Its been 63 years since independence from Britain. While the country has no doubt made a lot of progress, a lot remains to be done and in some ways it is regressing. Progress is mainly in terms of producing enough food to feed every Indian, but the sheen is off due to an inefficient public distribution system and rudimentary storage mechanisms which ensures that a lot of the food rots before it reaches the consumer. Hopefully the new entrants into the food service market will bring better efficiencies. Progress in achieving a mobile penetration rate of about 50% and the lowest prices in the world; set back by a greedy politician offering cheap licenses to a few newcomers at throwaway prices(for a donation to the DMK benevolent fund?), injecting unhealthy competition to an already fragmented market. Top that with the sky high rates that the mobile companies paid for the 3G liscenses, more to get elusive spectrum than to serve a need for 3G services. Surely these companies will not have the money to spend on 3G equipment, resulting in a delay in introduction of true 3G services in India. Progress in terms of producing millions of engineers; tempered by the fact that 60% of these are not employable, because of the poor training imparted to them by a inconsistent regulatory system in many parts of the country. Progress in terms of producing thousands of high quality graduates through a heavily subsidised network of IITs, IIMs, Govt. Engineering colleges, and Arts and science colleges, contrasted against a significant majority of school children not being able to read. The country has regressed in terms of politics, with only the most venal individuals in society being able to flourish in the dirty game. Metros that were supposed to be engines of growth and commerce allowed to go to seed (with the sole exception of the neta's pet New Delhi). Regression in the attitudes of urban citizens who do not bother to vote. Regression in the way we dispense our charity. Millions to the teeming temples, churches and mosques. And a pathetic amount to investment in education, healthcare or women's rights.
Anyway, I hope the next 63 years will be better than the last.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Bambai ki Barish!
One of my earliest memories of Bombay are the monsoons. After a long hot summer only made bearable by school holidays and Alphonso Mangoes, the first few drops of the heart soothing monsoon would fall in early June. The early drops changed into steam on the hot tar roads and baked soil, but would also unshackle Bhu devi's fragrance, lying dormant during the eight months of the dry season. Earthworms would emerge as if by magic, having disappeared for many months. As the showers turned into downpours some of these reddish worms, who seemed to have neither head nor tail, since they could move in either direction would turn up in the bath room, and the sadist in me would put salt on them to see them wiggle and die.
The playground would turn from dusty brown to a jungle green only crisscrossed by footpaths. The open storm gutters would become streams and when the waters merged with the neighbouring tidal creek, fish would set out into them to seek their fortune. But as fate would have it, they ran the gauntlet of little boys like me who would love catching these little guppies and a motley collection of other fish and keep them in our fish tanks and jars. Another sadistic streak that is common in children, as the fish did not survive more than a few days, but in this case they would not survive in the gutters if there was a break in the monsoon. Of course we did not care that the rain water also mingled with the water from the open sewers that line the city.
On rainy days the streets would be a sea of umbrellas, big black ones for gents and small black or red ones for ladies. In the late 60s the gulf boom had not started, so no delicate and colorful Japanese ones were not common. Only the sturdy ones with ribs of steel and thick cotton. Even these did not survive in some of the storms Bombay experienced during the monsoon. But they could be repaired at the corner mochi. No cheap throw away Chinese Brollies.
Monsoons would also result in outbreak of diseases, thanks to the aforementioned open sewers. But all in all the rains were fun. We would make paper boats to sail down the gutters and see if they survived the bend or sudden acceleration in the water flow. Another happy memory is of the Bhutawala. Ears of corn would find their way into the city and the Bhutawalas would roast them on hot coals and rub in a mixture of chili powder and salt on lime. And they tasted great.
The playground would turn from dusty brown to a jungle green only crisscrossed by footpaths. The open storm gutters would become streams and when the waters merged with the neighbouring tidal creek, fish would set out into them to seek their fortune. But as fate would have it, they ran the gauntlet of little boys like me who would love catching these little guppies and a motley collection of other fish and keep them in our fish tanks and jars. Another sadistic streak that is common in children, as the fish did not survive more than a few days, but in this case they would not survive in the gutters if there was a break in the monsoon. Of course we did not care that the rain water also mingled with the water from the open sewers that line the city.
On rainy days the streets would be a sea of umbrellas, big black ones for gents and small black or red ones for ladies. In the late 60s the gulf boom had not started, so no delicate and colorful Japanese ones were not common. Only the sturdy ones with ribs of steel and thick cotton. Even these did not survive in some of the storms Bombay experienced during the monsoon. But they could be repaired at the corner mochi. No cheap throw away Chinese Brollies.
Monsoons would also result in outbreak of diseases, thanks to the aforementioned open sewers. But all in all the rains were fun. We would make paper boats to sail down the gutters and see if they survived the bend or sudden acceleration in the water flow. Another happy memory is of the Bhutawala. Ears of corn would find their way into the city and the Bhutawalas would roast them on hot coals and rub in a mixture of chili powder and salt on lime. And they tasted great.
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