After reading the post on Independence Day, a good friend wrote a long text listing everything that was wrong with the country. It was easy to agree with all that is wrong. We disagreed on what needed to be done. And when we got to listing the ‘why’ of the state of affairs, our gulf only widened. The gulf kept widening and threatened to never stop. Until I brought up one specific point from Karthik Muralidharan’s superb book which I have been relishing.
Everything must be understood within its proper context. I didn’t quite see it this way until I read this book. This book rearranged stacks of thoughts in my mind.
” …in assessing Indian democracy, it is important to note that India is historically unique, by being a country that adopted democracy based on universal adult franchise from the outset—at a much lower level of per capita income and state capacity than most other modern democracies. India’s choice of ‘democracy before development’ has in turn created a unique set of political incentives and constraints.
….reason is India’s decision to adopt democracy based on universal adult franchise. Most countries became more democratic as they grew richer. India, however, started highly democratic and has stayed that way throughout its post-Independence history. This is a unique historic exception, a phenomenon that Arvind Subramanian has referred to as India’s ‘precocious democracy’
India’s choice of universal adult franchise democracy at the very outset is a great moral triumph. Despite being ‘democracies’, countries like the US and the UK excluded large fractions of their population from voting in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, with voting rights essentially restricted to land-owning white men.
Further, the wealth of these nations was built at least in part on the back of extreme exploitation of either slaves (in the US) or the colonies (in the case of the UK). This is why India’s democracy, which empowers even the most marginalized groups in society, is a signature achievement that we should all be proud of. Consistent with the global patterns discussed above, this democratic empowerment of the poor has created political incentives for welfare spending in India as well. However, this has taken place at a much earlier point in our development trajectory.
For example, the US launched food stamps for the poor in the 1930s at a GDP per capita of ~$20,000 (in 2011 dollars). In contrast, India launched the public distribution system (PDS) for food security for the poor in the 1960s at a GDP per capita of ~$1250, which is less than a tenth of the analogous US figure. Similarly, India introduced free midday meals in government schools at lower levels of income than most other countries. These are again laudable moral achievements, which were facilitated by India’s universal-franchise democracy.
At the same time, ‘democracy before development’ in India has created political pressure to expand the scope of the Indian state before building its strength to meet this expanded scope.20 This pressure, in turn, has made it more difficult to invest in building the capacity of the state to deliver against these goals by creating two fundamental challenges… “
The choices that we make have downstream consequences and realities. We forget to shine enough light on the choices themselves and the context in which those choices were made. When we lament the lack of development—or its absence altogether—we must also remember the credit side of the balance sheet.
To have forged a forward-thinking base for democracy in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds is quite something. Whichever side of the aisle you sit on, you have to acknowledge that.
Kerala paratha? A flashback to my early professional life—years I could have spent differently. Filter coffee? That’s Mum. The smell of bread? Raja Barley, a bakery in Madurai. Crabs? Pier 39, San Francisco. Churros? San Gines in Madrid. Crisp dosa? Aiyappas in Matunga. Black coffee? I’m in Brisbane. Toast? Singapore. Kulcha? Amritsar. Pomfret? Calicut. Salads? Tokyo.
Not all of these meals were the best I’ve had. Some were far from it. Yet, they cling to my memory like stubborn guests who refuse to leave.
Indian Coffee House is one such guest. It’s not about the aroma or the taste; it’s the memories from decades ago that distort my senses. But there’s something magical about this place, something that keeps me coming back.
On countless walks down MG Road in Bangalore, decades ago, Indian Coffee House buzzed with life. Back then, I’d sit with a butter dosa, sipping coffee, watching the world pass by. People of all kinds. Old, young, rich, poor, men, women—everyone had a story. And in their eyes, in the conversations that filled those walls, I saw my own future unfold. Dreams!
Last month, I found myself in another Indian Coffee House. In another city.
As soon as I sat down and read the menu, it was clear: it wasn’t the food that drew me in. It was the pull of youth. A time when dreams were fresh, the road ahead sunlit, and time was something I could waste. Like in that Pink Floyd song…
“…And you are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today…”
As I sipped the rather unremarkable coffee, pretending it was gourmet, I became acutely aware of how my dreams and opportunities have evolved. They’ve changed colour. But I’m grateful for the dreams that once kept me company. They’ve shaped me, made me who I am today.
