It was early days for me at the University of Houston campus in the Fall of 1992. One of my initial starry-eyed memories was that of purchasing my first Coke can from a vending machine on my way back to the Cambridge Oaks apartment. This was my first-ever encounter with a Coke can (for that matter any soft drink can). I examined it as one would a hard-earned trophy. It was chilled to the perfect temperature, the bright red Coke colors and the calligraphic lettering epitomized to me excellence, beauty and perfection — all things I associated with the American Dream that I was here to pursue. And I had just bought it for 60 cents. It was thrilling.

At this point, most normal people would have pushed the tab open and started glugging away. For some odd reason (daftness perhaps?), I decided that one had to twist/rotate the tab (step #1) and then pull the tab (step #2). Not surprisingly, after I had executed step #2, I was left holding a detached tab and a (still unopened) Coke can and feeling rather silly. I hurried my way back back to the apartment with a mixture of how_could_I_be_so_dumb and a steely resolve to make amends. Later in the kitchen, a few deliberate pokes with a screwdriver yielded results and I was soon slaking my Coke thirst. This was incident #1.

Incident #2 involved the American matchbook – which is quite different from its Indian counterpart (which we call “match box” or “matches”). For the benefit of my Indian readers, let me describe the American matchbook – 2 rows of soft matchsticks are fused inside a thin cardboard flap, there’s only striking surface which is on the outer side of the flap. In case you are wondering, I’ve been a smoker for a grand total of 3 1/2 years – the latter 2 years were during my 1992-94 Houston stint. My roommate (another smoker from India) and I used the matchbook like an Indian matchbox – i.e. tear off the soft stick, and strike it against the striking surface. After a few days of low hit-rate match-strikes, we concluded that the Americans didn’t know how to manufacture matchbooks. Along comes Beaumont-Srini (a senior in Business school) who  showed us the correct way of using the American matchbook — twist the flap around to almost touch the striking surface and simply pull out the match between the striking surface and the flap. Voila! (Friction + chemistry = fire).

As I reflected on these 2 incidents, our mutual good friend, philosopher, guide and senior – Soumya (of Soumya.org fame) had this pithy summary about life in America: when something’s  not easy to do, you are doing it wrong. Over the years, this served as a reliable guiding litmus test. When I found myself waiting for hours at the DMV, turns out I could have called a toll free number to book an appointment instead. Years later, when I kept getting placed on hold on that toll free DMV number, turns out I could have booked my appointment (via the web) in less than a minute.

Now let’s look at India. The same pithy litmus test can be applied here – you just have to flip it on its head: when something’s looking very easy, you are probably doing it the wrong way. If you got your driver’s license in a single afternoon, chances are you bribed the RTO officer or utilized the services of a driving school agent. If you bought the latest video game or the newest Bollywood release from a footpath vendor as you were lounging down Indiranagar’s 100-feet road or Koramangala’s 80-feet road, they were definitely pirated (and you knew it!). If it’s taking you fifteen visits to the Corporation office to register your recently purchased property and you still don’t know when it will finally be registered, you (my friend) are doing it the right way!

If you found my description of the American matchbook to be inadequate, here are some visuals via Google Images: click here

A selection of videos from my offroading adventure with Pranshu Gupta (and his bad boy friends) in Behrampur – a hamlet on the outskirts of Gurgaon. Disclaimer: no animals were harmed in the making of these videos (Jun 2008).

We hit our ‘one year anniversary in India’ on India’s Independence Day – Aug 15, 2009. A few months ago, we toyed with the idea of throwing a party and invite all our friends (old and new). The unrelenting pressures of work and the weekly ‘rhythm of the kids’ school and after-school activities meant we would alter our plans. ’twas all for the good anyway. It was more appropriate to celebrate the anniversary as a quiet Thanksgiving-style dinner with family than a raucous party.

