Month: October 2005

Book Fair Haiku

A few years ago, before I visited it the first time, I learned that the Frankfurt Book Fair is marketplace where publishers, agents, librarians and others in the book industry gather to conduct business. It is not for consumers like you and me; people like us must remain content with noting down the ISBN of titles we find interesting. Nevertheless, a day at the fair presents a wonderful multicultural experience: with stalls from dozens of countries – displaying colorful titles in unfamiliar scripts, and occupied by men and women seriously negotiating business deals – the experience is not dissimilar to what it may have been walking through a bazaar in a town along the ancient Silk Road, with merchants from Europe, China, Africa and South Asia exchanging their wares.

Bookdeal

In a couple of stalls I eavesdropped on conversations between publishers and agents. A young lady with an American accent was marketing a new author to a foreign publisher: “…and his background makes all that he writes so very unique…and he really is so very funny…”. At an Indian stall an elderly English woman returned a large book on South-Indian architecture to a portly Indian man: “Not this book…perhaps next time.”, to which the Indian replied, without expression, “Okay, no problem.”

For lunch we sat at a table occupied by a middle-aged German who was at the fair because his partner was a librarian. He was curious about India, and upon hearing that Wife was from Kerala he said: “Ah, that is the state which has a lot in common with the West, isn’t it?” I was still trying to figure out the common elements when Wife remarked that there were many Christians in Kerala and Goa which made these states different from most others. That seemed to satisfy him, but when I added that Kerala had a history of success with Communism, he looked a bit bewildered. The conversation shifted to occupations, and he was delighted to learn we worked in the software industry – finally got to meet those Indian software guys the media keeps talking about! – and even more so when he heard the name of the firm we worked for. It turned out he was a yoga instructor offering classes for corporate clients. “Ideal to relieve stress – so common these days at work.” He had been practicing yoga for around 30 years. I checked my seating posture, and straightened my back a little.

While they normally do not sell books at the fair, I’d heard one could – with a bit of persuasion and luck – sometimes convince the publishers to do so. At a Japanese stall a book on Haiku caught my attention. I approached the man nearby and asked if I could purchase it. “Of course you can!” he replied, with a wicked grin. “It costs, let’s say, a hundred Euros!” We both laughed. He then picked a file, looked up the price and prepared a bill for ten Euros. So my only “goodie” – as Rash called it – from the fair was a book titled “Writing and Enjoying Haiku”. I’ve only read a few pages, but I think I know what it’s all about, so here’s my first Haiku:

the Book-Fair

untrue label, inescapable irony

muses eager bibliophile

The employer-employee relationship

And unfortunate side-effect of the Gaurav Sabnis – IIPM episode is the message it sends on the relationship between an individual and his or her employer.

From the beginning it seemed very strange that IIPM dragged IBM into the matter, in spite of being told (by IBM) that what Gaurav had to say was entirely his personal opinion which neither reflected the views of the company he worked for nor touched any area of business the company was involved in. This unreasonable strategy worked  –  Gaurav offered to resign, IBM accepted his resignation and IIPM thought they achieved what they set out to do. 

What if Gaurav had not resigned? Or if IBM had encouraged Gaurav to stay on, asking him not to worry about IBM’s reputation ? Would IIPM really have got down to burning laptops? Very unlikely, because that would have attracted the attention of mainstream media which would have led to more scrutiny of all of IIPM’s claims.  IIPM’s strategy has revolved around bullying weak targets (it assumed bloggers were in this category), and I doubt if it has the stomach to bring the matter into the view of the larger public. Even the legal notices were mere threats – they would not think of following up with legal action. As Dr.Amit Kapoor says, " If IIPM actually goes ahead with a legal recourse against Sabnis, they will end up axing their own foot. A defamation case eventually puts the truth to test."

