I've really fallen so behind on the attention this blog needs. The other day I ran across a pledge someone made: one post a day on their blog. Maybe it's something I can start (or re-start) with.
In the meantime, please do take a look at my latest "A Matter of Numbers" column in Mint, which was published last Friday June 24: Of Galaxies' Doppler shift.
Comments welcome.
June 28, 2011
June 23, 2011
About nonchalant claims
One morning exactly 21 years ago, I walked up the stairs to a travel agency near my home in Bombay. At short notice, I had to make a trip to Madras (what Chennai was then called) and Visakhapatnam. There wasn't enough time to reserve train tickets, and I didn't have the time for train travel anyway. So I asked the lady at the agency to get me air tickets.
At the time, air travel within India meant Indian Airlines. (If you can imagine). There was also no convenient web, so she had to call Indian Airlines to reserve seats for me on the three flights: Bombay to Madras in four days, Madras to Vizag about three days later, Vizag to Bombay another three days after that.
That evening, she had my tickets for me. I remember exactly what I paid because for some reason I preserved her bill for years. For all three flights, a total of Rs 1365.
It was a fun trip, and included both a near-accident with a APSRTC bus and a demand by its bus driver that I expose the film in my camera. Those stories, another time. Also, food of sorts was served on all three flights.
This morning something reminded me of that trip. Idly, I decided to check what it would cost me to do it today, in this era of e-tickets and "discount" or "low-cost" airlines. Same constraints: fly four days from now to Chennai, three days after that to Vizag, another three days after that back here to Bombay. I punched in all these details into my nearest online booking engine and selected the cheapest option (of dozens offered) each time.
The flights it gave me: Bombay to Chennai on Air India Express. Chennai to Vizag on Kingfisher Red. Vizag to Bombay on Jet Konnect. "Discount" airlines all.
The total for all three flights: Rs 12182.
In 21 years, the cost for this three-flight trip has risen from Rs 1365 to Rs 12182, a factor of 8.92.
Of course there has been inflation all through that time. Does inflation account for this rise in the cost of flight tickets? Well, on this page, I learn that between 1969 and 2010, "the average inflation rate in India was 7.99 percent." Apply 21 years of that rate to Rs 1365, you get Rs 6858.
Today's ticket price, Rs 12182, is nearly twice that amount.
Ah, you say, but 7.99 is the average since 1969. Perhaps inflation has been generally higher than that in the years since 1990? Well, that's a fair assumption. On this page, I found a table listing year-by-year inflation rates from 1980. Take the numbers from 1990 onwards and apply them to Rs 1365: you get Rs 9500.
Today's ticket price, Rs 12182, is nearly Rs 2700 greater than that amount.
Every time I hear one of those nonchalant claims about how the cost of air travel in India has dropped since the coming of competition for Indian Airlines, yes every time, I think of numbers like these: Rs 1365, Rs 6858, Rs 9500, Rs 12182.
And then I know just what those nonchalant claims are worth.
***
As an aside, for Rs 1365 to rise to Rs 12182 in 21 years, inflation would have had to be just under 11 percent in every one of those years.
As another aside, I have not included in the Rs 12182 the amounts I'd have to pay for food of sorts on those flights today, compared to zero in 1990.
As a third aside, if your reaction to this is "So you want to return to the days of lousy IA service?" please spare me. That's not the point here.
At the time, air travel within India meant Indian Airlines. (If you can imagine). There was also no convenient web, so she had to call Indian Airlines to reserve seats for me on the three flights: Bombay to Madras in four days, Madras to Vizag about three days later, Vizag to Bombay another three days after that.
That evening, she had my tickets for me. I remember exactly what I paid because for some reason I preserved her bill for years. For all three flights, a total of Rs 1365.
It was a fun trip, and included both a near-accident with a APSRTC bus and a demand by its bus driver that I expose the film in my camera. Those stories, another time. Also, food of sorts was served on all three flights.
This morning something reminded me of that trip. Idly, I decided to check what it would cost me to do it today, in this era of e-tickets and "discount" or "low-cost" airlines. Same constraints: fly four days from now to Chennai, three days after that to Vizag, another three days after that back here to Bombay. I punched in all these details into my nearest online booking engine and selected the cheapest option (of dozens offered) each time.
The flights it gave me: Bombay to Chennai on Air India Express. Chennai to Vizag on Kingfisher Red. Vizag to Bombay on Jet Konnect. "Discount" airlines all.
The total for all three flights: Rs 12182.
