This is an eternal fight. Mommy versus Jispa and I am stuck in between. It’s a part of parenting that they don’t tell you about, or it’s a part of ‘husbanding’ they don’t tell you about. There is an obvious need to keep a united face in front of your child. That’s what the text book on parenting says. So that you don’t show confusing signals and make the kid play one parent against the other.
But that goes against the principle of duality of opinion. I have always believed that the opinion may not necessarily be clear. Jasmine and I can have a difference of opinion. Views may be extremely polarised and the truth is not known. In fact there can be no truth but only opinion. I have written about the time spent while having a bath. I believe there is no such thing as time spent. It is time invested, and Jasmine can finish her bath in the time it takes me to merely get wet. Jispa is a dreamer. She too can have an infinite bath time.
Let’s take another example. Poor Jasmine is trying to get Jispa to remember her stuff to do. Like put the snack box and water bottle in her bag. Now that’s a real tiring thing to do. I was much like that with my mom completely at odds to get me to do stuff. It was not intention that was the issue, there would be genuine intention. Sometimes the malaise was procrastination and sometimes the problem was simply dreams. Lost in thought. I can still go to the place where I am supposed to pick the item and completely forget what I am supposed to do. It would just pop out and I would end up doing pretty much something else. Over the years life in the professional world will not let you remain forgetful as such. I got my arse whipped, smartened up and started keeping a mental checklist and even writing down things to do during the day. But that took me 30 years. So when Jasmine and Jispa are having a run in, I am completely clueless. I want to be sweeter and take on the responsibility myself. I prefer reminding Jispa again and again and even putting the dam thing in.
So this creates chaos in the morning. Jasmine has had many calls right in the past and I don’t really doubt her instinct but the problem is that unlike her, I remember my childhood vividly and distinctly. A lot of things had left a deep and lasting impact on me. I clearly remember getting scolded for forgetting stuff. I have forgotten to do things; I have left stuff around at school and other such silly stuff. But I always used to think, why my parents scolded me for it. It’s not that I was intentionally careless. I also remember thinking that I was only a kid and that I should be given some leeway. Also not that being scolded helped me remember anything more. So that’s been on my mind a lot. I can keep telling Jispa that remember, do things right away, do not procrastinate, but I can’t really scold her too much. A sharp scold and immediately out.
I also sympathise with Jispa when she gets jammed for sharpening her pencils too much. I too remember sharpening pencils like crazy and my mom losing it saying that “I gave you new pencils just today”. By the time I got home they were a pale shadow of their original size.
This topic can go on with no real solution in sight. Jasmine can find 20 more faults in my thinking. Like the other day when she and Jispa were havinga fight over the pony tail, Jispa came ot me and out of serious frustration I just suggested that she just right now listen to mom and that she could always do whatever she wanted outside the home, when mom is not looking. Jasmine was mighty pissed. What on earth was I teaching her. Hmmm.. ya that was silly I guess. So when I got a book Delhi Calm (on the emergency), to read and on the first page the following lines had deeper meaning. “There no distinctions between what is real and unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.”- Harold pinter - art truth and politics.
What is true in politics is true in parenting. Sab saala maya hai. The challenge is in admitting it and more importantly handling it without conflict. So while I understand the need to put up a united front in front of the child, my bigger motive is that she knows and understands this conflict. I think every day that she must understand that there is no one view to the equation. There could be multiple points of view and that we are only taking the point of view that we believe is the best one at the point of time. Both mommy and daddy need not always agree on everything. Debate and then resolution is healthy and allowed. The last thing I want her to think is that daddy or mommy knows everything. WE DONT. We don’t even pretend to. We are only attempting the best, to the best of our ability, keeping her best interest in mind. Nothing more and nothing less.
The faster she realises this, the better an individual she will be. I love for her to see the other side of the equation at all points of time. Today morning I was googling images of Nehru for her. She needed on with kids, one with Gandhi and one alone. I came across one of him smoking. I asked her if she wanted it. She was quite surprised to know that he smokes. But I guess the ‘kida’ in her liked the thought and then she wanted that pic as well. So I promptly printed it and sent it along with the rest of the pics. It’s not necessary for her to learn that Nehru was a guy with no fallibility. Learn the truth that you can best digest! The truth will set you free. Now who said that?