I’ve grown, I tell myself. Maybe that’s why I could enjoy that lacklustre coffee. “Thank God for dreams,” I wrote in my journal that night. At least, that’s what I thought I wrote. For when I looked again, it read, “Thank God for Dosa.”
Friends and family have watched the eclipse and sent pictures. All of them have squares atop their noses and face the sky. For the world that is so much into perpetually peering down into phones, this is quite a change.
Ever since I saw Alaska airlines’ interest in eclipses, I have been intrigued enough to consider travelling to catch an eclipse. The next big eclipse that I am excited about is happening on August 2027, over the Pyramids. That is perhaps something to be present for. That’s some time away.
When I think of how it all started, my awe of eclipses did not happen in a classroom. By the time I got to understand what it really was, it got a hazier tint. And no geography teacher could have done what Tintin did!
It was in Prisoners of the Sun, that Tintin gets to Peru. When on track to be executed, he commands the Sun to disappear much to the bewilderment of the locals. Of course, the knowledge of the eclipse coming in was masterfully used.
Much later, I learnt that this technique was not something that is something that Tintin came up with!
With each additional story that I came to soak up, there came more interest in eclipses. The whole drill of wearing some fancy glass and peering into the Sun as it disappears and reappears was, and continues to be magical.
As kids, we were not allowed to watch eclipses! There were all kinds of reasons. And so, we ended up watching eclipses, half in protest!
“Hergé borrowed various elements from Gaston Leroux’s book Wife of the Sun, for the crucial eclipse scene, in the same way that La Fontaine borrowed from Aesop. He was equally inspired by the text from the book Christopher Columbus by C. Giardini, published by Dragaud, Paris, in 1970, in which the author describes how the Spanish succeeded in forcing the natives to submit completely thanks to a lunar eclipse which had been announced in a calendar.
It is also interesting to point out a mistake regarding the eclipse. In the book the eclipse moves from right to left, whereas in reality it should travel from left to right because Peru is in the southern hemisphere. This mistake was pointed out to Hergé by a child who wrote a long letter expressing his dissatisfaction.”
You could be the smartest of people in a room. All it takes is a child or a childlike curiosity to eclipse you.
It was evening. The still waters of Charlotte Lake were didn’t seem to care much about the Sun who was running away behind the hovering mountains.
Languid tourists with cameras, Kanda Bhajjis and sugar cane juice walked about trying to catch the sun for Instagram.
I walked away. After getting somewhere, I walked further to a place where I could be left alone with Charlotte lake. Almost as a reflex action, my hand cradled the phone and clicked a picture. It was when I examined what I had clicked, that I first saw him. In the frame. Sitting there and soaking up Charlotte Lake and its silence.
He sat there alone.
He did nothing. Just sat there. Motionless.
I put my phone away and watched him and Charlotte lake. He didn’t seem to care. I am not sure, if he even noticed. He sat still.
In a world filled with distraction, just sitting without doing anything is a rare sight. Here was someone who seemed to just do it! I put my phone away and immersed myself in watching him watch the still lake.
I don’t know how long we both did what we did. Suddenly, the mountains and fading light announced that the night was in. He didn’t seem to be bothered. But I had to get back. It was a bit of a trudge.
And as I walked back, I thought of him and his ability to just focus only to realise, I had done the same as well. I had put everything away, to focus on him.
“The fastest growing sector of the culture economy is distraction. Or call it scrolling or swiping or wasting time or whatever you want. But it’s not art or entertainment, just ceaseless activity.”
“I see those sad-eyed junkies, hooked to their devices, wherever I go. And even their facial expressions convey that haggard strungout look.”
“And it’s a bigger issue than just struggling artists or floundering media companies. The dopamine cartel is now aggravating our worst social problems—in education, in workplaces, and in private life.”
“If you thought the drug cartels were rich, wait till you see how much money the dopamine cartel is making.”
“Also, do yourself a favor. Unplug yourself from time to time, and start noticing the trees or your goofy pets. They actually look better in real life than in the headset.”