In 21 years, the cost for this three-flight trip has risen from Rs 1365 to Rs 12182, a factor of 8.92.
Of course there has been inflation all through that time. Does inflation account for this rise in the cost of flight tickets? Well, on this page, I learn that between 1969 and 2010, "the average inflation rate in India was 7.99 percent." Apply 21 years of that rate to Rs 1365, you get Rs 6858.
Today's ticket price, Rs 12182, is nearly twice that amount.
Ah, you say, but 7.99 is the average since 1969. Perhaps inflation has been generally higher than that in the years since 1990? Well, that's a fair assumption. On this page, I found a table listing year-by-year inflation rates from 1980. Take the numbers from 1990 onwards and apply them to Rs 1365: you get Rs 9500.
Today's ticket price, Rs 12182, is nearly Rs 2700 greater than that amount.
Every time I hear one of those nonchalant claims about how the cost of air travel in India has dropped since the coming of competition for Indian Airlines, yes every time, I think of numbers like these: Rs 1365, Rs 6858, Rs 9500, Rs 12182.
And then I know just what those nonchalant claims are worth.
As an aside, for Rs 1365 to rise to Rs 12182 in 21 years, inflation would have had to be just under 11 percent in every one of those years.
As another aside, I have not included in the Rs 12182 the amounts I'd have to pay for food of sorts on those flights today, compared to zero in 1990.
As a third aside, if your reaction to this is "So you want to return to the days of lousy IA service?" please spare me. That's not the point here.
June 14, 2011
Digging holes
Phirturam has what looks like a credit card in his hand. It has his photo, a magnetic strip on the back, electrical contacts of some kind, and a series of digits at the bottom. It also says "Dena Bank" on top. But this is not a credit card. It is the key to accessing his wages under the National Rural Employment Guarantee scheme. The money is credited to this account in Dena Bank, and he can use this card in an ATM to withdraw money from the account.
Only, there's no ATM in his village, Kamtha in Chhattisgarh.
Still, he can trek to Dalli, about 6-7 km distant, and use the card at one of the ATMs there; probably no Dena Bank, but it doesn't matter.
Tomorrow is the last day this year that Phirturam will work under the employment guarantee scheme. He has been digging out a tank near Kamtha. Every day he has to dig a 12ft by 12ft square, 1 foot deep. For this, he gets paid Rs 122. But no more for the rest of the year.
What happens now, what kind of work will you do? I ask him.
Farm work, he says, tersely.
You have your own land? I ask.
No, I'll work as labour on somebody else's land. Some farmer in the village, needs some work done, he'll call me.
And what will you get paid? I ask.
Rs 50 or 60 a day.
And you'll work every day? I ask.
He laughs. No, not every day. Two, maybe three days a week.
In his home, the only other earning member is Phirturam's brother, who also works like this. So between them, they'll bring home something like Rs 350 a week. Call it Rs 1400 a month. I'm struck by that figure, because just before I graduated from my engineering college, I struggled through a campus interview and was offered a job by the company.
They offered me Rs 1100 a month.
Thirty years later, two men together earn just a little more than that and it has to take care of half a dozen people in the family, including Phirturam's 11 year-old son who is just getting over a fourth bout of malaria.
Yes, I too might go dig holes for the Government, to pocket a few dozen daily pay packets of Rs 122.
Only, there's no ATM in his village, Kamtha in Chhattisgarh.
Still, he can trek to Dalli, about 6-7 km distant, and use the card at one of the ATMs there; probably no Dena Bank, but it doesn't matter.
Tomorrow is the last day this year that Phirturam will work under the employment guarantee scheme. He has been digging out a tank near Kamtha. Every day he has to dig a 12ft by 12ft square, 1 foot deep. For this, he gets paid Rs 122. But no more for the rest of the year.
What happens now, what kind of work will you do? I ask him.
Farm work, he says, tersely.
You have your own land? I ask.
No, I'll work as labour on somebody else's land. Some farmer in the village, needs some work done, he'll call me.
And what will you get paid? I ask.
Rs 50 or 60 a day.
And you'll work every day? I ask.
He laughs. No, not every day. Two, maybe three days a week.
In his home, the only other earning member is Phirturam's brother, who also works like this. So between them, they'll bring home something like Rs 350 a week. Call it Rs 1400 a month. I'm struck by that figure, because just before I graduated from my engineering college, I struggled through a campus interview and was offered a job by the company.
They offered me Rs 1100 a month.