I did tweet about it though (and gave ourselves a B+ grade) – and our global social graph responded enthusiastically. There’s much to write about our experience but here are a few top reasons why we are rating our ‘move to India’ a solid B+ (knock-on wood for each bullet point):

• Fortunate enough that none of us (especially the kids) have fallen seriously ill
• Children getting sensitized to the global issues of haves and have-nots
• Adapted to the local environment and enjoying the spectrum of people and experiences
• Kids are well-settled at their new school – NPS Koramangala
• My job at Adobe has been every bit as exciting and rewarding as I had hoped a year ago
• We met my parents thrice and my brother five times in the past year, not to mention the increased ‘calling-to-Vijayawada’ frequency thanks to the same timezone
• Met and made friends with many wonderful folks at Raheja Residency
• Asthma hasn’t reared its ugly head so far.. (Read Asthma, Bangalore and me for background)
• Becoming a regular part of the Cubbon Park Irregulars (a rabid group of enthusiastic group of long distance runners) has meant that I ran my first half-marathon in Jan 2009 and very likely will run my second marathon next weekend at Kaveri Trail Marathon
• Graduated from a chauffeur-driven car to self-driven car at the 7-month mark

The challenge a part-time blogger always faces is time – rather the lack thereof. The list of unwritten blogs continues to balloon every month. Partly to reduce my guilt at disappointing my small but loyal base of readers and partly to get feedback on which topics might be of more interest, here’s the complete list (in no particular order):

• Bangalore Calling: This was meant to be the sequel to The Bombay Seduction and Gurgaon Growling but this post was threatening to eternally remain in the “Draft” folder. As a stop-gap, I pasted a relevant conversation with a New Jersey-based Indian-American contemplating a return
• The Indian Woman’s Dilemna: Someday this post will be written by my wife. The thesis is that an Indian woman has a LOT more freedom in America than in her own native country. How then does she reconcile the pros and cons in her head in order to arrive at the decision to return to India?
• Raheja ‘Monkey-Haven’ Residency: When I informed my Bangalore-native classmate & friend (who lives in the Bay Area) about our new coordinates in Koramangala, he remarked, in a disappointed tone I might add, “But that’s a fairly mainstream choice” (He’d have approved if we had taken residence at the Adarsh Palm Meadows.) Anyway, the demographic profile of Raheja, its vibrant community and its killer location made it an easy choice for us. One of the many fringe benefits of living in Raheja: hardly a week goes by without sighting a pack of monkeys scaling the walls of the buildings foraging for food.
• Of high rises and balconies: You may not realize it but high rise apartment buildings and their numerous balconies are perilous to kids (and to parents with weak hearts). Our own apartment hunt had to rebooted after our 3 year old demonstrated that the 5th floor balcony is eminently climbable (we still shudder thinking back to that scene).
• Vishnu’s Best Devotee: This has nothing to do with our move but I had an epiphany on work-life balance as I recollected one of Narada’s tales.
• Crowd-sourcing the traffic light: I could possibly write 3-4 different posts on Indian road traffic but this is the one I really want to. The unmanned Indian traffic intersection is a fascinating and efficient system. Unmanned intersection and efficient? (you snort) In much the same way that the Mumbai dabbawalas have demonstrated their world-class efficiency, crowd-sourcing the traffic light (which is how I’ve dubbed the unmanned traffic intersection) is simply brilliant for Indian traffic conditions.
• The Staring Gene: Why do Indians stare so much? I’m not talking about Indian kids nor am I talking about Indians gawking at foreign tourists or celebrities – these are somewhat understandable. I’m talking about Indians staring at Indians…
• Midnight Marathon to Kaveri Trail Marathon: This is a tribute post to my Runners for Life and Cubbon Park Irregulars friends who’re transforming me from a hobbyist occasionally-goal-directed runner to a semi-pro obsessive runner.
• Do not urinate here: Saw this painted on a wall in Warangal (or was it Hyderabad?) The location doesn’t really matter because there are very few walls that are sacred in India (even those that are close to temples). Why is that we are not seeing the number of Sulabh Shauchalays increase in India? Why are restrooms an afterthought in most commercial buildings? When they do exist, why are soaps noticeable by their absence? Is it a wonder that infectious diseases continue to have a field day in India?
• Excellent products, Poor Services: The former are driven by market economy, the latter due to unchanged mindset? My wife and I slightly disagree on the latter. I hold the hope that the market can drive higher level of service and competitors would be forced to catch-up but my wife thinks the attitudes are too deep-seated.
• Living in the Present: [essay from wife]
• Well-rounded education: [essay from wife]
• The Three Bubbles Revisited: An expansion on the original The Three Bubbles post – whether it’s my friend Pranshu (who goes offroading every weekend in Gurgaon) or the guy in Mumbai (who goes mountain-biking) or me reconnecting with my inner-running-self and looking-forward to resuming my squash routine, there are additional ways of enriching the ‘living bubble’.
• What I miss about California
• Close encounters of the bribing kind: Two encounters so far and I passed with flying colors.
  
