and inspiration, the start of a new era where anything is possible and nothing is out of reach. As I bask in the glory of the self-belief it has brought me, I feel I can do anything; I can sing like Presley and dance even better, act like Russell Crowe and look even better, dribble like Ronaldo and dive even better, win as much as Tiger and be more discreet, hit a forehand like Federer and cry even better, score more runs than Tendulkar and be a little less humble. I would go on but I don't want people to think I'm exaggerating.

So what prompted this bout of realistic assessment of my capabilities? It was the surreptitious and wholly earth-shatering discovery that I could COOK!!

Big deal I hear you say? Not for me! For me, cooking was this magical art of converting the inedible to the edible, of taking unknown quantities of secret ingredients and combining them in elaborately intricate procedures, say 3.3 teaspoons of X added to 5.7 pinches of Y heated for 13.3 minutes at 189 degrees, all the while chanting some indecipherable mantras, invoking the culinary Gods to bless your offering and turn it into a scrumptious savoury delight.

It was, I believed, a skill mastered over years of unflinching devotion and unwavering dedication. Many a chicken would have to be sacrificed at the altar of culinary delights to gain favour of the mighty gastronomical Gods. And once that favour was bestowed upon these select elite, they were to be revered, adored and preferably get married to, for with one sweep of their magic ladle they could conjure up exotic delicacies that not only filled an empty stomach, but also the hole in your soul that you never knew you had, satisfying cravings too deep to be revealed.

And now as I join this band of plumpy men and women, I look back at all those times I had takeaway, or got ready to eat ready-to-eat, on the days I survived on little more than a bag of salty chips and burnt ham-less-burgers, or hardened pizzas with baked-but-not-fried fries. Those memories remind me of how far I’ve come, and how sometimes necessity combined with a bit of desperation and luck can be the perfect recipe for a new beginning.

Here is proof for the skeptical, a Hyderabadi Chicken Dum Biryani designed to arouse equal parts of envy and hunger in the viewer.

P.S: For those keeping score, I'm off NaBloPoMo.

Postcards from Europe - 7: Go Husqvarna!

2009-12-04T22:40:00.007+05:30

Many Swedes had recommended I go and watch an Ice Hockey game while I was in Sweden. The local Jonkoping team, called Husqvarna are pretty good and have won the Swedish league in 2008. So yesterday I and a friend went to catch a game at the local ice rink.

What was great to see was that the stadium was packed by about 8000 Swedes, by my rough estimate. Kids, men, women, the elderly and even several people with physical disability all turned out in full voice, heartily cheering and 'ooh-aahing' for their team.

It reminded me of the pathetic condition of sports in India, where apart from IPL, no domestic sport ever gets any spectators (except from some parts in the east where football has a fan following). In Sweden, as in every other country in the west, the sports infrastructure, the importance given to it in everyone's life is such a stark contrast to our ignored, neglected, poorly paid athletes who have to struggle against unhelpful bureaucracy and an indifferent public.

I didn't have much time to ponder as the scoring began right from the start. Husqvarna, the home team, and hence the one I was supporting raced to a 3-0 lead before the first period ended (3 periods in a game, which I found weird).

Things started heating up (only figuratively) in the second quarter. Now ice hockey is quite a physical game and body checking an opponent even when he is without the puck is quite acceptable. So is ramming someone into the boundary wall or hitting them with the hockey stick. So if you let loose a bunch of powerful competitive men in protective gear and hockey sticks then you are bound to witness a few scuffles. Fast paced and obviously intentional collisions were happening all over the place, with tempers flaring as the players were swept away with sporting passion A few punches were thrown and the referees had to come skating in to separate the players quite a few times.

Meanwhile the visting team, Södertälje (don't ask me how it's pronounced) scored a couple of goals. This was getting tight and all the more reason for tempers to start flying. You could see the effort and commitment from players of both teams and the crowd was cheering all the way. Deep in the final period, Södertälje scored again to level the scores. We were going into extra-time!

The extra-time in ice hockey follows the golden goal format, with the team scoring first winning the match. The atmosphere grew electric as the spectators watched with baited breath to see who would turn hero for the day by scoring the winning goal. Husqvarna had plenty of possession and was trying to break down the tough defence. As a last-ditch effort to win, they substituted their goalie for an outfield player and went for an all-or-nothing attack! Any mistake now would give Södertälje a chance to shoot at an open goal and end the game. But their gamble paid off and Husqvarna scored the winning goal and the audience erupted in applause! Husqvarna 4, Södertälje 3!

As I headed back after a thoroughly enjoyable couple of hours at the game you could see the grin of victory on everyone's faces and I couldn't help but wonder again why we don't have such a sporting culture back in India.

Postcards from Europe - 6: Awesome Stockholm

2009-12-03T19:02:00.007+05:30

Spent a great 24 hours in Stockholm. Here's a photo-essay:

Stockholm is by far the largest city in Sweden with it's 2 million inhabitants making up an astounding 22% of this sparsely populated country.

First up was the brightly lit shopping district by night and with the festive season soon to arrive, most decorations revolved around the Christmas theme. Believe it or not, the pictures below were taken between 3 and 4 pm. Winter days are extremely short, with the sun only occasionally creeping up over the horizon. And even when it does, it hangs very low in the sky before it sinks back down again.

Woke up next morning to find a white layer of frost everywhere. Also, the sun was up and shining which is pretty rare these days, and though it was still cold, it was a good day for sightseeing.

Me and a frost covered field behind

Frost on a park bench

Stockholm is made up small islands interconnected by bridges. There are a lot of boats, ferries and the occasional ship parked along the waterway.

