TGIF

"Thank God it's Friday"(TGIF)  expresses the joy one feels in knowing that the work week has officially ended and that one has two days off with which to enjoy. Through most of my career I was fortunate to have worked in companies that had a five-day week.While a two-day weekend sounds enjoyable it does have some pitfalls.

As a bachelor in Bangalore I did not have any friends, being new to the city.It was only so much that one could impose on kind-hearted uncles and aunts during the weekends.Some of the single men in our firm thought out-of-the-box.As a rule we were entitled to lunch if we attended office on holidays.So every Saturday I would land up at office on some pretended urgent work.Coincidentally this would end exactly at lunchtime. A few colleagues and I would make our way to a haven for creative people called Embassy Bar (sadly now defunct) near Shivajinagar. By the end of the third hour we would be giving our take on what ails the world.When I got engaged to be married I was horrified to note that the owner of the bar lived next door to my in-laws.

Many years later in Hyderabad,after my sons grew up and flew the coop I was at a loose end,particularly on Saturday mornings.My wife had her own agenda with domestic chores.I would start off from home and visit electronic and appliance stores.Successive salesmen would religiously brief me on the merits of various brands of televisions,fridges,washing machines and airconditioners. Each time I would give the excuse that I needed to consult my wife and that I would return later in the day.After a few months I had run through all the major stores without spending a  rupee.

It was then the turn of the car dealers.Hyderabad had a stretch of open road around the Tank Bund that was ideal for test drives.During the next few months I knew every bump and pothole on that road while I tested out the specifications of all the brands available at that time. I also discovered that car salesmen usually make four phone calls to a potential buyer after a test drive before giving up as a lost cause!

Even after  retirement , when every day is a weekend, I still yearn for a Saturday morning outing.Thanks to Bangalore’s burgeoning real estate,developers are bending backwards to sell their apartments and villas.The Friday newspapers feature advertisements for housing projects  and entice people to come and see their model apartments.One phone call is all that I need to arrange my Saturday schedule.The developer sends his vehicle to pick me up and show me various projects.This also has helped me understand common real estate jargon. Example: when a developer says five minutes from the centre of town, it is based on a speed of 100 km/hour.

During my working days I used to enjoy my afternoon siesta on Saturday as I knew I had one more coming on Sunday.I presumed that once I retired I would enjoy this luxury every day.Unfortunately,this did not turn out true.I wonder what is the medical term for “afternoon siesta insomnia”?

Domestic issues

Last year the state government  issued guidelines for recommended wages to household domestics. I am afraid the mandarins in the secretariat were ignorant of the ground situation when they fixed a rate of Rs 224/- per eight hour day. This constituted all work including taking care of a child. I reckon they did not consult any housewife before making the decision.

For several years we had one maidservant who practically handled all activity. Unfortunately she pushed her luck a bit too much with her boss, my wife which resulted in her being given the pink slip. Since then, my house has been overrun by a bevy of female domestics. We have a 24 hour maid; a morning maid; an evening maid; and a cook. Obviously, this has played havoc with my routine and I have been confined to my study most of the time.

Some months back when my wife and I were on an extended holiday in London, politics reared its ugly head in a so far peaceful household. Thanks to her superior designation, the cook had become the self-appointed head of the worker clan and she was also giving the general work orders. Somewhere down the line, the morning and evening maids seemed to have had a conflict-of-duties disagreement that simmered till our return. The morning domo who had her lunch at our place for the past two years also seemed to suddenly have developed a dislike for our cook’s creations and decided to eat at her afternoon employer’s house.

On returning, we could sense coolness in the overall atmosphere of our employees. Panicking at the situation, my wife followed an age old corporate formula and declared a ‘loyalty bonus’ to all of them, plus some gifts from London. Peace reigned after that.

That men in our family have problems with domestics also has a historical perspective. After my father retired from service and settled down in Mysore there was a need for a cook. Based on recommendation, an old lady came on board. Unfortunately, she happened to have served in my father’s household when he was still a youngster. She took this old connection rather seriously and made herself at home, including having her afternoon siesta on our drawing room couch. However, what bugged my father was her regular commentary to my mother about the episodes from his younger days. At an opportune moment he found a valid excuse and packed her off.

My wife is always on tenterhook when one of our staff would defect, as there is a big demand in our apartment complex and cases of poaching with enhanced lucre are quite common. Further, she may need to find a substitute for our day maid from Nepal who recently claimed that she needed to return home for two weeks to put her kids in hostel.Now we find that the whole story was a fiction and she had actually gone to Jigani to find herself a new job in the garment industry.

In this nebulous situation, as the only male member in a household of seven, domestics included, the only loyal associate I have is my computer. Somehow we manage to go through the day.