• What I don’t like about India: inspired by a recent Starbucks chat with a friend who mildly accused me of  writing only positive things about our move. Not true my friend. You should read my tweets more carefully
  
• (No) Thank You Maids: [essay from wife] Cheap labor, poor performance, excellent excuse for the Indianization of the Indian-American male.
• Desperate Lives: Whether it’s the maid or the driver or the handyman or the kackra-wala, they are all living incredibly difficult and desperate lives to make ends meet.
• Educating Boys: [essay from wife] School + sports = incomplete; Home + school + sports = complete. Her thesis is that the top reason why more Indian women are not able to join the workforce is because the men are incapable of managing the household.
• Global Identity: [essay from wife] 1992 -> Indian looks, American thinking, Indian feelings; 2009 -> Indian looks, American thinking, Indian-American feelings (hypersensitive vs. tempered)
• Piracy in DVD rentals
• Sequel to The Janus Man

Any of the above topics sound interesting to you? If yes, please vote for your favorite(s) in the comments.

Thanks!

This is a sequel to  The Proud Man and is based on a series of events that occurred in March 2009.

Act 1, Scene 1: Raheja apartment living room (Time: 2:00pm)

“Madam! Aap garage mein jaldi aayiye. Aapke gaadi ko kuch ho raha hai.” (Translation for non-Hindi readers: please come to the garage quickly. Something’s happening to your car). This was an anonymous tipster call which came through the intercom one afternoon in early March. Not wanting to take any chances, P went to the lobby and had one of the security guards accompany her to the garage. As she neared our parking spot, her worst fears seemed to come true – the car was gone! A minute later (lo and behold!) she sights Sunil backing our car from one end of the garage (several car lengths away from our parking spot). At the same time, Sunil’s friend (a fellow Raheja driver) rides Sunil’s new Bajaj motorcyle and parks it behind the SX4. Cursing the anonymous tipster, P tapped on the driver’s window to enquire why he moved the car. The shocked look on Sunil’s face would later become the proverbial Exhibit A. He recovered his composure quickly enough to mumble that there wasn’t sufficient room to maneuver his motorcycle and hence he had to move the car. “Odd,” thought P but the explanation satisfied her and she went back upstairs mentally cursing the tipster again for wasting her time.

Act 1, Scene 2: Raheja apartment living room (Time: 2:15pm)

Phone rings again – same anonymous caller. He asks in a smug tone “Madam! aapne dekha?” “Kya dekha” replied an irate P. The disappointed tipster begins his story “Sunil aapke gaadi se petrol chori kara raha tha. Woh to shuru se chori kar raha tha.” P went into fact checking mode and grilled the tipster (what was Sunil doing with the stolen petrol and why was he spilling the beans?) Apparently, in the initial days and months of pilfering, Sunil would sell the petrol to other Raheja drivers. Ever since Sunil got his new motorcycle, he simply took to topping that gas tank at convenient intervals. The tipster was so confident , he urged P to examine Sunil’s motorcycle’s gas tank (predicting that it would be full to the brim). As to the tipster’s motives, he simply could not bear to see us being cheated month after month.

Act 1, Scene 3: Block X lobby

There are eight blocks in Raheja Residency – the anonymous call had come from block X. Just for precaution, I’ve decided to keep the identity of Block X a secret. Determined toe get to the bottom of the evolving events, P proceeded to block X. Even though Sunil was implicated thus, such was the trust level he had established with us that P still considered him “innocent until proven guilty”. She asked Sunil to accompany her to block X without stating the reason. The call was traced to the block X manager’s office (which is on the garage level).  The block X manager deliberately took P aside and repeated what the tipster had already told her – that Sunil was stealing petrol from our car. The manager had allowed the tipster to use his office phone because: a) tipster was one of the drivers in block X, and b) he knew the story to be true and wanted the car owners (us) to be made aware of the happenings. So why did the manager have no reason to doubt the tipster? For the simple reason that petrol pilfering is not uncommon at all in Raheja. (The next day when I went to meet the block X manager to obtain more facts, I learned how rampant the pilfering racket was at Raheja and even other apartment communities in Bangalore but I digress…) P walked back to the apartment – troubled and contemplative. She didn’t share anything with Sunil but he clearly knew that something was amiss.