At this time of the year, there really isn't much of a 'day'. Sunlight lasts for barely 6 hours and you have sunrise and sunset and not much in between. It's like being suspended in a sunset, with the sun reluctant to wander far from the horizon.

Stockholm is a historic city, with the 'Old Town' at Gamla Stan having buildings, and this Church dating from the 13th century.

Sweden is a constitutional monarchy and the old Royal Palace now houses the office of the monarch. The royal residence is outside the city.

Royal Palace

Swedish Parliament

The Central Station at the right and the area around it that is abuzz with activity

Stockholm would be a wonderful place to live and if I ever get a chance, I would love to be back.

Pyaasa

2009-12-02T08:00:00.001+05:30

You come to a foreign land and you begin searching for your own roots. Not that I had ever lost touch with them, but I do tend to look for and cling to anything that reminds me of my Indianness even more these days. I guess I'm a little homesick. But it's not just that. There's just so much great art in our history (lesser in the present) to admire. So here are some classic movies and inspiring songs that remind me of the many works of art back home.

One of my favorite Hindi films is the timeless Gurudutt masterpiece 'Pyaasa'. I haven't watched a lot of old hindi films but every time I watch this (and I've watched it several times) I wonder what happened to Indian cinema since then. Why did it all go to hell? The 1950s are considered the golden age of Indian cinema, when the newly independent Indian nation was discovering itself with masters like Satyajit Ray and Gurudutt achieving international critical acclaim. A far cry from the mindless populist drivel spewed by so regularly today by uncreative directors using incompetent actors.

Pyaasa is a tragic story about a heart-broken poet who struggles unsuccessfully to get his work published. Because he doesn't do anything 'useful', he is shunned by his brothers, his love and society in general. He does find an admirer, and love and finally popular acclaim, through a series of fortuitous events, but wonders whether it is all worth it.

The movie is not without flaws. Apart from the fact the technological deficiencies, like extremely low resolution black and white images, some abrupt editing and the likes, it also has some of the most horrendous acting possible. Many of the sideroles are populated by loud, obnoxious, overacting characters. But despite the flaws, the film has a deeper soul than most films; a pulsating throbbing nerve of raw emotion making it impossible not to reflect and ultimately love this movie.

Gurudutt is brilliant as the troubled heartbroken poet, always observing and reflecting on himself and his environment. You can't help but feel for his underdog character. Waheeda Rehman is excellent (and stunning) in her role.

But the highlight of the movie is definitely its songs. They add so much to the movie, nudging the story gently along, revealing the inner workings of the poet's troubled mind. Each song is a gem, though some are more precious than others. Do listen and of course, watch the movie!

NaBloPoMo - December

2009-12-01T11:15:00.003+05:30

This blog hasn't seen much action lately. I need to challenge myself. Though I've had plenty of free time in the recent past, and have a few half written posts pending, I haven't really written in a while.

So, I'm joining NaBloPoMo, which stands for National Blog Posting Month. You've to sign up on a site and try to post something everyday for a month. Sounds like a tough ask, and at many points of time I'm sure I'll have to lower the standards a bit and post something trivial. But that's the challenge, to be able to post enough readable quality stuff while sticking with the quantity.

Lots of stuff going to happen in December. It'll get all Christmasy here and hopefully snow a bit too. That should be a lot of fun. Unfortunately I won't be here for Christmas which would've been a fantastic experience. I think I'm gonna get a bit nostalgic as I leave Sweden. The European adventure has been tremendous and I'm sure I'm going to look back fondly at this phase of life forever. I am also looking forward to returning back though. I miss Indian food (not the mess food though), the weather (I want to be able to feel my fingers again when I step out) and of course, my friends.

First up this month is a trip to Stockholm. I leave in an hour. I've been there quite a few times before, but it was always in transit or for some other work. This time it's for sightseeing and from what little I have seen of Stockholm, it is fantastic. Lookout for the pics here.

We must not forget..

2009-11-26T15:46:00.006+05:30

A year has passed since the terrible Mumbai terror attacks.

Has anything really changed?

Are we better equipped to prevent or at least minimize the damage some random inexplicable unjustifiable acts of violence cause to thousands of innocent lives?

Are our politicians firmer in their resolve to provide greater security to the common man and offer speedy rehabilitation to those affected?

Are our security forces better trained to deal with such attacks in the future?

Will our media show more restraint, sensitivity and plain common sense while covering such events?

Or has apathy and indifference, our two greatest weapons to combat the innumerable injustices that are perpetrated in our society on a daily basis, have become so powerful that we fail to even let the memory of the attacks affect us?

We asked the same questions after the July 2006 train bombings and we asked them again last year. Do we want to ask them again?

Resilience must never become indifference.

An Award!

2009-11-23T23:26:00.004+05:30

Oops, I forgot! This was given to me by Shas here at 'Scribblings on the Wall' a while ago. She's a really humorous blogger with a mixture of disarmingly cute and reflective posts. Do check her out (in a nice way!) :P

I won't be passing this award on to others simply because there are too many great bloggers out there and I can't possible name them all.

Anyway, thanks Shas! :)

Doodles

2009-11-15T18:26:00.005+05:30

I've always admired artists who can draw anything perfectly in the first attempt. I've never been really good at that.

I got the urge to pick up a marker and just sketch and I'm pleasantly surprised at how decently these have come out! Especially since you don't have a chance to erase or rework any line you've put down. Very cartoony, each took about 5 min and they're a lot of fun to do!

And I'm not endorsing KPMG and neither are they sponsoring me. I just happen to not have any A4 sheets. :(

This one's my favorite. I think a little watercolor would make it look pretty neat. Too bad I don't have any. Maybe I can do a series of such sketches on monuments in Europe. This one's Arc de Triomph in Paris, by the way.

Which one's your favorite?