Undone by perfidy

When one embarks on a journey called life one hopes for a smooth passage. However, fate has the habit of throwing unexpected obstacles on the way. This is an event that took place a hundred years ago but the cause came to my knowledge only a few weeks back when I came across papers belonging to my grandfather who died at the age of forty nine.

 We were told that he died of pneumonia. Another version said he died of injuries sustained when mortar fell on him while supervising the construction of his house. I would like to believe that he died of a broken heart resulting from a major deceit from a close relative.

My great grandfather was a priest, a rather learned one. To honour his prowess in Samaveda, the Pontiff of Sringeri Mutt conferred upon him the title Samaga (the ‘S’ in my name).However, his son had other ideas. He wanted to be in the civil service. He was a brilliant student, generally topping his class. In 1892 armed with a BA degree in English from Central College he joined the government as a Précis Writer & Translator, a clerical job at   Rs 30 per month.

His hard work and diligence paid off and soon he started climbing up the ladder. He passed various civil services exams with flying colours. In 1899 he was promoted to the post of Deputy Amildar and given a privileged posting to the Sringeri Jahgir with additional charge as Chief of Police. In 1898 when the Plague hit regions in Mysore area, he was put in charge of some of the camps. The Plague Commissioner wrote a highly complimentary report about my grandfather’s actions during the crisis. By 1910 he had risen to become an Amildar 2^nd Class.

By now it was generally agreed that my grandfather was on the fast track in his career and his promotion to Assistant Commissioner was just a matter of time. That is where there was a twist in the tale and an ending that that was hugely disappointing, if not tragic.

I came across a letter he wrote in 1912 to the Deputy Commissioner appealing for his promotion to Assistant Commissioner. He wondered why so many of his juniors had superseded him and had been promoted. There was a ring of pathos in each sentence as my grandfather mentioned all the testimonials and commendations he had received from his superiors. He was particularly hurt that he was stuck on the same salary of Rs 200 per month for three years. It was then that an explanation was given.

Unknown to him, a very close relative from his wife’s side had conned people off money by offering them government jobs or contracts using my grandfather’s name. This had gone as a black mark in his confidential report and affected his career.

He was a shattered man after that and died even before his dream home could be completed.

Food for thought

I am a true blue Kannadiga with my ancestors hailing from a hamlet called Sosale in the heartland of the erstwhile Mysore state. The gastronomical inputs in my growing years were such Mysore delicacies like Maavinakaai Chitranna, Nuchina Unde, Hulitove Majjigehuli with a reward of Gasgase Payasa on festival days.

I presumed that one day I would marry a pretty damsel from T Narsipur or Arsikere and my food preferences would be taken care of in the manner I was accustomed to. In fact I would have encouraged my bride to add Gojju Avalakki to the menu.

However, fate had something else in store for me. I ended up marrying an Iyer girl from Palghat. Since then the dining table is full of dishes with tongue twisting names like Keerai Moologootal, Maangai Araitchukalakki, Vazhakkai Mezhukkuvaratti, Nendrapazham Pulissery, et al. In fact my wife goes gaga over something call Olan. Once she made light brown chutney which I sort of liked. She quickly corrected me that it was Parippu Thogayal and not chutney. I retorted that I knew chutney when I saw one. This argument went on for several years till the well known writer V. Gangadhar (also from Palghat) wrote in his column, “Slice of Life” that Thogayal and chutney were two different items. That newspaper cutting, now yellowed occupies pride of place on our fridge door under a magnet.

However, being an eternal optimist I put all my hopes on my two sons marrying dainty girls from Narasimharajapura or Hosagrahara. I was confident that our dining fare would be become a cheerful congregation of delicious Hurli Saaru, Kosambari and Kayi Hollige.

Thanks to the machinations of my wife and her crony my elder son married an Iyengar. Now the dining table repertoire includes Kandathippili Sathamudu, Vazhaikai Kariamudu and

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Akkaravadesil .It was rather confusing in the beginning when my daughter-in-law referred to something called Thirumadapalli. I later found out that was the Iyengar reference to the kitchen.

To rub salt on my wounds I had to utter et tu Brute when my younger son somehow persuaded a Gujarathi girl from Kutch to marry him. With the addition of Bajra no rotlo, Guvar nu Shaak and Dal Dhokli our household menu reads something like the one in the Indian cuisine restaurant at the Taj.

I have somehow survived my sacrifices over the years. Unfortunately my culinary skills are limited to heating food in the microwave so I could not really overcome the deficiencies in my diet. Driving all the way to Malleswaram to eat Akki Roti at New Krishna Bhavan is not practical. It is particularly stressful for me when the Avarekai season arrives. Imagine a life without Avarekai Uppitu or Saaru…..

The Salon Index: Why economists need to study hair-cutting salons’ performance to judge the economy of a country.

The Salon Index: Why economists need to study hair-cutting salons’ performance to judge the economy of a country.