Act 1, Scene 4: crowded stretch of Koramangala 80-feet road (Time: 3:30pm)

On the way to the Oasis mall, P tells Sunil to pull over on the side of the street. With the engine switched off and both outside the car, she confronted Sunil with the accusations. Sunil had the same guilty look but he kept repeating that he was innocent and uttered the rhetorical “how could he commit this ghastly  deed when we’d been so nice to him?” He made the seemingly absurd statement that he doesn’t even know how to steal petrol from any car (especially the SX4). The other damning thing was that he never offered any character witness to corroborate his innocence. You’d think one among the group of drivers (perhaps his good friend Manju – who was parking his motorcycle) he hobnobbed with would be propped forward to defend him. I guess not if the entire lot was rotten – if the tipster was right, the other drivers were buying stolen petrol from him. P told Sunil that she wasn’t sure whether he was guilty or innocent. If he was guilty, we would find out in due course. If he was innocent, she told him to watch his back since someone was out to get him fired. Later in the evening, Sunil mentioned to P that he had talked to the other drivers and the consensus was that the pall of suspicion would be upon him whether or not he was guilty.

Act 1, Scene 5: “Smoking gun” found inside our apartment (Time: 9pm)

After P briefed me on the day’s events and we played & replayed all the events, it occurred to us that we were monumentally stupid in at least 2 areas:

• In the 6 months since we bought our car, we never calculated how much mileage each tank of petrol was giving us. Sure we had a lot of things on our minds in the initial months of adjusting to Bangalore life… (that was our lame excuse)
• During the day, as Sunil waited in the garage for the next driving assignment (picking up the kids, shopping trip, etc.), we let him keep the keys. On most days, this meant that he was undisturbed in the garage for 2-3 hours at a stretch (with the car keys). We learned later that this was simply not a standard practice and was rife with risks.

Anyway, I was VERY organized about my petrol receipts. I kept every single one of them in a safe place, so I pulled them all out for the last 3 months and observed that we were filling up 40 liters of petrol every week (give or take a day). Assuming 9 km per liter for the SX4 (low-end for city driving), this suggested that we were traveling 360 km per week! Gosh! Were we suckers or what? This was way higher than our driving patterns in the past 3 months. Just in the event that our recollection of the past 3 months was sketchy, we focused our attention on the last 6 days of driving (i.e. from the last refueling). The precise driven mileage came to 130km which meant that the fuel guage should display a reading greater than 1/2 tank. Alas! the gauge displayed close to  empty.

Act 2, Scene 1: Confrontation (take #2)

Next morning after Sunil dropped me at the office, without giving him any prior notice, I told him I needed to speak to him. I sat him down at a Coffee Day table and launched into “People versus Sunil”. He predictably professed his innocence. I had him do the math on how much distance he was driving us every day over the 6-day period and he arrived at the figure of 140 (close to my calculation of 130). I then walked him over to the car dashboard and showed him the near empty fuel gauge. I also told him about the last 3 months of petrol bills with weekly refueling of 40 liters, yet driving 130-160km. Sensing the trap closing around him, Sunil comes up with two lines of defence.

Defence #1: Apparently he had ‘heard’ that petrol was being stolen in the garage. He related that petrol from one of the driver’s scooter had been stolen once so it was ‘possible’ that someone was stealing from the SX4. I asked him who it could be since he was the only one with the keys. He insisted that it wasn’t him and also repeated the earlier ridiculous defence that he didn’t know how to remove petrol from cars. This doubly stank because the two times we had to get the car serviced (at the dealer), he keenly drew our attention to the fuel gauge and advised us to refuel the car following the servicing because the service technicians would otherwise steal the petrol. Nice!

Defence #2 (a conspiracy theory with communal overtones): Apparently there are rival factions of Kannada and Tamilian drivers in Rahejs (with the latter being the majority group for our block). The building manager (a Tamilian) was allegedly “in” on a conspiracy to oust Sunil so that one of his henchmen (a fellow Tamilian of course) could be hired in his place. He promised to provide more evidence in due course.

