Dr. Manmohan Singh - A Role Model

ACT I

SCENE I

(Chamber of Admissions Dean, BITS Pilani. )

Enter Prof. X, Prof. Y, Prof. Z, STUDENT

Prof. Y: Tell us someone whom you consider a role model.

(Awkward silence)

STUDENT: (Nervous) Pardon?

Prof. X: Who is your role model?

STUDENT: Lalu Prasad Yadav.

(Thunder strikes in the distance. Curtains dance under the influence of wind gushing in through the windows. )

Prof. Z: What?

Prof. Y: What?

Prof. X: What?

(Student scratches his head. Bites his finger. Swallows the bile juice back. Hopes to get swallowed by the earth.)

It was one of those few moments when I could hear myself speak; when suddenly my mouth was no longer under my control. The interview was for selection of top 20 candidates for applying in the prestigious Aditya Birla Scholarship (the interview was conducted due to the ambiguity of status of ranking of board toppers in the application process). Here in front of me were some of the most reputed professors of the institute and I had to justify in the next few seconds as to why I considered Lalu as my role model. I took a deep breath and conjured an answer. I told them about seeing a documentary on Lalu which showed how he rose from being the son of a farmer to becoming the railway minister of India. This reply did keep them from probing me further; however I had stumped myself for sure. No offence Lalu, but you are not good enough to be my role model. That day marked the beginning of my silent leisurely quest on finding a role model.

Over the past few years nobody seemed to fill that spot. I had nightmares of being asked the same question again in some interview. However, over the past few days, I found my answer in the form of Dr. Manmohan Singh.

Till a little time back I used to consider him Sonia’s side-kick. A puppet Prime Minister. I had heard about his stint in the finance ministry in the early 90s however it never caught my attention much. However my recent penchant for knowledge, soul searching and random wikiing during my practice school semester made me stumble across the Wikipedia entry on economic crisis which India faced in the early 90s and the start of liberalization.

Let me tell you the story of India. A story of rags to possible riches.

Just before Manmohan Singh took charge of country’s wallet, Republic of India was on the brink of bankruptcy. The fiscal deficit was as high as 12.7% of the GDP. Our foreign reserves were barely enough to pay for 3 weeks’ worth of imports. A timely intervention of IMF (in lieu of gold) saved our neck. In return for 67 tons(!!!!) of gold, we received a loan of $2.2 billion. The then government, led by Chandrashekhar, which took the loans and sold everything we had, lost its power in the center within few months. The elections took place in the month of May and June 1991 which was marred by the death of Rajiv Gandhi after the first round of polling. The congress won the elections and Narsimha Rao was brought back in the party from a near retirement. He became the Prime Minister of India amidst the death of Rajiv Gandhi and a crippled economy.

This was the point where Narsimha Rao took a brave decision of keeping the seat of finance minister out of the hand of any political big shot. He requested IG Patel, ex-governer of RBI and the then director of London School of Economics and Political Science to take over the finance ministry. But he declined. He chose Dr. Manmohan Singh as his next option. When he offered this post to Dr. Singh, he was surprised and confused at the same time. His colleagues tried convincing him that the prime minister is looking for a future scapegoat. In an interview he once said:

“I'd held all the top civil service jobs, but here was an opportunity to play a political role, and there was an odd chance that we would make a success of it, in which case I would have a footnote in India's history. If I fail, that's of no great consequence. And who fails if India wins?”

He took over as the finance minister of India on 21 June 1991. He had a task of a surgeon who had to treat a patient’s abdomen which had been messed up by a novice intern. However he took it up as a challenge and an excuse for change.

He initiated a shift in the economy from a Nehruvian Socialism to a Pro Capitalist philosophy. License Raj was given a pink slip. The government decided to gradually move out from businesses where it was unnecessarily existent. It paved way for a red tape free Foreign Direct Investment in many sectors. The impact of this was such that the FDI increased from US$132 million in 1991–92 to $5.3 billion in 1995–96. We made our markets open for the global game. Urbanization was put on a fast track. The unprecedented growth of tier 2 cities like Bangalore, Hyderabad, Pune etc was a side effect of this treatment.

He has been accused of not repeating the magic in his tenure as PM. This might be partially true. However the way in which he fought for the Nuclear Bill has proved once again that no matter how mild he might sound, here is one man, who likes to play rough.

The thing which makes him adorable is his humility. He neither has the haughty air of a premier of a country nor does he have a know-it-all attitude of a scholar. He is one person who excelled in what he did. Be it education, teaching or the government, he was a source of inspiration to all. Recently he was among the most powerful people of 2010 list of Forbes. He was also listed as “The Leader other leaders love” in their list of 10 respected world leaders by Newsweek.