Thirty years later, two men together earn just a little more than that and it has to take care of half a dozen people in the family, including Phirturam's 11 year-old son who is just getting over a fourth bout of malaria.
Yes, I too might go dig holes for the Government, to pocket a few dozen daily pay packets of Rs 122.
June 12, 2011
On lathi charging
What happens when the police wade into people staging some kind of protest or demonstration, waving their lathis? We all heard about one such police advance from the Ramlila grounds in Delhi: but what happened to the people at the receiving end of the police action?
This piece I wrote for Kafila might give you some idea: On Lathi-charging a satyagraha.
This piece I wrote for Kafila might give you some idea: On Lathi-charging a satyagraha.
Cicadas: ready for prime time
Last Friday (June 10 2011), Mint carried my next "A Matter of Numbers" essay. It's about cicadas and pleading with editors.
Do take a look: Cicadas: ready for prime time.
Comments welcome!
Do take a look: Cicadas: ready for prime time.
Comments welcome!
June 08, 2011
N8 on trial
Out of the blue, from out of thin air, I get an offer: wanna use a Nokia phone for 2 weeks, for free? I tell you, this must be the age of the web.
So I said yes, and one thing led to another and then to a phone being dispatched from London and it showed up on my doorstep yesterday. It's the Nokia N8, which is, according to Paul at WOMWorld, Nokia's "flagship". Sleek grey-black thing with a camera protuberance on the back and all manner of keys and slots and buttons on the sides. And the front? Just an expanse of glass.
Using it for a call feels rather like putting to your ear one of those darkened pieces of glass you use to look up at eclipses: you think, shouldn't I be looking through this thing?
I really am a smartphonephobe, if there is such a beast. The cellphone I used till yesterday is a Nokia too, though it's at least 7 years old. It's been fine for my needs, even with the now occasionally sticky key. Fine, because I've never been interested in getting my email on the bus, or reading the New York Review of Books while driving to Murud. The same for various other capabilities of the N8. Maybe the idea with smartphones and Luddites like me is that that they will turn around that disinterest. Maybe.
Still, there are some nice things I've found in the phone, sure.
For one, a top-notch camera. Though I've always preferred the feel and methods and feeling of control over my shots that I get with SLRs in entirely manual mode -- I like that creativity -- and thus this one does little for me.
For another, the N8 easily located and latched onto my home wireless signal, and I was able to wade into the Web before I had a 3G service in place. Still trying to get used to browsing like this, though.
And yet, and yet … I know it's only been a day, sure. Yet I cannot say the phone has bowled me over. Typing on the screen with a couple of fingers and clumsy thumbs is not something I feel comfortable doing. (Yet?) Dialing a number no longer happens as quickly as I used to manage, not even with speed dial assignments. I used to dial a certain lady I know with two button pushes. Now I need three. I used to be able to starting tapping out a SMS with one button push. Now I need two.
Small things, a button push here or there, right? But when you've had a gadget for long enough that you feel like you're making efficient, productive use of it, the small things in a new gadget stand out. No doubt I'll get used to them, and eventually feel like I'm making efficient use of the N8. Right now it feels like that might take another 7 years, and I doubt WOMWorld will let me have this sleek thing on trial for quite that long. (Well, Paul?)
But for now, I'm happy to keep using the thing, see how many of its multifarious capabilities I can exercise in the next several days.
And rest content, I'll be sure to file a report in this space when I finally learn how to make it cook an omelette.
So I said yes, and one thing led to another and then to a phone being dispatched from London and it showed up on my doorstep yesterday. It's the Nokia N8, which is, according to Paul at WOMWorld, Nokia's "flagship". Sleek grey-black thing with a camera protuberance on the back and all manner of keys and slots and buttons on the sides. And the front? Just an expanse of glass.
Using it for a call feels rather like putting to your ear one of those darkened pieces of glass you use to look up at eclipses: you think, shouldn't I be looking through this thing?
I really am a smartphonephobe, if there is such a beast. The cellphone I used till yesterday is a Nokia too, though it's at least 7 years old. It's been fine for my needs, even with the now occasionally sticky key. Fine, because I've never been interested in getting my email on the bus, or reading the New York Review of Books while driving to Murud. The same for various other capabilities of the N8. Maybe the idea with smartphones and Luddites like me is that that they will turn around that disinterest. Maybe.
Still, there are some nice things I've found in the phone, sure.