The rest of the days’s interactions with Sunil were conducted in a stony silence and a stiff upper lip.

Act 2, Scene 2: The resignation & Mafia connection (Time: 7:30pm)

I get a call from Sunil and he informs me that due to the pall of suspicion on him and the intrigue between the Tamilian & Kannada drivers and the alleged conspiracy to oust him, he feared for his personal safety & the safety of his new Bajaj motorcycle. He would thus stop coming to work from the next day. He also gave me the names of three Tamilian drivers (who were currently looking for a driver job). His smoking gun was that our block manager would come forward and recommend one of these 3 drivers. I didn’t bother telling him that even if the conspiracy theory were true, it still wouldn’t vindicate him. Weeks after Sunil’s voluntary resignation, the building manager never recommended a single driver to us – so much for that conspiracy theory. The additional irony was that during the 2 days when P was talking to various folks in the block, the block manager gave the benefit of the doubt to Sunil and just warned us to be more careful. Here’s the last thing that Sunil said that evening “Aap mujhe dikhaiye kisne aapko mere bare mein phone kiya, mein use dekh loonga” (Translation: You show me who the tipster is and I’ll take care of him. The tell-tale “use dekh loonga” – doesn’t get more mafiosi).

Title of post was inspired by a Colin Forbes novel by the same name.

(There’s more to this story… so I guess it was a three-part series after all).

I wrote this post in my head in June 2008 shortly after my 2-week reconnoisance trip to India before the big move. Thanks to the growing list of candidate topics and my ever shrinking leisure time, it didn’t see the light of day. During my flight back from my business trip to Bay Area in June 2009 (exactly a year later), I finally managed to finish the post. It took a further 3 weeks to make it from “paper notes” to WordPress Now just pretend that you are reading this in Jun 2008.

Marc Canter (of Broadband Mechanics/People Aggregator & MacroMind fame) had come to Yahoo in mid-2006 to give a tech talk. With a downtown skyscape as his first slide, he quizzed the audience about the city’s identity. Nobody could guess it and he announced that it was Gurgaon – India’s fastest growing city. Why was Canter telling us this? Because the software for PeopleAggregator (the thrust of his talk) was being written in Gurgaon. The transformation of Gurgaon, Haryana from a sleepy village on the outskirts of Delhi to a technology and industrial hub (worthy of Thomas Friedman’s World is Flat) was complete.

Of course, Delhi NCR is more than just Gurgaon (it encompasses Noida, Ghaziabad and Faridabad as well) but I happened to spend most of the 3 days in Gurgaon. I had flown in to Delhi to interview with a Gurgaon-based technology firm (there are so many, bet you can’t guess which one). Interview done, my friend Pranshu (colleague from Yahoo days) picked me up and we headed to dinner. Along the way, I called my classmate & friend from Xaviers Bokaro days (Ritu) who absolutely and warmly insisted (in a way that only treasured old classmates can) that I stay at her flat in Gurgaon. We had last met in 1987 but thanks to the last two years of reconnecting via our school’s Yahoo Group, we just picked up where we left off. Ritu was still the same bubbly girl with the infectious laughter. It was a great weekend spending quality time with her husband and two kids and a thoroughly enjoyable Sunday afternoon party with the rest of our Xaviers Bokaro classmates (Geeti, Vikram & Amitabh).

By now you are probably wondering about the title of this post – growling huh? I’ve seen a lot of cities (both in India & America) but they were all ‘already built’ cities. Gurgaon was the first city I glimpsed in the throes (albeit ‘late stage’) of being built. A few months ago (in a video conference interview with yet another Gurgaon-based company), I asked the interviewer what he liked most about living in Gurgaon. His reply “After living in Bangalore for 8 years, Gurgaon weather absolutely sucks – especially in summer. However, we all know that India is growing at a frenetic pace. Living in Gurgaon gives me a bird’s eye view of India’s growth — skyscraper by skyscraper, road by road, month by month, also as the Delhi metro extended deep into Gurgaon.” As Pranshu drove me through Gurgaon late afternoon (after a memorable day of “Offroading in Behrampur”) in his open Jeep, I saw scores of skyscrapers in various stages of completion and I couldn’t help thinking of it as “Gurgaon Growling” at the sky above. I also wondered what it would be like to see a time lapse photography seequence of Gurgaon from high-up in the air. [Google Maps - are you listening?]