I don’t consider myself his ardent fan. I might not agree to his political opinion. However, I admire him for his willingness to move out of his comfort zone and venturing into an unsafe zone (the political jungle). I am also fond of his serene smile.

So next time when someone asks me who my role model is, I would reply – Manmohan Singh, the Prime Minister of my country who took the energy problem of my country by its horn, a finance minister who took my country out of global shame, an economist who left the comfort of best universities of the world to come back to India to serve the Indian academia and then the government machinery, a student who studied under a lamp, lost his mother early in his life, bore the pains of relocation due to partition, walked kilometers for water and still had the audacity to pursue education at the centers of excellence and a man who is humble enough to still own a Maruti 800.

H to Oh!

There was this weekend few boring weekends ago when me and my friends decided to check out the motherland of CCD - Chickmaglur. The day was Friday and we all were looking forward to the trip. On a scale of 0 to 5 my enthusiasm for the trip was approaching 0 from the negative side and anvi went into the imaginary scale to repsect the maximum limit of the scale her enthu was at 5 + 1000i. The cab driver was expected to pick abhinav at around 0030 hours from the streets of BTM and was supposed to pick the rest of us by 0100 hours. However, I probably wouldnt have written this post if there wasn't a but (/bhat/butt) in the story. And it goes like this - "But, the driver never turned up". After waiting till 0300 hours on the chilling secluded street with an auto wallah to give him company, Abhinav hung his boots, switched off his cell phone and eventually fell off into deep slumber, leaving the rest of us in the wind tunnel road apartment to handle the 5 + 1000i worth of enthu turned into anger. After a walk outside and some justdial calling, we decided that we would head to ShivaSamudram the next morning.

Period.

Sleep.

Alarm.

We left for Shivasamudram at 0700 hours in the morning. The ride on the most part was beautiful. After having a breakfast somewhere on the way, we reached the first fall, gaganchukki by around 11 in the afternoon. Let me pause here to give a bit of info. Shivasamsudram falls is located in the blah blah blah. Did I mention how awesome our driver was. He had a camera phone, could drive the car at 40 kmh while talking on phone and stopped at every random place, encouraging us to take pictures. This guy did another good thing. He took us to the dargah entry of the fall. This was the place where a 25 year old software engineer died (as according to a caution board on the other entry where the losers who dont have such an awesome driver go).

Gaganchukki falls is apparently the second highest fall in the country. The moment you reach close to the water and stand next to the mighty fall, a sense of belittlement captures you. My jaws dropped when I stood on the spot from where it was almost a 50m fall. After keeping our legs in water (exactly like how we used to do when we were little girls) for a while, we left in search for food. Fish was the only thing that was available however the ambience killed the hunger. We unanimously agreed to survive on packaged food.

After this we left for Bharachukki falls and reached there at around 1430 hours. After climbing down a few steps (it looked like steps, wonder what its called), we witnessed this beautiful sight. There was a boat ride. 100 bucks for a boat. Even a communist hypocrite would have agreed to pay for that. The boatman took the coracle almost under the fall and we were drenched in the mist rising from the water to water impact. If this was not enough to raise our spirits, the boat guy started rotating our boat, the flimsy piece of hemispherical container, crossing the threshold angular velocity for awesomeness.

We then crossed a small stream of water to reach a spot where there were dozens of uncles, aunties, wannabies and monkeys dipping their skins in water .For me the best point of our trip was standing directly under the falling water. I opened my mouth to growl, only to be silenced by the serene thunder of the fall.

After spending sometime there we started our return at around 1600 hours. The return was uneventful, except for some bladder issues. We were famished, wet and sleepy. So much so that when we reached Gramin for dinner, I was eating and sleeping at bursts (much like the I/O burst - CPU burst alternation). Okay now I dont remember what happened next. I guess I came back and slept off.

Things to remember while on a trip to Shivasamudram:

• · Take a driver who loves Kishore Kumar.
• · Check your blood for alcohol before leaving. While standing on top of the gaganchukki falls, the mind plays "I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking..." more than once.
• · Fish is the staple food of people of Shivasamudram. If you belong to McAloo Tiki generation then get your lunch prepared. There is a Barista outlet and a CCD outlet on the way.
• · Don't go on a rainy day. You don’t want to stand and watch the falls from far.
• · Take some lessons on Defense against Monkey violence ( I hear Arindham Chaudhari is coming up with a book for the same, to be added in IIPM's curriculum). Monkeys are fond of Haldiram's, even more than you.
• · Wear a pair of shorts. I am still not able to get my dirty jeans clean.