As I read and made some notes and quiet resolutions, my thoughts raced back to the man in Charlotte lake. He showed me that I too can sit and gaze without the need to aimlessly move my finger over a glass screen.
In the age of constant connectivity and endless stimuli, mastering the art of focus is more crucial than ever. “You can’t go distraction free, overnight”, I hear me tell myself. Embracing routines and reflecting on them is the route.
Dopamine addiction is for real. To free oneself from it requires friction. Blank spaces and routines can well be the friction I am in search of. The man at Charlotte lake taught me that.
A Word Of The Year (WOTY) has served me useful purpose for a few years now. It has helped fix a North Star of sorts and constantly keep taking new bearing as the waves and tides of reality toss the small boat of life. WOTY 2024 got fixed sometime in early December 23. I had every intent to get it out on 31st Dec. That was not to be.
But here I am. With WOTY 24. A word that I am certain is necessary for every year that follows as well. And that word is ‘BELIEVE’.
I did dare to venture into areas where I have never done before. My eyes feasted on some amazing sights. There were incredible people who showed up along the way to help me along. And I dared to to keep going in what looked like a dark tunnel, looking for the proverbial light at the end of it. As I looked for light and ploughed on, guess who showed up? 2024!
And in more ways than one, I ventured into areas that were scary. I ended with some middling success, a few that fell far short of my target and in one case, with an one elaborate egg on my face. In all this, I am only glad that I started off and kept going. The scars remind me of my bounty of imperfection hemmed in with a silver lining of ‘dare’.
That silver is precious.
‘Believe’ as my WOTY 24
What the passing year has (not) offered and what the new year demands often blend into my word of the year. That’s how I have seen it work.
Dare has been extremely useful. This year has taught me that dare works best in tandem with belief. Bereft of belief, dare comes a cropper. A valiant one, perhaps. A foundation built on strong belief is essential for a full life!
To believe in ones own ideas. Trusting someone else that they too can come up with curve. Working with sense of possibility. Rowing hard with hope and prayer on a boat named abundance even when the sea is petulant. All of that is the stuff of ‘believe’.
No. It’s not blind belief. Or make believe. It is just belief that has been dipped in doses of reality, and coated with hard effort and courage that help take the next step, even when not knowing for sure, where that step will land.
Swami Vivekananda said, “The history of the world is written by the few who have faith in themselves”. I am writing my own history by living my life everyday. I seek to live it tall by choosing ‘Believe’ as my WOTY for 2024.
I have been fortunate with winning the teacher lottery. Every year, there is a jackpot of some sort. Perhaps it is a consequence of winning an early jackpot and then enjoying the spoils year after year. With copious fresh additions! Maybe, my teachers in early life have taught me tricks to hit jackpot every year.
A quick accosting of my memory bank surfaces multiple instances where what they taught me back then stays with me and guides me. And has added on to the memory of the day.
“Be the best you can be. And remember, there is ‘better’ beyond your ‘best’. Always.” A hand written note after a play said.
“Stay kind”, another teacher had said. “Help people”. In December 1992. When he spotted me really upset on a sepulchral day.
“Stay curious. You are dead without it”. Another said.
“If I catch you slacking, I am coming after you. No matter where you are”. Said the Biology teacher after I won a quiz competition.
Time after time, they saw in me what I didn’t see. They looked at a scruffy imperfect chap but always looked beyond the imperfections. They pointed me to an eternal spring of hope and promise. That keeps me going.
And one wise lady who pulled me at the end of the year, gave me a hug and said, “Stay thankful”. I want to tell her and all my other teachers from the past and present, that I try. Every year.
They don’t publish the good news. The good news is published by us. We have a special edition every moment, and we need you to read it. The good news is that you are alive, and the linden tree is still there, standing firm in the harsh winter. The good news is that you have wonderful eyes to touch the blue sky. The good news is that your child is there before you, and your arms are available: hugging is possible. They only print what is wrong. Look at each of our special editions. We always offer the things that are not wrong. We want you to benefit from them and help protect them. The dandelion is there by the sidewalk, smiling its wondrous smile, singing the song of eternity. Listen! You have ears that can hear it. Bow your head. Listen to it. Leave behind the world of sorrow and preoccupation and get free. The latest good news is that you can do it.