If you thought I had an exciting weekend in Gurgaon, you haven’t heard the half of it. My friend Pranshu is fond of motorcyles, open jeeps and adventures involving both. He used to own a 600cc motorbike and a Jeep Wrangler during his Silicon Valley days and his move to Delhi (Vasant Vihar) hasn’t cramped his style one bit. He bought himself a bright red Jeep, did a whole bunch of customizations and teamed up with a group of fellow crazy offroading enthusiasts. Pranshu’s gang would spend the better part of every Saturday in a hamlet called Behrampur (on the outskirts of Gurgaon) and attack various hilly slopes and muddy swamps. I don’t need a second invitation for any adventurous gigs so I accompanied Pranshu on Saturday armed with my trusty Canon Powershot TX1. I was blown away by the day’s proceedings – rumbling and groaning of powerful 4×4 Jeeps, splashing through muddy hollows (much to the angst of a few slumbering buffaloes), towing jeeps up steep slopes. After the day’s fierce festivities drew to a close, it was a real bonus to see dozens of beautiful peacocks strutting & squawking in the wild. They say ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ so enough said – here’s the link to selected videos from that adventure (thanks again Pranshu!):

Offroading in Behrampur/Gurgaon

April 30 started off  as a pretty ordinary Thursday. Left for work at the usual time, left the office at 5:30 pm, and picked up the kids from Vivaa International. Thursdays are ’swimming class off’ days for S, which meant it was bicycling time for both the kids. The exciting Delhi Daredevils vs. Deccan Chargers match was in progress so I persuaded the kids to cut short their cycling routine and we headed up to the apartment. Some Raheja cultural function was in progress which usually means that a pani puri/bhel puri stand magically appears near the club house. The family swung into an impromptu plan of entertainment for the evening (pani puris were calling out to us). Finished seeing the tail end of Deccan’s batting (Dwayne Smith hit a quickfire 48), gave the kids their bath and headed to Anand Sweets. P and I alternately got our pani-puri fix (btw, eating pani-puris solo is a lot more intense compared to a round-robin group experience). The kids got to pick their favorite sweet which they demolished in no time. Then off we went to Cafe Wisdom Lounge to pick up a big order of aloo parathas, gobi parathas and paneer parathas. We managed to reach home shortly after 8pm – just in time for match #22 (Chennai Superkings vs. Rajasthan Royals). We parked ourselves on the living room floor in front of the TV and started devouring the parathas and watched in awe as Suresh Raina put in a flawless dominating batting performance. The kids got to see the match until 9pm (later than their usual bed time but hey.. this was a special weekday evening). It’s season 2 of IPL and the Kuruganti family (including the kids) are loving it – Thursday evening was particularly blissful.

This is part 1 of a two part series..

We bought a new Maruti Suzuki SX4 in early Sep 2008. Since I was not in a terrible hurry to drive in Bangalore traffic, we had to get a driver. The initial plan was to hire a temporary driver from one of the agencies (they’d be pricey but allegedly more reliable) – the rationale being that it would take longer to find a reliable driver. The plan fizzled out quickly since all the leads I got were either defunct listings on Asklaila or had gone out of business. I would find out much later (in March 2009) about EziDrive but that’s another story. We started getting driver leads from various quarters. The first lead was quite promising – a 22-year old chap (Sunil Kumar) referred by a driver-in-Adarsh-Vihar who sorta-knew-Sunil’s-brother-in-law. We’ll return to the italicized phrase in Part 2 of this story.

So what was promising about Sunil Kumar? For starters he spoke Hindi (very well). He also understood English. He knew the streets of Bangalore very very well (unlike many of the clueless taxi and auto drivers whom we encountered in the initial weeks). He lived in Balajinagar – pretty close to Koramangala. He looked honest and reliable. He had been driving for 3 years. We asked him for his references and he responded that his previous employer had moved to Hyderabad and he had misplaced his mobile number. We hired on a 2-week probation period with the intention of making him permanent (if he made the ‘cut’) while still keeping the search on for other drivers. As the two weeks drew to an end, we had lined up only one other candidate driver – recommended by a very good friend’s long-standing highly-reliable driver. Unfortunately that lad couldn’t speak Hindi to save his life. Needless to say, that conversation didn’t proceed much further. We also interviewed another driver who spoke passable Hindi but lived very far away so we ruled him out as well. Meanwhile, Sunil’s probation period had gone rather well. He impressed us with his safe driving skills, especially commendable because of his young age. He arrived promptly at 8am every day and his conduct throughout the initial weeks gave us no reason to doubt his attitude or character. This, combined with the fact that we had no credible alternative to compare with, was moving us inexorably towards making him permanent. The ‘deal terms’ discussion, with representation from his brother-in-law, converged quickly enough. 6-day work week, 10-hour working days, off on Sunday and a monthly salary of Rs. 6500. Coincidentally  my starting salary at Tata Steel 18 years ago  was Rs. 6600 – a princely amount for fresh engineering graduates. Inflation thy name!