But Gaurav did resign, which showed that despite dragging his employer into a matter completely unrelated to the employee’s role or the employer’s business, IIPM’s pressure tactics succeeded in severing the relationship between Gaurav and IBM. 

As employees, we have a contract with our employers. Breach the contract, and you are likely to be fired. But the corporate-individual contract has its borders, beyond which the individual is free to do as he or she wishes. What one does in personal life should not, normally, intrude into the official sphere and have an effect on the organization one works for (There are exceptions of course – a CEO’s action in the personal sphere can have an impact on the organization he leads).  By artificially linking the employee and his employer in an unrelated matter and succeeding in severing their relationship, IIPM has set a bad example.  And coming from a management institution – which probably teaches business ethics to its students – this act  cannot be condoned. Let us hope others do not follow the example set by IIPM.

IIPM’s behaviour

I’m still trying to figure out the bizzare behaviour of IIPM in the recent days.  The more I think about it, the more I wonder about the role – in this matter – of the perceived status of blogging. Would the same people – at IIPM – have come up with similar uncivilized threats if Gaurav Sabnis had published his views in mainstream media? Would they do it now, with the hindsight of observing the effects of all this on their reputation in the last few days? And does that mean this medium has finally come of age, and found a (collective) voice of its own?

People voicing strong opinions are bound to attract critcism and opposition, irrespective of the medium they choose to air their views in. However, the nature of critcism and the manner of opposition reveals how one party views the other. In the current episode, all the bullying by IIPM shows what they think of Gaurav in the role of a blogger – the perceived status of medium Gaurav used is behind the attitude adopted by IIPM. Is it any wonder, then, that we are all rallying behind him?

Customer Care

At the car service center today the service representative was courteous as always. He listened patiently to my broken German as I listed the issues to be checked during the service. Last Saturday, while reporting a problem with the front brakes, the other representative presented himself in a manner so cheerful that for a moment I forgot I had a problem on hand.

It has always been this way as far as I can remember. Customer service has been excellent with this carmaker: you are made to feel important, yet there is a simplicity to the approach that makes the care seem natural. The relaxed attitude of these representatives complements the discipline conveyed by the workmanship one sees in the product.

All this will make it much more difficult to switch brands when I have to decide on the next company-car a year from now. The options are many, but would I want to let go of this kind of service? 

Customer care is a very old formula for success in business, and its charm is hard to resist even today.

Seasons

It was a nice sunny Sunday, probably the last one before Winter set in. During the evening walk I spotted the church spire in the distance….

Church_in_oct

… and it reminded me of an image I’d captured seven months ago.

churchfromfar

We live in a place where seasons leave an impression.

Weight Watchers

Now that Wife has written about Weight Watchers, it wouldn’t be inappropriate to put down a few thoughts on the subject.

At home, weight is a weighty matter. We have a fair amount of diet related books that leave little shelf space for my literary tastes; the weighing machine is probably the most used – and cursed – device in the house; a number of weight-reduction schemes have been launched over the years (with limited success, as the shrinking waistlines of Wife’s jeans suggest).

So when a few weeks back Wife mentioned that she was registering at the Weight Watchers website, I groaned. “Not another scheme! And what’s this, you have to pay them for watching your weight?!”

She wasn’t asking me, and she registered anyway. Then began endless hours of meticulously recording how many “Points” (a registered trademark, apparently) she had consumed each day. The scheme, I learned, relies on quantifying the amount of food a person consumes and it tries to establish control over intake through a “points allowance” policy. Each day one is allowed 18 Points. The website offers a comprehensive service that maps foodstuffs to Points; even items like Idly and Masala Dosa have been covered.

An innovative idea for business, I thought. All they had to do was set up a website that offered users an interface to enter their daily intake and, on the click of a button, generate a chart showing total consumption over a certain period. The climbing consumption curve would serve as a watchdog: women would cut down their intake, reduce weight, and gladly offer a testimonial on how useful a service it was.