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
a lovely mind, a simple talk
Jispa had a good lesson in competition. She is amongst the decent swimmers in her age category in her gymkhana. I think she comes in at second place. Ditto for her school. This week end she was taking part in an inter club competition at the CCI. Since there are quite a few kids, they simply take a time trial and take the timings to announce the winners. Her coach had warned us that Jispa is an eight year old in an under-nine age group. That means basically she has a one year disadvantage, which is large for her age. We were obviously expecting nothing much from her. Hopefully it might teach her a thing or two about competing. We saw the elder kids swim very well, and it was a joy for me to watch them swim real fast. It was time for Jispa’s time trial. She shot off the blocks and swam fast. I thought she swam well and quite fast. Pretty cool. She swam like she never had. But when she attempts to go fast she screws up on the technique. The hands don’t stretch as they must in their effort to go fast. But a few furious strokes later she was in the lead. She hit the other side, turned, glanced to see competition and started swimming again. Jasmine and I get tired of telling her that she need not look at competition. She has to learn to swim well and that’s more than enough. If her strokes are great and she tries her best, that’s all that matters. At her level, we don’t want her to win; we want her to get her strokes right.
Jispa’s problem is that she ends up using her over sized brain a bit too much. When I coach her, I am delighted that she listens, unlike other kids who don’t want to, but the problem is that her brain starts listening too much. She over compensates. It’s difficult coaching her then. Her technique then goes all awry. I remember last year, I was trying to get her to run correctly. Some cousin told her to get long strides in. That’s a good thing, but she ended up taking so long strides that she started jumping as opposed to running. It was like a series of long jumps. She will have this problem of brain and body not being entirely coordinated. Her super brain will take too many demands on her body. Same problem when I start elocution with her. Too much use of the brain. Suddenly she will not decide to use certain tone, or give some explanation for changing it or something. ‘Gay abandon’ is not a term I would use for her. She surely benefits from using her brain. It helps her in creative writing and the sort but sometimes in sports it pays to have an uncomplicated approach. A simple approach that seeks to hone instinct and use it. So this time while I started talking to her on running, Jasmine was pretty scared. When I was explain that in a sprint, you don’t use your heel too much and run almost on your toes, Jasmine was wondering and so was I, that she will end up looking like a bouncing ballerina. I think I too will learn about teaching her stuff. I guess I will learn to tell her to keep things simple. Just run fast and will correct a few simple things I see wrong. It’s stupid for me to mess with a good mind. I am simply not qualified enough to do that. What I can do is drill the tables in her head. Today morning I was trying to get her to write a Hindi composition that she was making a complete mess of. I tried to help her think of the essay visually. Almost like a mind map. That would help her structure it I guess. Then we went through the words, the sentences, the closing, the drama required. When she finally writes it today evening we will know if we got it anyway near right. Personally I myself do not know enough Hindi to teach her. I get it mixed up with urdu, and don’t even know the difference. But I guess today I did not do that bad.
So coming back to the swim meet, Jispa swam like she never had. She did her 50 yards in 44 seconds. I think it was her personal best. Dam cool. She also came in first within her immediate time trial. She came panting and exhausted. A dam god effort. I had o be somewhere else so I left by the time she had to compete in the medley relay. Since there weren’t enough girls from her age group for her gymkhana she was given the responsibility of the butterfly. A stroke she barely knows. I was told she did pretty bad. She swallowed water, went slow, almost did not complete. But she pushed herself to complete the race. In the freestyle time trial, while she managed 44 seconds, the first place was at around 34 seconds. Whoa, a full ten seconds. She was pretty dejected. I only met her the next day morning. Jasmine told me that she was felling down.