What’s common between Times Square, New York and the Taj Mahal, Agra? Well, they share a rating. 4.7 on Google Reviews!
You may be sufficiently aghast, filled with delectable glee or sufficiently nonchalant. The times we live in has scope for all three and more.
The other day, I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation in the airport shuttle as it was ferrying a bunch of tired passengers to the terminal building. It had been a long flight and two fellow passengers had forked out their phones to book their cabs on Uber. Which is when one of them exclaimed that his rating had come down in Uber.
“I have been polite, I have said Thank you. I have even tipped every idiot. Yet my rating is down”. He was almost inconsolable. Just that morning I had recalled Kiran, my regular taxi driver from a decade ago. He would always drop me off with a “have a safe flight” or something to that effect. That morning I took an Uber and the driver looked at me and said, “please give me a good rating”. That was his sign off line.
The rating tyranny has truly taken over modern lives. From expansive humans who were driven by the promise of endless possibilities we have become narrow creatures seeking precision and a performance rating.
Speaking of which, I remember that it is the season of performance ratings in many organisations and it is inviting considerable amount of heartburn and angst. An individual’s rating by itself does not mean as much as when held up against another’s! That rating somehow ends up signifying an individual’s contribution and worth. They also end up determine how much money an employee takes home.
A rating is always a measure. The goal is something else. Happiness. Good customer service. Etc. Somewhere down the line, measures have begun standing in for goals. And thus, a rating is ubiquitous in urban life.
Sunday last, I had just finished a run and was catching my breath. A young teacher with a bunch of four high school kids walked by. They were having a wonderful conversation on history and the story of the Taj Mahal. I was walking right behind them and oblivious to me, the teacher asked them a question: ‘What comes to your mind when you think of the Taj Mahal? ”
Pat came the reply from a tall kid with unkempt hair and a clumsy shirt, “If a man has enough purpose in life, he can do anything”.
Last year I had ‘Dive’ as my WOTY. Or the Word Of The Year. 2022 happened to be the year that I dived. Last month, there were several other WOTYs of 2022 announced. Interesting array here.
The crucial difference of course is that the above ones came up in retrospect. Each having their own parameter.
I choose my WOTY as a word that will guide my action, at the beginning of the year.
But Why?
Did it matter that I had ‘Dive” as my WOTY last year? I think so. It constantly reminded me to dive when I walked up and down the diving board.
I reminded myself of Shel Siverstein who I had quoted last year.
You’ve been up on that diving board Making sure that it’s nice and straight. You’ve made sure that it’s not too slick. You’ve made sure it can stand the weight. You’ve made sure that the spring is tight. You’ve made sure that the cloth won’t slip. You’ve made sure that it bounces right, And that your toes can get a grip And you’ve been up there since half past five Doin’ everything… but DIVE
Shel Siverstien
So, it helped stimulate action. And thought. When I was stuck on the board for a bit.
No. It is not a resolution. It powers resolutions and other stuff.
It Is 2023
2022 is so last year. This year, I hit upon WOTY much ahead. It’s taken some time to get here.
Dare.
Yes. That’s my word of the year. It provides anchor to some of the leaps that I have to do. I have been awake for a while and the coffee has been smelling just like it should. Dare is going to be central to action this year.
This year, I hope to dare mighty things
I stumbled into Roosevelt’s speech from 1899 after NASA launched its Perseverance Rover on Mars. It is quite a story. Read if you don’t know about and refresh your memory if you do.
Dare Mighty Things is embedded in my mind and memory ever since. And on my screen as well. It encapsulates the vastness of the possibilities that lie beyond imagination and the courage to pursue them.
Dare often conjures up images of valour in the battlefield or Bruce Willis in Die Hard. Dare to me epitomises courage in simple everyday moments.
Would I dare myself to step outside my comfort zone and say ‘hello’ to someone I don’t know?
Dare is about choosing to say ‘yes’ when ‘no’ has been the default. And actively saying ‘No’ when ‘yes’ is alluring. To choose to invoke courage and go beyond is this year’s theme.