But Weight Watchers was more pervasive than I had assumed. Last week, at the food section of the local super market, I spotted small and neatly packaged boxes bearing the Weight Watchers trademark, and each item had a number highlighted in a corner: its value in Points. What next, I wondered? I imagined stickers on tomatoes bearing their Points value; ads like: “Buy 50 Points and take 5 free!”; an additional column in menus displaying Points for each dish… the possibilities were endless. Forget the Dollar – this was currency that would rule the world. Or at least half of it.

“Can you deduct Points as well?” I asked Wife. “By going to the gym, for example?”

“Yes,” she replied, “different activities have different Point values. A 4 km walk means something like 2 points less.”

I spotted an opportunity here. “And how many Points can you deduct for… well… you know what?”

“What?” She asked, absent-mindedly.

“You know…that.”

She shot me a strict glance. “No Points.” she replied.

“But you didn’t even check!” I protested.

“It isn’t listed.” There was a finality in her tone; the topic was closed.

These days Wife’s phone conversations – with her Mother and my Sister – are dominated by Points: how much was consumed, how much is left, what a pity Chocolate and Cheese are so Pointsy while Bread and Banana aren’t. A good amount of competition – healthy, fortunately – has sprung between Wife and Sister: the success of one (in reducing Points consumption) inspires the other to scale new heights.

Points, of course, are only a means to an end: less weight. And weight tracking is no less frequent in the daily routine. Wife and Sister constantly update each other on the latest figure revealed by the (mostly-untruthful) weighing machine. So on a recent weekend visit when Sister heard Wife’s voice from another room exclaim in an elated tone that “it has touched 55”, she was struck with disbelief.

“How did you manage to lose so much weight so soon?! Tell me – what did you do?!!”

“Weight?” Wife replied. “That wasn’t my weight. It was today’s Euro to Rupee conversion rate.”

Parineeta

We watched Parineeta early in September. The best thing I can say about the movie is that it contains some memorable moments, and delightful songs. Put together, these moments fail to convey the right effect. The problem with its narrative structure becomes clear at the end when we get to know that Girish is married not to Lolita but her sister. We are as surprised as Shekar is shocked – that is the intended effect – and it leaves us feeling a bit cheated, because unlike Shekar we have been following the movements of Girish and Lolita. Hiding from us that piece of information appears like a manipulative trick intended to surprise us at the end. Imagine the power of this revelation at the end had the whole narrative been based from Shekar’s viewpoint. I wonder how the book is structured.

This aspect reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. In it, we are revealed something important the protagonist does not yet know. Why, you wonder. This matter, a subject of many discussions, was briefly mentioned in a recent article by Adam Gopnik in The New Yorker: he noted that Hitchcock is a master of suspense, not surprise. The difference is vital, and it seems not to have been grasped by lesser filmmakers.

The lack of narrative unity in Parineeta surfaces at other places too. The camera has no business following the rest of the gang to “Moulin Rouge” while both Shekar and Lolita lie at home. Even if it did, that interlude should have been interspersed with moments capturing Shekar’s anger and Lolita’s frustation – it is their story, isn’t it?

The movie did have a good result, though. It made me dig out my mouth organ (from the bottom of my bed-side drawer) and try out the “Piyu Bole” song, whose tune turned out ideal for the instrument and invited a comment from Wife that I did better than Shekar’s friend in the movie. Much relief.

But what I’ll remember long after I’ve forgotten its failings and misplaced its tunes is the one scene where Lolita becomes Parineeta: the camera, beginning at a low angle below the table – a voyeur’s delight – slowly glides up and settles down next to the two lovers softly caressing each other. With chants of Sanskrit shloka’s in the background lending a touch of divinty, I find myself sinking – as Shekar slides down Lolita’s blouse to reveal her lovely bare shoulders – into an enchanting trance suffused with melody when Wife turns to me and asks: “Her arms – they’re fatter than mine, aren’t they?”