To my mind I told her that I think she did a swell job finishing the medley. She did not know the stroke, she swallowed water, she felt like shit but she hung on and finished the race. I told her of the time when I was in I think third standard. I barely knew how to swim and could just about manage to swim one length. Just about. That too with the support of the side wall. I still took part in the competition in school. When we were to start I ran and took the side lane. We started and I started swimming furiously. Half way through I don’t know, but I swallowed water and was coughing when the life guard thought I was drowning and pulled me out. Hah. She definitely did better than that!
I am reminded of Thomas Friedman who wrote that in places like India and China, competition is so tough that even if you are 1 in a million, there are a thousand of you. He is right. There are so many good guys around. If you want to be the best you have to train harder. I was thinking if its right for her to compete. One way is that let her see how good she is the hard way. Let her face dejection and loss. She can’t swim in her well and think that she is good. She has to see the world outside. For me. I think I will keep things simple. I will stop trying to coach her too much. I will have to stick to the philosophy part of the game. Hopefully a few years from now, she will coach me. Then she can talk technique and I can talk life. A conversation can sometimes be more than enough. A simple conversation. I can remember some of the best conversations I have had. But then that is another story.
Jispa’s problem is that she ends up using her over sized brain a bit too much. When I coach her, I am delighted that she listens, unlike other kids who don’t want to, but the problem is that her brain starts listening too much. She over compensates. It’s difficult coaching her then. Her technique then goes all awry. I remember last year, I was trying to get her to run correctly. Some cousin told her to get long strides in. That’s a good thing, but she ended up taking so long strides that she started jumping as opposed to running. It was like a series of long jumps. She will have this problem of brain and body not being entirely coordinated. Her super brain will take too many demands on her body. Same problem when I start elocution with her. Too much use of the brain. Suddenly she will not decide to use certain tone, or give some explanation for changing it or something. ‘Gay abandon’ is not a term I would use for her. She surely benefits from using her brain. It helps her in creative writing and the sort but sometimes in sports it pays to have an uncomplicated approach. A simple approach that seeks to hone instinct and use it. So this time while I started talking to her on running, Jasmine was pretty scared. When I was explain that in a sprint, you don’t use your heel too much and run almost on your toes, Jasmine was wondering and so was I, that she will end up looking like a bouncing ballerina. I think I too will learn about teaching her stuff. I guess I will learn to tell her to keep things simple. Just run fast and will correct a few simple things I see wrong. It’s stupid for me to mess with a good mind. I am simply not qualified enough to do that. What I can do is drill the tables in her head. Today morning I was trying to get her to write a Hindi composition that she was making a complete mess of. I tried to help her think of the essay visually. Almost like a mind map. That would help her structure it I guess. Then we went through the words, the sentences, the closing, the drama required. When she finally writes it today evening we will know if we got it anyway near right. Personally I myself do not know enough Hindi to teach her. I get it mixed up with urdu, and don’t even know the difference. But I guess today I did not do that bad.
So coming back to the swim meet, Jispa swam like she never had. She did her 50 yards in 44 seconds. I think it was her personal best. Dam cool. She also came in first within her immediate time trial. She came panting and exhausted. A dam god effort. I had o be somewhere else so I left by the time she had to compete in the medley relay. Since there weren’t enough girls from her age group for her gymkhana she was given the responsibility of the butterfly. A stroke she barely knows. I was told she did pretty bad. She swallowed water, went slow, almost did not complete. But she pushed herself to complete the race. In the freestyle time trial, while she managed 44 seconds, the first place was at around 34 seconds. Whoa, a full ten seconds. She was pretty dejected. I only met her the next day morning. Jasmine told me that she was felling down.
To my mind I told her that I think she did a swell job finishing the medley. She did not know the stroke, she swallowed water, she felt like shit but she hung on and finished the race. I told her of the time when I was in I think third standard. I barely knew how to swim and could just about manage to swim one length. Just about. That too with the support of the side wall. I still took part in the competition in school. When we were to start I ran and took the side lane. We started and I started swimming furiously. Half way through I don’t know, but I swallowed water and was coughing when the life guard thought I was drowning and pulled me out. Hah. She definitely did better than that!