MAVALLI TIFFIN ROOM

This post was originally written by the author on August 16, 2010

I used to be a big fan (still am) of Malgudi Days the tele-series. I used to watch it in our 14 inch black and white TV, totally lost in the world of Swami and his friends. Going to Mavalli Tiffin Room (MTR) in Saturday reminded me of the 20th century of my childhood which is the sleeping nineties.

After finishing a round across an overcrowded lal bagh, my stomach begged for food and hence me and Prashanth went out in search for the famous MTR. MTR was started in 1924 and the owners have tried their level best to ensure that the customers know that it is a pretty old place. We were really disappointed to find that the entry doors were shut. There were groups of affluent people sitting in front of the door, waiting for it to open (which would be at 12:30), from almost half an hour before its time. It made me wonder about this mysterious looking, pre independence day building and its visible charm over the crowd outside. Two minutes before 12:30, a man wearing a veshti/mundu on a two wheeler came honking towards the entrance and shooed away the people sitting there, to park his vehicle. He had the air of a medieval Zamindar. He entered the building from the back entrance and opened the front gate of MTR like an emperor. In a total lack of direction, we followed the crowd which thronged inside to stand in a queue. Stepping inside MTR was like time travel. The place had minimal modern day elements. Even the tap at the washbasin looked as if it was made by a novice engineering student as a part of his workshop assignment. When it was our turn to pay, we were really surprised to find that the lunch would cost us Rs. 130 per head. “It better be good” was what my skeptic part of the brain said. But I had a feeling that it was going to be good.

We were ushered into a room inside a room inside a room… I lost the count, but the name of the restaurant started making sense. We were seated in a martial fashion on a table for eight(we were later on joined by an illad family). An attempt by Prashanth to seat himself at the place of his choice was foiled by a stout and bald veshti clad gentleman. In the meanwhile Prashanth apparently spotted a beautiful girl in the room just before the room we were in and he started acting stoned (he still cribs about moving one more room inside).

The meal started with grape juice. This was followed by carrot salad(I’m sure it has some other name) and a large quantity of chutney. The first round included dosa which were too yummy (better synonym unavailable) and so I had a second helping. After this I was served bisibele bath, a local cuisine of which I had been introduced through my PLCC(Programming Language and Compiler Construction) lecture slides. Usually I am not a big fan of any dish which has that tinge of brown which the bisibele bath served to me had. However I was mistaken and I loved it. In the meanwhile, people who served food (waiter sounds inappropriate) were hell bent on proving that they don’t give a damn about the 21st century pro-consumer crap. From avial in my payasam to water on my rice, I was in for a potpourri of brilliance. By now my plate had avial, rice, sambhar, halwa, payasam, beetroot dish and salad.

Time for a digression. When I was a kid and used to go to kerala at my grandmother’s, she used to serve rice to me and my brother with homemade ghee. It used to be … well yummy. One of the MTR people who served food poured a spoon of ghee on my rice( and water and avial and on everything in its trajectory). It was getting better every passing minute. When it was turn to eat rice, I thought of getting rid of my spoon (before the people who served food might ask me to) and eat it Indian style. By now my stomach was bulging out and my tongue was in a trance. When Rasam came, I couldn’t have faith on even MTR, because I am a chronic Rasam intolerant. By then end of rice, the tensile strength of my duodenum was under test. However it was followed by the inevitable(in south india) curd rice. On a normal day, I would have said “curd rice? Really?”. I usually find it difficult to understand how such a bland combination of mere rice and curd is staple food for millions. But well that day was no ordinary day and MTR gave me something more to hog on. By the time I finished the elaborate dessert ( paysam + halwa+ icecream), I was all smiles for the food. The exit from the building was even more interesting. We came down a flight of stairs and found ourselves in the middle of the kitchen. We found our way out, to be greeted by the Bangalore of 2010 all over again.

A Trite Life

Coming into the industry straight from a college was like waking up from a dream. The order in my life looks so anarchic to my normal sense. The fact that the whole day is already planned out, the foreknowledge of where I am gonna be in a particular hour(/minute/second) of the day, the fact that a Monday would surely follow a Friday, sooner than later, the fact that a Saturday and a Sunday also look the same from any other Saturday or Sunday, the ability of my mind to be able to observe a definite pattern in anything and everything out here, makes it all mundane. Being in college is similar to being in the wonderland of Alice. Every single day is new and unique with its own unique dose of pain and party. I guess lack of adventure is a part of growing up.