For one, a top-notch camera. Though I've always preferred the feel and methods and feeling of control over my shots that I get with SLRs in entirely manual mode -- I like that creativity -- and thus this one does little for me.
For another, the N8 easily located and latched onto my home wireless signal, and I was able to wade into the Web before I had a 3G service in place. Still trying to get used to browsing like this, though.
And yet, and yet … I know it's only been a day, sure. Yet I cannot say the phone has bowled me over. Typing on the screen with a couple of fingers and clumsy thumbs is not something I feel comfortable doing. (Yet?) Dialing a number no longer happens as quickly as I used to manage, not even with speed dial assignments. I used to dial a certain lady I know with two button pushes. Now I need three. I used to be able to starting tapping out a SMS with one button push. Now I need two.
Small things, a button push here or there, right? But when you've had a gadget for long enough that you feel like you're making efficient, productive use of it, the small things in a new gadget stand out. No doubt I'll get used to them, and eventually feel like I'm making efficient use of the N8. Right now it feels like that might take another 7 years, and I doubt WOMWorld will let me have this sleek thing on trial for quite that long. (Well, Paul?)
But for now, I'm happy to keep using the thing, see how many of its multifarious capabilities I can exercise in the next several days.
And rest content, I'll be sure to file a report in this space when I finally learn how to make it cook an omelette.
June 05, 2011
Baba stuff
I got my dose of Baba-stuff some years ago in Delhi. Found an ad for one of them in a newspaper, touting all kinds of wondrous things he could do for you, physically and mentally, with words like "pranayam" and "asana" sprinkled about liberally. It was all just a bit too good to be true, and I was just a bit younger than I am today and intent on some leg-pulling, so I found a phone and called.
Man answered.
"Is that Baba XYZ?" I asked.
"Ji", said the man.
"You are a fake", I said.
Came the response, without missing a beat: "You are a bahenchod."
Now admittedly I had been provocative. Admittedly I have no way to tell if all Babas are like this. But this incident only bolstered the total scepticism I have for Babas and godmen of all stripes.
This one who went on a "fast", no exception.
I mean, this is a guy who wants a law that prescribes death for the corrupt. This is a guy who has never, to my knowledge, said a single thing about the slide in ethics among us all. This is a guy who wears a woman's clothes and hides among women to evade the cops. This is a guy who thinks corruption is manifest in currency notes. This is a guy who claims that breathing techniques will cure for the world's most intractable diseases. This is a guy who abhors homosexuals. This is a guy who sees excellence in a CM who presided over one of the worst massacres in our history. This is a guy who undermines his own faithful by promising the government, without their knowledge, that he will give up his fast within hours of starting.
I mean, I am incensed and horrified by the corruption that's all around us -- from CWG to telecom to Adarsh. I am sick of a government that chooses only to wink at it. I am repelled by the guys waiting in the wings who cannot rise above their obsession with … yes, a temple.
And yet it is possibly more horrifying that we see a saviour from all this in a man whose every antic and utterance smack of the most superficial half-heartedness, and that's the kindest way I can describe his behaviour.
Do we really want to end corruption in this country? Let's get used to a few truths (there are many more) then.
* It won't happen with fasts.
* It won't happen if we cannot see a CM's failure to do his constitutional duty to protect his citizens for what it is: corruption as well.
* It won't happen if we see corruption only in our governments, and not in the corporate world, not among us in our ordinary everyday lives.
* It won't happen as long as we seek heroes in half-men and charlatans.
And there are times when I worry that:
* It won't happen, ever.
Man answered.
"Is that Baba XYZ?" I asked.
"Ji", said the man.
"You are a fake", I said.
Came the response, without missing a beat: "You are a bahenchod."
Now admittedly I had been provocative. Admittedly I have no way to tell if all Babas are like this. But this incident only bolstered the total scepticism I have for Babas and godmen of all stripes.
This one who went on a "fast", no exception.
I mean, this is a guy who wants a law that prescribes death for the corrupt. This is a guy who has never, to my knowledge, said a single thing about the slide in ethics among us all. This is a guy who wears a woman's clothes and hides among women to evade the cops. This is a guy who thinks corruption is manifest in currency notes. This is a guy who claims that breathing techniques will cure for the world's most intractable diseases. This is a guy who abhors homosexuals. This is a guy who sees excellence in a CM who presided over one of the worst massacres in our history. This is a guy who undermines his own faithful by promising the government, without their knowledge, that he will give up his fast within hours of starting.