I am reminded of Thomas Friedman who wrote that in places like India and China, competition is so tough that even if you are 1 in a million, there are a thousand of you. He is right. There are so many good guys around. If you want to be the best you have to train harder. I was thinking if its right for her to compete. One way is that let her see how good she is the hard way. Let her face dejection and loss. She can’t swim in her well and think that she is good. She has to see the world outside. For me. I think I will keep things simple. I will stop trying to coach her too much. I will have to stick to the philosophy part of the game. Hopefully a few years from now, she will coach me. Then she can talk technique and I can talk life. A conversation can sometimes be more than enough. A simple conversation. I can remember some of the best conversations I have had. But then that is another story.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
has de... (laugh it)
I just got back from Chennai. I was organising an employee cricket event. It was pretty much good fun. It was a chance to get back to Chennai after a long time. In my earlier role I had the chance to travel much more often and I squandered it away by being largely insular to the stimuli around me. I would sit at the hotel, sleep or watch TV in my free time. I hardly spent any time exploring the place and roaming around. For a traveller like me, it was pretty uncharacteristic. Probably it was so because I have always been a depressed business traveller. I hate travelling alone on work and without family, it’s always been a situation wherein I feel sad, depressed and lonely. Eating alone, sleeping alone etc is not exactly the stuff that I look up to.
Staying in posh hotels, the best I did was order food in the room, watch TV and take a long time in the shower. If there was a tub, I would fill it and relax. I really miss the small town small hotel which I used to stay in while i was much younger, while i completed my stint in Gujarat. During the recession when it all went away, it struck me... that i travelled and was an ostrich. Completely insulated and anal. I promised to improve my record.
So last week while I was getting my bag ready to leave, I remembered to pack in my lonely planet. Even a Chennai would have interesting places to see and surely I would be able to remove a few hours in the evening or in between. The one I honed in on was the Chennai museum. I fiddled with my schedule this time around to visit the place.
It is a little tough funding your way around Chennai. Nobody speaks your language and they exclusively talk in Tamil. Now I know what Nehru would have been through while he was trying his best to integrate the nation. Now I understand how anal the Tamils would have been while we were trying to manage the country through a common language. While this nationalistic and regional pride is ok to a point. But keeping it fiercely centric to one language is a complete waste. You alienate your own countrymen. Why would you want to do that? Can any state be completely insular to those around it. Can it safely say that Tamil belongs only to Tamilians. The irony is that it was the Tamilians who got up in arms against the Sri Lankan government decision to force Sinhalese down their throats in Sri Lanka. While they sympathised with their kin across the strait they did little to implement in their own homeland. Why? It is so difficult to speak to anyone in Chennai. Even in my own office beyond a certain level, the guys don’t even speak proper English and are completely impervious to hindi. Talking to my driver is a real difficult job.
But I guess I am unfairingly singling the Tamilians. All of us in India have retained the pride in our linguistic roots. We have consistently responded to linguistic fervour. We insist on local language signboards and even shop names. Here I can think of Singapore as one example which had successfully integrated three language identities into its fold, and adapting English as well. I remember a chapter in Lee Kwan book wherein he persuades the local language schools to move to a standardised English medium. As an individual I have faced the real sad situation of being unable to think, read proficiently or converse well in any language other than English. I think many beautiful pieces of writing will be forever lost on me thanks to my limitations. I would loved to have been taught a second language. Of course I was taught a second and a third and then a fourth language in school and we spoke a fifth one at home, but I ended up linguistically challenged. Never good enough to read litreture and understand its subtle nuance.
But then at least I can go around most of India and still feel at home. Chennai is alien to me. It seems hostile and unwelcoming. Why ...