Sunil is a short thin man of dark complexion with alert eyes. He looks older than his 22-years, not surprising considering he started working when he was 14 or 15. He lives with his parents, two sisters, a brother-in-law and a niece in a pucca house in Balajinagar. His father is a drunkard and a wastrel. His mother works in a semiconductor company as a janitor. One of his sisters also works and his brother-in-law is a driver who owns his own taxi. The commute from his home to ours is a 45 minutes walk. And walk he did every day, since his bicycle was stolen earlier by miscreants. 

To be continued…

Sure, the number of automobiles on Indian roads has dramatically increased in the last 20 years but it still pales in comparison to the urban steeds that zip past lumbering 4-wheelers, zig & zag through gnarling traffic, and frustrate pedestrians when they get on the pavements in a bid to weave traffic jams. I’m referring of course to the timeless 2-wheelers of India – ranging from the venerable Bajaj scooters (a vanishing breed) to the automatic transmission scooters (Honda Activa & its kin) to the Royal Enfield Bullet (India’s Harley Davidson) to the ever evolving crop of 100cc/125cc/150cc motorcycles from Hero Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki & the indigenous Bajaj to the scooty (TVS-50 et al).

Between the LML Vespa scooter I used to ride in Jamshedpur (1992-94) and the Suzuki GS-700ES I used to ride during my Chicago years (1995-1998), I have fond memories of the ‘wind in my hair’ whether I used a Studds or a Shoei helmet. It may thus surprise the reader to discover that the rest of this blog (the photographs I’ve collated in the past 3 months) have nothing to do with ‘riding into the sunset’ motorcycle rider. Rather, it is about the diverse type (& number) of passengers and cargo that are laden behind the 2-wheeler’s driver. The concept of a ‘pillion’ itself is redefined in India – you can have a mom & two kids sitting in the traditional pillion seat or you can have 2-3 kids sitting on top of the motorcycle’s tank or you can have a 4-10 year old kid standing on the front footboard of a scooter. In my first month in Bangalore, I even saw a scooter-driving mom with an infant in a Baby Bjorn equivalent sling – I was too shocked to whip out my trusty camera in time. With all these examples, shouldn’t we call the urban Indian steeds as MPV (Multi Purpose Vehicle)?

I present to you a few urban steeds in the din and roar of the Indian roads living up to their multi-purpose image.

Insert here…

I first met Sanjay Anandaram (serial entrepreneur turned venture capitalist) during the Dec 2008 Jethro Tull concert. We connected on the intellectual level and had some interesting conversations as we drove in Tridib’s car to Palace Grounds. Sanjay lives in Raheja and, while we haven’t met again in person, occasionally sends useful social & civic related emails. A few days ago, he sent this message about ABIDe (Agenda for Bengaluru Infrastructure & Development) exhorting Bengaluru residents to start using the newly commissioned and expanded Volvo public bus service using a corridor approach. Read on.

—- begin email —-

Dear Friends,

As you are aware, ABIDe (Agenda for Bengaluru Infrastructure & Development) Task Force, with the Chief Minister as Chairman, Mr. Ananth Kumar (MP-Bangalore South) as Vice Chairman and Mr. Rajeev Chandrashekar (MP – Rajya Sabha) as Convener, has been constituted to revive and rebuild Bengaluru through a combination of Comprehensive planning, improved municipal services and new investments into infrastructure. ABIDe also owns the task of providing a blue-print for sustainable and orderly development of Bangalore under Bengaluru Vision 2020.