I Wonder

Being nostalgic makes one cheesy. So be it. Approaching a semester away from campus and then the realization of having one final semester on campus has made me ponder upon what it meant for my life to be a bitsian. Why a period of 4 years of life in a certain place has made an indelible change in my life like never before and perhaps never after.

I wonder whether anything else can be more festive in life than oasis, apogee or bosm. I wonder whether any other musical performance will be more ‘apna’ than our music night. I wonder whether lazing around anywhere else in the world be more exhilarating than in sky lawns. I wonder whether I would ever eat anything as ritually as maggi. I wonder whether I would be giving ‘doubs’ to anyone on a cycle ever again. I wonder whether I would ever grab an ice cream a day in summer. I wonder whether I would ever watch sitcoms all day and all night and all day again. I wonder whether I would ever be jobless enough to listen to “Welcome to hotel keralaphonia” over and over again till it is no longer funny. I wonder whether I would ever put a night out because of a power cut. I wonder whether I would ever run in a heavy downpour with my laptop on my back. I wonder whether I would ever sing with my friends, like retards in the middle of a street. I wonder whether I would ever be able to scare someone by telling him that I am gay. I wonder whether I would ever attend some friend’s course because the instructor was apparently funny. I wonder whether I would ever draw graffiti over my cupboard. I wonder whether I would be stinking with the smell of rotten maida, turpentine and insomnia. I wonder whether black thunder would ever haunt my morning routine. I wonder whether I would ever sleep in the middle of the road. I wonder whether I would ever dance (rather jump) like how I did when KK sang and euphoria crooned. I wonder whether I would ever be able to do anything more pointless than fighting over whether ‘A7’ has more search results than ‘C6’ on google. I wonder whether I would ever pour water over the floor to make the room cool. Oh there is so much to wonder at.

And why all this would never happen again is because we are growing old and we had our chance to live our life to the fullest. What made it an awesome experience were the people around here. A bunch of smart people with thwarted egos (failure in IIT-JEE) are an ideal kind of folks for a lifetime of memories preserved in some GBs of photographs. I can’t stop wondering though.

Kane and Abel

Disclaimer: The author of this blog considers himself a casual reader and claims to have a brain not any older than 20 and a half years. Hence the books being reviewed are done on their “value for time” criterion. There are certain handicaps about the author of the blog which the readers need to keep in mind. The writer is a mere engineering student and hasn’t read a single piece of Shakespeare in entirety, though he claims to have inherited the much needed sarcasm ( for any blog writer) from his few days in college.

KANE AND ABEL

Jeffrey Archer has produced bestsellers at an impressive rate. This particular novel was one of those which I wanted to lay my hand on since long.

BACKGROUND:

The setting for this novel is the times from early 20th century. A story of two individuals born on the same day, one( Kane) in an emerging nation called USA and the other ( Abel aka Wladek) in a less celebrated European country called Poland. The author has very gracefully stitched all the major incidents of the early 20th century and weaved the story of these two people around it. From the world wars to the great depression of 1929 and to rise of USA as a strong capitalist economy and even to the drowning of titanic, you are in for a wonderful ride of fiction in a non fictional setting.

PLOT:

Two people, born on the same day, in different parts of the world, in contrasting circumstances. One with a silver spoon stuck his throat, the other bleeding in the woods. The first half of the novel is the time before they encounter each other. One struggling from the pangs of the world war I , the other living his dream. William Kane grows up to become the chairman of one of the biggest bank of the United States, Abel Rosonovak becomes a minority stake holder in an upcoming hotel chain. Everything was going on fine till the Great Depression of 1929 hits the market and they encounter each other in an unpleasant way. What follows is a series of actions by both kane and abel to strike each other down.
The story boasts about many other characters which stay on for certain part of the story. From some generations before to some generations after, it can very well be summed up as combined biography of Kane and Abel.



WHY READ:

The novel takes you through the horrors of the world war and the heat of the boardrooms in an intriguing manner. As in his other pieces, Jeffrey Archer relies more on the twists of his story and high number of characters than over in depth description of the plot. What I likes most about this book was that it was fully in touch with the happenings of the then world. From the Nazis to the women, Wall street to gloated egos, one can relish popcorn while reading this.

WHY NOT:

One major weakness in the plot is the inadequate reason for the fight between Kane and Abel. In the middle the story goes through a point when everything is according to routine and nothing changes. Otherwise the story is pretty fast.

My RATING : 3.75/5

The scale is based on the markers given below:

0 -> My Electrical Sciences 1 text book
1 -> Read a railway notice board instead
2-> I can write better
3 -> Good
4 -> I strongly suggest you read this
5-> You are reading something in heaven.