I mean, I am incensed and horrified by the corruption that's all around us -- from CWG to telecom to Adarsh. I am sick of a government that chooses only to wink at it. I am repelled by the guys waiting in the wings who cannot rise above their obsession with … yes, a temple.
And yet it is possibly more horrifying that we see a saviour from all this in a man whose every antic and utterance smack of the most superficial half-heartedness, and that's the kindest way I can describe his behaviour.
Do we really want to end corruption in this country? Let's get used to a few truths (there are many more) then.
* It won't happen with fasts.
* It won't happen if we cannot see a CM's failure to do his constitutional duty to protect his citizens for what it is: corruption as well.
* It won't happen if we see corruption only in our governments, and not in the corporate world, not among us in our ordinary everyday lives.
* It won't happen as long as we seek heroes in half-men and charlatans.
And there are times when I worry that:
* It won't happen, ever.
June 04, 2011
Find the teer
The friend wrote from across the country, "find the teer". I had visions of going up to Shillong residents to ask "Where's the teer?" -- and have them give me suspicious glances and edge swiftly away. But it didn't turn out that way. The first person I asked knew what I meant and gave us directions.
"Teer": arrow. Every afternoon, a couple of dozen archers gather on a nondescript ground in Shillong and shoot arrows at a target, two different spells of ten minutes each. A few hundred people, mostly men, gather to watch. That day, we joined them.
We got there just after the first spell was over. Waiting for the second, we watched a few men line up to throw arrows -- yes, throw them, not shoot -- at a small straw target several dozen feet away. One arm cocked behind the ear, the other pointing at the target, take a step forward and, in one swift smooth blur of the cocked arm, throw. Amazing how many of the long slender bamboo missiles struck home.
But this was merely a teaser. Half an hour later, several men who had been tending lovingly to their arrows suddenly rise and position themselves along a curved shooting gallery. They have a much larger target, a straw cylinder on a stick, to aim for, also several dozen feet away across the ground. At a quiet signal, arrows begin slicing through the air in their hundreds. Absolute silence, except for the twanging of bow-strings and gentle thwacks as the arrows either hit home or hit the ground beyond.
Ten minutes like this and a man raises a tarp: time's up. Crowd surges forth. Men peer curiously at the now pincushion-like target. Officials gather the successful arrows, sit in a row. They count. They stuff the arrows, ten by ten, into square holes. Crowd waits, still in absolute silence.
Finally, an official announces "Four hundred and twenty!" But he also has a bunch of arrows in his fist. Walks ostentatiously toward the crowd, throws arrows from the bunch into the ground. One, two, three -- now the crowd counts -- "four, five, six!"
Breaths are released. A hubbub ensues. The crowd disperses to various tables to collect their winnings. 426 arrows hit the target today; drop the "4" and you have today's winning number -- 26.
Thus does Shillong gamble. Find the teer.
"Teer": arrow. Every afternoon, a couple of dozen archers gather on a nondescript ground in Shillong and shoot arrows at a target, two different spells of ten minutes each. A few hundred people, mostly men, gather to watch. That day, we joined them.
We got there just after the first spell was over. Waiting for the second, we watched a few men line up to throw arrows -- yes, throw them, not shoot -- at a small straw target several dozen feet away. One arm cocked behind the ear, the other pointing at the target, take a step forward and, in one swift smooth blur of the cocked arm, throw. Amazing how many of the long slender bamboo missiles struck home.
But this was merely a teaser. Half an hour later, several men who had been tending lovingly to their arrows suddenly rise and position themselves along a curved shooting gallery. They have a much larger target, a straw cylinder on a stick, to aim for, also several dozen feet away across the ground. At a quiet signal, arrows begin slicing through the air in their hundreds. Absolute silence, except for the twanging of bow-strings and gentle thwacks as the arrows either hit home or hit the ground beyond.
Ten minutes like this and a man raises a tarp: time's up. Crowd surges forth. Men peer curiously at the now pincushion-like target. Officials gather the successful arrows, sit in a row. They count. They stuff the arrows, ten by ten, into square holes. Crowd waits, still in absolute silence.
Finally, an official announces "Four hundred and twenty!" But he also has a bunch of arrows in his fist. Walks ostentatiously toward the crowd, throws arrows from the bunch into the ground. One, two, three -- now the crowd counts -- "four, five, six!"
Breaths are released. A hubbub ensues. The crowd disperses to various tables to collect their winnings. 426 arrows hit the target today; drop the "4" and you have today's winning number -- 26.
Thus does Shillong gamble. Find the teer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)