I and Ashwin Mahesh (IIM-B), are entrusted with the task of suggesting solutions to the Traffic and Transport issues of Bangalore – A tough job indeed . Please visit http://abidebengaluru.in/report/show/7 to read and give suggestions on our recommendations.

The Transportation team at ABIDe has identified public transport as the most important tool in reducing traffic congestion and chaos on Bangalore roads. Given that metro rail network is still some years away, Bus based public transport system is being promoted with a corridor approach.

To promote public transport and make travel hassle free, 10 major arterial roads (Big-10) have been identified as high density traffic corridors which will be made junction/signal free with dedicated point-to-point Bus Services, both A/C and non-A/C buses, named as Big-10 service.

Priority Bus Lanes, Bus Bays, Paved Footpaths, Safe Pedestrian Crossings, Cycle Lanes (proposed) will also be introduced on these Big-10 routes. We have 3, 6, 12, 18 and 24 month deadlines to accomplish all these Road Infrastructure Improvement objectives on all Big-10 Corridors. Please visit ABIDe website for corridor and other details. – http://www.abidebengaluru.in

However, deployment of Big-10 and Hop-on Hop-Off (HoHo) Bus Services has already begun.

Out of 10 Corridors Big-10 Bus Service is already in operation on Hosur Road (Vellara Jn – Electronic City) and HAL Airport Road (Trinity Jn – Whitefield-Hope Farm jn). This is proving to be extremely popular. Next week Bannerghatta Road Big-10 Service will start. In next 2 months all 10 Corridors will have Big-10 Bus Service with a frequency of 5-10 minutes, both A/C and Non-A/C Service.

This service CONVENIENTLY connects with Central Business District (CBD) HoHo Service (Kendra Sarige) at Vellara Jn on Hosur Rd and Trinity Jn on HAL Airport rd respectively. This makes it extremely convenient for anyone living and commuting on these routes to use this Big-10 Service in conjunction with CBD HoHo service to reach any point in the city including all shopping malls and offices, without the need to take their private vehicles to work or shop.

I have myself used these services and they are extremely convenient and efficient.

Please encourage all your friends and colleagues to use these BUS services. Traffic congestion will reduce only if we stop/reduce taking our cars to work and shop.
No amount of cribbing or road widening is going to help if we keep adding private cars to our roads. Now we have the comfortable and convenient public transport in close proximity to our homes and work places, lets use it and help our city and the environment.

PS: Please send this e-mail to your friends and colleagues with suitable modifications as you deem fit. We need to popularize public transport through media, blogs, personal contacts and word of mouth, to save Bangalore from traffic chaos.

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We are in Vijayawada (Andhra Pradesh) at my parents’ house for the holidays. This is my fifth trip since my parents moved here in 1994 and is easily the most enjoyable trip to date. My grandfather’s (dad’s dad) banking career was spent at Andhra Bank and Central Bank. He was getting transferred to new towns every few years so my dad’s family moved a lot. Turns out a significant chunk of time was spent in Vijayawada. I pestered my dad to take me around town and show me important landmarks like the houses they lived in and the schools they went to. He obliged and we had a fun 2 hours zig-zagging through some old neighbourhoods of Vijayawada. Here is a pictorial view of the Kuruganti roots in Vijayawada:

Ram Mohan Reading Library Entrance:

Ram Mohan Reading Library (my dad my dad was practically a fixture here from 1951 to 1953):

Ram Mohan Reading Library Missing Staircase (in Feb 1952, my dad met his spiritual guru on the top floor after a lecture):

Bala Krishna Bhavan in One Town Vijayawada (dad’s family rented a few rooms on the top floor right ~ early 1950’s):

SKPVV Hindu High School Vijayawada – my dad studied Grade 5 at this school.

My dad in front of his old classroom location. The school had a rather ‘interesting’ tradition where the academic topper got to slap the rest of his classmates. My dad was on the right end of those slaps

This used to be a single-storey rental building where my dad’s family lived for a year:

Renowned Ayurvedic practitioner Nori Rama Sastry’s Office was right next to the previous rental building. On an impulse, we went inside the office and met the Ayurvedic great’s grandson and his great-grandson who were very hospitable.

SRR & CRV Government Degree College (my dad did his Intermediate/+2 here):

Anjaney Temple next to SRR College (this is where my dad & his friends would diligently come to before all their exams to seek divine intervention):