So getting my way around the museum was a pain. Getting my around?? No I thinking reaching the door of the museum was also a pain. But I reached the museum door only to find it closed on Fridays. Dam! WTF. I hung around the campus and as I was ready to leave I chanced upon a ‘permanent book exhibition’. Not expecting too much I was suitably not disappointed. Metal racks with one side full of tamil books and the other full of English books, arranged in some apparent logic. Making my way through them I came across a set of really old books. Not that the books were old, but they were written at the time of eth raj. They came in the old style binding with golden embossed lettering. A type face font and image pages being called colour plates. There was nothing for me except one book on Tipu Sultan and his dad. Being fresh from a vacation in mysore, it caught my attention. As I began reading it, I leaned one side against the rack. Soon enough I was lost in the book. In some time a petite lady came up to me and said “hsdfksdhgcfwgwhjfghjdfghjfdfhgaxhjgf”. Arghhh. Dam you. It was Tamil and I couldn’t understand a dam thing. Then started all over again. This time with a lot of actions. I figured she did not want me to read the book too much and she did not want me to lean against the rack. Sure. I went about browsing again. This time I chanced upon glimpses of world history. A book containing the letters that Nehru had written to his daughter while in prison. Interesting. It felt a lot like this blog of mine. Posts written to my daughter while at work. I was reading it standing when another older lady came in and started in Tamil all over again. She too did not want me to read too much. Buy what you want and walk out dude. I don’t think this India has really understood what a book lover relationship is with his books. They don’t get it at all. While I did not want to court any fight I also wanted to read a bit. I read a bit more, bought the Nehru book and walked out.
I bear them no ill will. I just think to myself... how can we get our kids to love books when the whole job of many such people around book shelves is just to shoo people away. I remember my school librarian. A complete ass of a guy who had control to a large amount of resources (read: books) we had a massive library and a well stocked collection. But I don’t remember having spent any time there. I must have been there a few times. We even had a library period, but the only thing I remember was being told to be silent. Ssshhh. Some guys would get a bit interested in national geographic and show each other some pictures of Amazonian tribes, obviously naked. Once he caught them snigger and he called them and asked them what was in the magazine that they found funny. That put me off the magazines for sure. I did not to be caught doing anything with them. Even a more than a curious interest would have found me pulled up. We just don’t know how to inculcate a love for books, do we? The problem is not resources, the problem is the attitude. Love!
Just the day before yesterday I realised during a sufi music show that my religious leanings can be best positioned as similar to Sufi. A belief in love, humanity and simplicity of life. It must be so simple. It must be the truth. I think it would be the true way to solve every conceivable issue in life. I can surely think of it solving all my marketing issues. I am looking forward to the Sufi music festival this Sunday, which I hope to get a few passes for. It’s also an interesting thing that these days Hindi movies seem to be embracing sufi music and getting atleast one if not a few more songs into the movies. Reminds me of the old days where every Hindi movie definitely needed on qawalli song. Sufi music is designed with so much love that it can be used to show your love for god or to show your love for your beau. Love is at its essence pure, isn’t it? Whoever it is targeted at.
This one is obviously an abashed love for the mystic
This one is the one that can be for far a more earthy love. But isn’t that a mystic as well?
Even the whacko hit Dabangg carried a few songs which somehow when played on the radio I can’t get it off my head. I love them. What is it about being soulful, that I can’t them off. It seems to affect my heart in some way.
And then here is one of my favourites. A lifting one.
Two other links
http://dunkdaft.blogspot.com/2010/01/favorite-sufi-songs.html
http://entertainment.in.msn.com/bollywood/article.aspx?cp-documentid=3407582
Staying in posh hotels, the best I did was order food in the room, watch TV and take a long time in the shower. If there was a tub, I would fill it and relax. I really miss the small town small hotel which I used to stay in while i was much younger, while i completed my stint in Gujarat. During the recession when it all went away, it struck me... that i travelled and was an ostrich. Completely insulated and anal. I promised to improve my record.
So last week while I was getting my bag ready to leave, I remembered to pack in my lonely planet. Even a Chennai would have interesting places to see and surely I would be able to remove a few hours in the evening or in between. The one I honed in on was the Chennai museum. I fiddled with my schedule this time around to visit the place.