What the next moment is going to offer to us belongs to the next moment. This moment is all that we have. And to let ourselves rejoice in it requires a courage that I am invoking this year.
I hope to soak in people and places this year. Concepts, cultures, stories and much else that adult life thus far kept packing under the ‘someday’ category.
Dare Thoughts
As I kept weaving thoughts on dare together, I dipped into some of the masters and words that lend themselves to my idea of Dare well.
“If you only do what you can do, you will never be more than who you are.”
Master Shifu
Dare to be free, dare to go as far as your thought leads, and dare to carry that out in your life.
Swami Vivekananda
To dare is to lose ones footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself.
Soren Kierkegaard
What do you think? I hope to get lighter and easy with myself. It’s a tall ask. But hey, that’s what the dare is all about. To go for tall asks. That’s why its my WOTY!
Last month a dear friend gifted me a book. A physical one. With smells, sounds and good old paper. It has pages that I can dog-ear. And write my notes. Circle. Underline. Etc. And so, have revisited the pleasures of reading a physical book. It has done wonders to my reading.
It didn’t quite start that way. When I unwrapped the gift to see books, the first thought was, where do I keep them? Skirmishes at home about my books and the space they occupy have been persistent. Peace has been wrought by sticking to the kindle. Until these books arrived.
So, I left these books on a side table. I had to figure out how to get back to caressing a book while devouring what it held. Perhaps in the hesitating was a fear of falling in love with the physical book again.
One of the books seemed to tug at me. Chandrahas Choudhury’s “My Country Is Literature”.
The back cover had this.
“A book is only one text, but it is many books. It is a different book for each of its readers. My Anna Kareninais not your Anna Karenina; your A House for Mr Biswas is not the one on my shelf. When we think of a favourite book, we recall not only the shape of the story, the characters who touched our hearts, the rhythm and texture of the sentences. We recall our own circumstances when we read it: where we bought it (and for how much), what kind of joy or solace it provided, how scenes from the story began to intermingle with scenes from our life, how it roused us to anger or indignation or allowed us to make our peace with some great private discord. This is the second life of the book: its life in our life.”
Those lines were enough to shed my romance and dive into experiencing the sensuous pleasures that only a book can kindle. Sorry about the stupid pun.
Anyway, I have read been devouring with great relish. This book is a collection of literary criticisms on the works of an esoteric set of writers. Perumal Murugan. Orhan Pamuk. Sadat Hasan Manto. Nehru. Junichiro Tanizaki. Manu Joseph. And several others.
I have been slow reading. Rereading. Fast reading. Beginning all over again. There is no bar at the bottom of the page that tells me I have finished 43% of the book. The volume of fresh pages on my right palm are inviting by their weight and crisp edges. So I go slow.
A Library Of Emotions For The Pleasures Of Reading
In the middle of all this, another dear friend sent this message on whatsapp.
“I think Emerson wrote somewhere that a library is a kind of magic cavern which is full of dead men. And those dead men can be reborn, can be brought to life when you open their pages.
Speaking about Bishop Berkeley (who, may I remind you, was a prophet of the greatness of America), I remember he wrote that the taste of the apple is neither in the apple itself—the apple cannot taste it- self—nor in the mouth of the eater. It requires a contact between them.
The same thing happens to a book or to a collection of books, to a library. For what is a book in itself? A book is a physical object in a world of physical objects. It is a set of dead symbols. And then the right reader comes along, and the words—or rather the poetry behind the words, for the words themselves are mere symbols—spring to life, and we have a resurrection of the word.”
Borges, Jorge Luis, from his book This craft of verse
My mind right now is like a meadow sprouting all kinds of green after a luxurious spell of afternoon rain. And as dusk falls, birds and insects chirp away. Strange calls and uncommon sounds seem to festoon the night ahead as I look at the pages ahead. A strange set of emotions that are beyond the stuff in the common library of emotions.
That’s what reading a book does to me. How I love “what have you been reading lately?” to bibliophiles like Manu!
The many pleasures of reading are best left unexplained. For explanation does it more harm than good. I can say that with certainty after writing all this.
