Fuelling the Corruption

Dispensing less fuel than what it shows in the meter is nothing new in Delhi. In fact, there is hardly any Petrol Pump in the city where you get the correct volume and/or right quality. But yesterday on a petrol station dotting the Rohtak Road, I faced a new kind of cheating. As you go from Nangloi to Ghewra Crossing, you’ll find an Indian Oil outlet just after the side road to Hirankudna is past (just about 100 metres before the Ghewra More). When I moved to the bay with an almost empty fuel tank, there was no other car around. Two attendants came up.
“Is the Credit Card machine working?” I asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Five hundred rupees, normal.”
One of the attendants downs the dispenser, and starts pouring in petrol. The speed of dispensing was extremely slow. Meanwhile the elderly attendant goes up to the front of the car, and asks, “Do you want a wipe?”
Free service, so why not. He starts wiping, and asks, “Is the water hose working?”
I take my eyes off the dispensing machine and go up to the front. The attendant shows the two sprinklers on the bonnet. But to start them, I need to start the car, and I need the keys. He shrugs and continues to wipe the windshield with the water he has got. I return to the dispenser to see that the other attendant has already put back the nozzle and is closing up the tank. I look at the meter, the LED is blank.
“How did it fill so fast?” I exclaimed.
“It’s over,” he answered. “The meter sometimes goes blank. You’ll see the average, sir.”
“But that would be later…”
“Come back after a few days.”
“But…”
“Yeh Tyagi pump hai, sir. Idhar cheating nehi milta (This is Tyagi Petrol pump. Here you don’t talk of cheating.)”
Of course, in the Jaat heartland how dare you suspect a Tyagi!
I was on the road again. After a little while, when the fuel meter settled, it was clearly showing petrol reserve of about Rs 300.
How could I know that the attendant actually wanted to wipe off my wallet, and not the windshield.

The Mermaid, an Enchantress

On 12^th July, my friend Manjari Gokhale (now Joshi) had her marriage reception at Pune. Aditi and I had to be there. While at it, we thought why not visit Ajanta caves and also soak rains at Goa for a few days. I will write about these places as soon as I get accustomed again to the humid hell that is called Delhi.

For now, just a few tangent strokes.

Did you say mobile phone is a recently invented gadget? In cave no 26 at Ajanta, I found this sculpture of a Royal lady on a panel on the wall (created in 2nd century AD). If she is not speaking over the cellphone, what else is she doing?

I saw the statue of a mermaid in one of the roadside parks at Panaji, Goa. It’s there near the main market, beside the Indian Oil petrol pump. The Mandovi river flows on the other side of the road. I was wondering what would happen if similar mermaid statues are put up in other cities of India. I asked some of my journo friends for their opinions. A Times of India Senior Correspondent said, “I am not sure about other cities, but can talk about Kolkata and Delhi. If it’s set up at Kolkata, the ruling party would call for a day-long Bangla Bandh, and then destroy the statue calling it ‘symbol of degenerative culture (apasanaskriti)’. In Delhi, half of the men folk of the area the statue is put up, would visit the place at night to caress the statue.”

I already said it’s raining most of the time at Goa. If you are visiting any part of it now, don’t leave your vehicle at the roadside for long. It will have the same fate as this truck had and the parts would have public usage as you can see in the photographs.

Wait for more such different strokes as I finish going through the photos.

Who Cares for Koel?

Every morning, my wife Aditi takes her office staff bus to Narela from the ITO crossing. To reach there, she takes the Metro from our Dwarka home. Once she is in ITO area and is waiting for the bus to arrive, she phones me up for a chit-chat.

Surrounded by concrete monstrosities, the ITO crossing is one of the busiest traffic intersections in Delhi – according to an estimate nearly 250 vehicles pass this area every minute.

Today morning also I got her call at around 8.45 AM. But while speaking to her, I could clearly hear whistles of a Koel at the background. Amazed, I asked her the source of the sound. She said it must be coming from one of those few roadside trees in ITO…the bird's kuoo-kuooo was regular, mellifluous and very high-pitched.

I wondered how a Koel is surviving in that area full of huge concrete buildings, tarred roads and hardly any patch of green.

“It must be an urban Koel,” she ventured.

“But how did it come? How could there be a crow’s nest around?” I exclaimed.