It is a little tough funding your way around Chennai. Nobody speaks your language and they exclusively talk in Tamil. Now I know what Nehru would have been through while he was trying his best to integrate the nation. Now I understand how anal the Tamils would have been while we were trying to manage the country through a common language. While this nationalistic and regional pride is ok to a point. But keeping it fiercely centric to one language is a complete waste. You alienate your own countrymen. Why would you want to do that? Can any state be completely insular to those around it. Can it safely say that Tamil belongs only to Tamilians. The irony is that it was the Tamilians who got up in arms against the Sri Lankan government decision to force Sinhalese down their throats in Sri Lanka. While they sympathised with their kin across the strait they did little to implement in their own homeland. Why? It is so difficult to speak to anyone in Chennai. Even in my own office beyond a certain level, the guys don’t even speak proper English and are completely impervious to hindi. Talking to my driver is a real difficult job.
But I guess I am unfairingly singling the Tamilians. All of us in India have retained the pride in our linguistic roots. We have consistently responded to linguistic fervour. We insist on local language signboards and even shop names. Here I can think of Singapore as one example which had successfully integrated three language identities into its fold, and adapting English as well. I remember a chapter in Lee Kwan book wherein he persuades the local language schools to move to a standardised English medium. As an individual I have faced the real sad situation of being unable to think, read proficiently or converse well in any language other than English. I think many beautiful pieces of writing will be forever lost on me thanks to my limitations. I would loved to have been taught a second language. Of course I was taught a second and a third and then a fourth language in school and we spoke a fifth one at home, but I ended up linguistically challenged. Never good enough to read litreture and understand its subtle nuance.
But then at least I can go around most of India and still feel at home. Chennai is alien to me. It seems hostile and unwelcoming. Why ...
So getting my way around the museum was a pain. Getting my around?? No I thinking reaching the door of the museum was also a pain. But I reached the museum door only to find it closed on Fridays. Dam! WTF. I hung around the campus and as I was ready to leave I chanced upon a ‘permanent book exhibition’. Not expecting too much I was suitably not disappointed. Metal racks with one side full of tamil books and the other full of English books, arranged in some apparent logic. Making my way through them I came across a set of really old books. Not that the books were old, but they were written at the time of eth raj. They came in the old style binding with golden embossed lettering. A type face font and image pages being called colour plates. There was nothing for me except one book on Tipu Sultan and his dad. Being fresh from a vacation in mysore, it caught my attention. As I began reading it, I leaned one side against the rack. Soon enough I was lost in the book. In some time a petite lady came up to me and said “hsdfksdhgcfwgwhjfghjdfghjfdfhgaxhjgf”. Arghhh. Dam you. It was Tamil and I couldn’t understand a dam thing. Then started all over again. This time with a lot of actions. I figured she did not want me to read the book too much and she did not want me to lean against the rack. Sure. I went about browsing again. This time I chanced upon glimpses of world history. A book containing the letters that Nehru had written to his daughter while in prison. Interesting. It felt a lot like this blog of mine. Posts written to my daughter while at work. I was reading it standing when another older lady came in and started in Tamil all over again. She too did not want me to read too much. Buy what you want and walk out dude. I don’t think this India has really understood what a book lover relationship is with his books. They don’t get it at all. While I did not want to court any fight I also wanted to read a bit. I read a bit more, bought the Nehru book and walked out.
I bear them no ill will. I just think to myself... how can we get our kids to love books when the whole job of many such people around book shelves is just to shoo people away. I remember my school librarian. A complete ass of a guy who had control to a large amount of resources (read: books) we had a massive library and a well stocked collection. But I don’t remember having spent any time there. I must have been there a few times. We even had a library period, but the only thing I remember was being told to be silent. Ssshhh. Some guys would get a bit interested in national geographic and show each other some pictures of Amazonian tribes, obviously naked. Once he caught them snigger and he called them and asked them what was in the magazine that they found funny. That put me off the magazines for sure. I did not to be caught doing anything with them. Even a more than a curious interest would have found me pulled up. We just don’t know how to inculcate a love for books, do we? The problem is not resources, the problem is the attitude. Love!
Just the day before yesterday I realised during a sufi music show that my religious leanings can be best positioned as similar to Sufi. A belief in love, humanity and simplicity of life. It must be so simple. It must be the truth. I think it would be the true way to solve every conceivable issue in life. I can surely think of it solving all my marketing issues. I am looking forward to the Sufi music festival this Sunday, which I hope to get a few passes for. It’s also an interesting thing that these days Hindi movies seem to be embracing sufi music and getting atleast one if not a few more songs into the movies. Reminds me of the old days where every Hindi movie definitely needed on qawalli song. Sufi music is designed with so much love that it can be used to show your love for god or to show your love for your beau. Love is at its essence pure, isn’t it? Whoever it is targeted at.
This one is obviously an abashed love for the mystic
This one is the one that can be for far a more earthy love. But isn’t that a mystic as well?
Even the whacko hit Dabangg carried a few songs which somehow when played on the radio I can’t get it off my head. I love them. What is it about being soulful, that I can’t them off. It seems to affect my heart in some way.
And then here is one of my favourites. A lifting one.
Two other links
http://dunkdaft.blogspot.com/2010/01/favorite-sufi-songs.html
http://entertainment.in.msn.com/bollywood/article.aspx?cp-documentid=3407582
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
how much?
What’s the cost of time in Mumbai? If one completely ignores the convenience and the hassle angle but solely focuses on the cost versus time angle, then yesterday and today morning was one such experiment.
I have shifted to a new division within the broad conglomerate that I work in. the excitement on working on new stuff and a broader canvass is amazing. The amount of work that there is over here … sigh… I don’t think I would have the time to really write as much I would want to. The pressure will be relentless. Which makes me think on the tone of the blog from here on. If I want this blog as a legacy for my daughter, then I don’t think she would be too bothered with what my day to day life would have been. Leave her, I wouldn’t be too bothered with what I do day on day. I would rather focus this blog on issues that I believe I want to talk to her on. Some gyan and some interesting titbits on her growing up. That is what will matter in long run, or so I think. I would like this to be a place where I can clarify my thoughts and my actions and leave something for her to ponder about.
Ever since we moved to Bhakti Park four years ago, we had no option but to go in for two cars. The dam place is in the middle of nowhere. All my life I have travelled to work in public transport and I resisted having to use the car. So while my office was in town I used my second car to get to the nearest rail head and then travel onwards. When it moved to kalina, I had no option but to use the c or risk a really lengthy, painful commute. My car has gone in for servicing which forced me to use alternate transport since yesterday.
Yesterday I came in a cab. I left at 8 am and reached my office at 8.15 am. 15 minutes dot and it cost me 102 ruppes. Today I decided to take the public transport. I left at 8 am again. I took one bus from under the house. That took me to Dadar plaza. That cost me 8 bucks. At Dadar I alighted to take another bus to my office. That cost me another 7 bucks. Totally 15 rupees. The time taken this around was totally 45 minutes. That’s 30 minutes more than the taxi. I got to sit in the first bus and I had to stand but comfortably ok with no real squeeze hour massage. So as I said if I look at a time versus cost alone, 30 minutes for a Mumbai dweller would cost 87 rupees. That’s about 174 bucks an hour. How expensive or cheap is that?
Lets take the case of the maid who comes home everyday. She works for around two hours everyday. That’s about 60 hours. And she takes home around 900 rupees. Of course there are hidden costs as well, such as a Diwali bonus and the fact that she gets interest free loans when ever she wants to home and build a house or attend a marriage. These loans are not so small an amount. And the interest arbitrage on that is large. The money lender who would lent her money would have charged a princely 30 percent at the minimum. That too if she is lucky. Otherwise they can get into debt traps that would never get repaid with the principal always outstanding. But forget that for a minute. So she gets on an average 15 to 20 rupees an hour. Hmmm. Obviously all the maids use the public transport.
What about the lowly paid clerk. He gets around 10,000 rupees a month. For eight hours a day and 24 day month. That’s about 52 bucks an hour. No can take taxi.