And on that note, we hung up.
Will the same Koel sing at the same time at ITO tomorrow?

The Perks of Recession

Sanajay left the Business Desk of our TV Channel two years ago. Though a very well networked, agile journalist, he jointed a real estate firm in Bangalore as partner. We remained in touch, though not regularly, and every time Sanjay spoke to me, he prodded me to find out huge pieces of vacant land in prime locations of Delhi, and convince the owners for distress sale. I should make a handsome “side-money”, he advised. But ill-informed about the realty sector that I am, and lazy to the bones, I could hardly help Sanjay. Or for that reason, myself. It’s another matter that I loved the big chunks of land in Delhi to remain as they are, vacant lots, than being transformed into glitzy malls, or huge condominiums.

About a month ago, Sanjay called me again.

“Can you find me a job in the media?” he enquired.

I knew about the downturn in the economy and fall in real estate prices. I gave a poignant rendering of the speech that I usually give to all my friends and interns these days, about job-cuts at media houses—Times of India, Hindustan Times, Indian Express, et al. I even threw in some astronomical figures to make it more convincing.

Then I wondered if it was too harsh of me to turn down Sanjay. At the end, I asked rather apologetically, “I know the real estate industry is in doldrums. But is it really that bad?”

“Well…actually…it’s not that much,” Sanjay became a little pensive. And then, as if he was sharing a secret with me, he said, “In fact, it suits me so well that last month I lost about 5 kilos.”

As Sanjay ports most of the features of a “very healthy Indian male”, the news was indeed good. Besides, coming from a wealthy family, I knew Sanjay didn’t lose weight because of malnutrition.

“Tell me about it,” I urged.

“It’s like this. Earlier when the real estate sector was booming, I had to work late everyday, visiting the clients and prospects in the evening, discussing the deals over dinners and drinks. Today, I leave office at around six, go for a swim, take a sumptuous evening high tea (he actually said 'high Rum', sounding more like ‘Hai Ram’), and then spend time with my wife and daughter at the Tennis Court. No going to office on Saturdays and Sundays. I am doing a job with this company, you know, so I’ll get the same salary whether I leave office at six or eleven at night!”

“Of course,” I sounded emphatic. “Enjoy the perks of recession, my dear.”

Why Companies Cut Workforce?

To become more nimble and increase revenues, especially in difficult times, you would say. Umm...yes…no…yes. Well, it’s not completely true.

Today, Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer has announced a deep cut in the number of employees, nearly 5,000 people have been, or would soon be, given marching order. Such a move has never happened in the history of the software giant. A friend, who is also the business news head of an English TV news channel, rang me up, and exclaimed, “The IT industry is in doldrums, eh.”

About six years ago, I made a similar comment at the Microsoft Analysts Meet at San Francisco, USA. Silicon Graphics was shedding weight then and there was rumour that Sun Microsystems and Adobe would follow suit. An American financial analyst, who used to contribute regularly to Harvard Business Review and New York Times, was around. He chuckled, and said, “Cutting jobs in a listed company has little to do with the health of the company; it has got more to do with the stock market.”

I was surprised. He explained that most big companies in the West periodically announce job cuts. These jobs are mostly sundry, from departments which usually have flab, like sales, R&D, product promotion, front office, etc. As a result, the exercise doesn’t affect the company’s operations. But the stock market investors feel that the company would become nimble through this job-cut, and hence, become more profitable. In the short and even medium term, this move boosts the company’s stock prices.

The analysis struck a chord, and as I researched more into it, the correlation became clear. I don’t trash the current so-called economic slowdown, the recession is real, but still take the Microsoft move with, not a pinch, but a pound of salt. Today at NYSE, Microsoft stock has fallen 11 per cent. But mark my words, over the next 15 days, it would zoom to new heights.

PS. Learning never ends. Why companies recruit more? To execute more contracts, increase production, and garner more revenues and profits, I thought. Satyam Chairman Ramalinga Raju taught another lesson: some CEOs inflate the payroll to siphon off company money to their personal accounts.

Honeymoon at Vrindaban

Does anyone go to Vrindaban for honeymoon? Aditi and I did, last week.