So the break even point for a taxi for a single passenger is if the poor fellow earns around 33,000 rupees a month, or around 4 lakhs per annum. So if you see any one travelling via taxi to office everyday he should be earning at least that much. That’s of course the mathematics of it all. The economics would differ. The cost of reaching on time. The mental peace, the pride of finally chucking the public transport… etc etc. also this is a Wadala to Worli experiment. In many instances in Mumbai, if you don’t use the public transport such as trains and travel via taxi to your office it would take you twice as much time and ten times as expensive. There the cost implication is not time but the opportunity to not get massaged all around by the rush hour jam in a train.
So how is this all important from Jispa’s point of view when she grows up. I don’t know but I had fun thinking about it.
I have shifted to a new division within the broad conglomerate that I work in. the excitement on working on new stuff and a broader canvass is amazing. The amount of work that there is over here … sigh… I don’t think I would have the time to really write as much I would want to. The pressure will be relentless. Which makes me think on the tone of the blog from here on. If I want this blog as a legacy for my daughter, then I don’t think she would be too bothered with what my day to day life would have been. Leave her, I wouldn’t be too bothered with what I do day on day. I would rather focus this blog on issues that I believe I want to talk to her on. Some gyan and some interesting titbits on her growing up. That is what will matter in long run, or so I think. I would like this to be a place where I can clarify my thoughts and my actions and leave something for her to ponder about.
Ever since we moved to Bhakti Park four years ago, we had no option but to go in for two cars. The dam place is in the middle of nowhere. All my life I have travelled to work in public transport and I resisted having to use the car. So while my office was in town I used my second car to get to the nearest rail head and then travel onwards. When it moved to kalina, I had no option but to use the c or risk a really lengthy, painful commute. My car has gone in for servicing which forced me to use alternate transport since yesterday.
Yesterday I came in a cab. I left at 8 am and reached my office at 8.15 am. 15 minutes dot and it cost me 102 ruppes. Today I decided to take the public transport. I left at 8 am again. I took one bus from under the house. That took me to Dadar plaza. That cost me 8 bucks. At Dadar I alighted to take another bus to my office. That cost me another 7 bucks. Totally 15 rupees. The time taken this around was totally 45 minutes. That’s 30 minutes more than the taxi. I got to sit in the first bus and I had to stand but comfortably ok with no real squeeze hour massage. So as I said if I look at a time versus cost alone, 30 minutes for a Mumbai dweller would cost 87 rupees. That’s about 174 bucks an hour. How expensive or cheap is that?
Lets take the case of the maid who comes home everyday. She works for around two hours everyday. That’s about 60 hours. And she takes home around 900 rupees. Of course there are hidden costs as well, such as a Diwali bonus and the fact that she gets interest free loans when ever she wants to home and build a house or attend a marriage. These loans are not so small an amount. And the interest arbitrage on that is large. The money lender who would lent her money would have charged a princely 30 percent at the minimum. That too if she is lucky. Otherwise they can get into debt traps that would never get repaid with the principal always outstanding. But forget that for a minute. So she gets on an average 15 to 20 rupees an hour. Hmmm. Obviously all the maids use the public transport.
What about the lowly paid clerk. He gets around 10,000 rupees a month. For eight hours a day and 24 day month. That’s about 52 bucks an hour. No can take taxi.
So the break even point for a taxi for a single passenger is if the poor fellow earns around 33,000 rupees a month, or around 4 lakhs per annum. So if you see any one travelling via taxi to office everyday he should be earning at least that much. That’s of course the mathematics of it all. The economics would differ. The cost of reaching on time. The mental peace, the pride of finally chucking the public transport… etc etc. also this is a Wadala to Worli experiment. In many instances in Mumbai, if you don’t use the public transport such as trains and travel via taxi to your office it would take you twice as much time and ten times as expensive. There the cost implication is not time but the opportunity to not get massaged all around by the rush hour jam in a train.
So how is this all important from Jispa’s point of view when she grows up. I don’t know but I had fun thinking about it.
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