My high-flying friends who honeymooned at Zurich, California’s Napa Valley or Singapore were aghast. The lesser journos who did it in Manali, Goa or Munnar tried their best to dissuade us, while friends from the workplace shrugged, meaning, “Oh, Atanu always wants to be in a place from where he can easily dash back in case of a major news break.” It wasn't true, news rundown was the last thing in my mind when we undertook the 3-hour drive via Faridabad, Palwal and Kosi. The choice of Vrindaban was by default. The chief of Ramakrishna Mission Vrindaban centre requested us to spend a few days in Brajabhumi just after the marriage.

The decision turned out to be just right.

My wife Aditi, though a Vaishnavite by lineage, had never visited Vrindaban, and she thoroughly enjoyed the stint. From roaming around the serpentine lanes of Vrindaban humming Krishna kirtans, eating Rabri and Rasagullas at Brajbasi, to doing more than a few shakes during the high-pitch evening prayer at the Iskcon Temple, Aditi soaked Vrindaban with her body and heart. Meanwhile, to make the ambience more agreeable, migratory cranes, pelicans, ducks and wagtails have started swamping the marshlands around Vrindaban; the journey to Barsana and Nandgaon was memorable.

A piece of interesting news for Vrindaban lovers. The Uttar Pradesh government has sanctioned Rs 250 crore for the improvement of infrastructure at Vrindaban, and the work has already begun. The link road between Vrindaban and Mathura is now smooth and clean, the Krishna Janmabhumi temple area clear of hawkers and vehicles, relaying work of Parikrama Marg is in full swing, and restoration of old temples is on.

Of course, avoid looking at the high-rise residential flats coming up near the Iskcon Temple, and the hawkers selling boiled eggs beside the Vrindaban gate.

The Castle of Music

Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur is not just an imposing stone structure, with carved facades and exquisite filigree work, well-maintained museums, a bevy of heavy canons, and a continuous stream of foreign tourists. It’s also about music and nostalgia. In fact, during my recent visit, I found a lot of musical elements have been added to it lately.

At the first turn after the ticket booth, you will now find a young Rajasthani lad playing Ravanhattha (a simple string instrument looking like Sarangi). Nothing new, you would say, such amateurs are seen tenner-a-dozen all over Jodhpur. But what makes him unique is the patronage of a young security guard. As I slowed down to hear the Sarangi player, the guard started narrating in his hard-to-follow English the grand heritage of Jodhpur, its musical tradition and why I should part some money with him and the musician. Finding me unfazed, he joined the musician and started singing a Rajasthani song at the top of his voice. While I was impressed by the thought that they had mistaken me to be a foreigner, the vocal torture drove me away. I have heard the story of late Ustad Fayyaz Khan once taking up the challenge of singing all the seven notes wrong. These two didn’t need any wager in doing that.

Another pair of new musicians I found near the souvenir shops…a young boy playing Ravanhattha and his 14-year old sister singing a Rajasthani folk song. The boy’s chapakan needed mending and an immediate wash, while the girl’s Salwar-Kurta must have come from Nai Sarak flea market. About the music, lesser said the better.

Another interesting pair positioned themselves near the Kali Mata temple at the annexe. As the narrow stone alley neared the temple, I saw a lady in her sixties singing, “Darshan de mata sherawali…” Though it was a temple dedicated to Goddess Kali, but in northern India Sherwali Mata always attracts more alms. However, in this case, people’s interest (mainly of men), was going more towards the young lady who was lying on the ground nearby, sometimes offering falsetto to the senior singer’s tune. Her yellow Saree was tucked near the knees, and her breasts were popping out of the blouse. As I reached nearby, the elderly lady suddenly stopped singing, and hissed, “Chiri.” The young lady bolted up and ran behind the nearby wall, her saree trailing behind. A prospect must have arrived.

While leaving the fort, I stopped at the Loha Pol. I like this place. Immediately to the left are the handprints (sati marks) of the queens who in 1843 immolated themselves on the funeral pyre of their husband, Maharaja Man Singh. In a small recess beside the gate sat Amar, Birj and Sultan, who play the Sarangi, Algoza and Nagara respectively. They smiled at me (the last time I met them was two years ago), and said, “Kaise ho sahab? Ohi bajaun? (How are you, sir? Should we play the same tune?)” I nodded and sat on the opposite side of the lane, lent on the red stone, spread my weary legs and closed my eyes. The trio started giving their rendition of raga Darbari.

In dream, I went back to a cool December afternoon two years ago.