In finance, a haircut is a percentage that is subtracted from the market value of an asset that is being used as collateral. The size of the haircut reflects the perceived risk associated with holding the asset. However, the lender has a lien for the entirety of the asset. The lower the haircut, the safer the loan is for a lender.

Try as much, I could never understand the hypotheses propounded by economists and other so-called arm-chair financial experts on why the economy of  a country was not in good health.GDP,PMI,WI,SI,MI, were abbreviations that only boggled my mind.

I decided to do something about it.How could I find out the health of an economy by simpler parameters that I could actually see before my eyes?

I was having a haircut at a salon that I was frequenting for over 12 years.There were several empty chairs.Over the years I had seen the waiting area overflowing even on week-days.In fact,the owner,Ramakrishna would change the furniture every two years.But I observed that of late some of the upholstery was running ragged.The shelves had fewer cosmetics;the barbers were wearing rather tacky and faded aprons.That got me thinking and I had a chat with the owner.

I visited several other salons and found similarities.It was time for me to put on my thinking cap.

I caught hold of two MBA graduates from a well-known Australian University to assist me in the analyses(my sons). The idea was to  draw a correlation between a country’s economy and the spend at hair-cutting salons. We studied the financial performance of several salon chains and also standalone hair-cutting outlets. The results are startling and more credible as they are on-the-ground figures that are more compelling than any extrapolation of conventional research parameters.

                       (My younger son and grandson having a haircut in London)

Higher end salons that provide luxury services tend to experience greater volatility.  Lower end salons may also experience some sales decline due to clients going longer between services.  During economic downturns, some salons provide their stylists with additional training and education and draw upon the personal relationships between stylists and their clients to avoid losing customers.

In the wake of the recession, many salons have observed customers getting their hair cut less frequently, performing services on their own at home. In response, salons have increased price promotions and begun offering incentives on services and products.

Mainline findings throw up several figures that are extremely thought provoking:

1)    During a slowdown all salon chains had reduced income, falling between  3% to 10%.Income reduces by over 40% where value added services like hair restoration are offered.

2)     When the economy shows a positive trend, customers are inclined to ask for additional services like a shave, head massage, foot massage, facials, and manicure/pedicure.

3)     As the economy slows down customers tend to look for less expensive salons and cut down on the ‘extra’ services.

4)     With a lethargic economy, salon chains have cut down on their outlets and also reduced specialized staff.The gap between haircuts increases in correlation to the declining economic trends.

The findings are an eye opener as market researchers have a more reliable parameter to study the spending patterns of citizens, both during boom times and also in the downturn. In fact, the easiest method is to station surveyors at street corners and study the length of hair on a male head to understand whether it is boom time or bust!

My Romance with Mills & Boon

This morning I was quite thrilled to note that Mills & Boon will be releasing a book with Indian characters. I presume it was a final acknowledgement that India is a big market for western publishers.

Till I got married I had never heard of them. One day I saw my wife reading a book published by M & B.As I was comparatively free I decided to give a shot at reading the book by some unknown author called Penny Jordan. It was like opening a Pandora’s Box. I got sucked into a whirlpool I have not been able to get out of. There was a circulating library near Commercial Street which stocked a whole lot of M & Bs. I knew the kind of stories each author would write. The scenario would shift from England to Greece to Brazil to Spain and Italy. Sometimes to the US and Australia. I knew that Betty Neels would write Doctor/Nurse stories based in Holland.

The heroine would generally be a self-sacrificing virgin of modest means whose first boyfriend would be a good natured blonde. The hero would be older, rich, mostly dark-haired with graying temples and a rather disapproving type. In the Italian setting the hero would say ‘cara’ instead of ‘darling’. The European setting ones would generally have a grandmother who controls the family and is the first one to realize that the heroine is the perfect choice for her grandson, irrespective of the social mismatch. The ‘villi” would be modeled on our hindi film Bindu type. In the initial years sex was a no-no. However, to keep pace with modern times the Victorian attitude has made way to ground reality in the recent books. They now come with such alluring titles as “Lessons in Seduction”, “Revealed: His secret child”…

Just like Jeffrey Archer has realized that his future millions will be earned from sales in India, Mills & Boon have also joined the bandwagon. Their books are now available for less than Rs 100 through online stores.

I need to find more place on my bookshelf.

Joy of Cricket

Every time the Indian cricket team tours overseas there is heightened interest among the millions of fans that follow the game in the country. The present tour of Australia is no exception.

As one who has watched several International matches in the UK, the excitement is quite palpable among the Indians. Tickets are not easy to get as the cricket stadiums in the UK are pretty small. The seats are sold out within minutes of the online booking going live, particularly for the match at Lord’s.

Well before D-day, the old India ODI tee shirts are brought out from the cupboard and dusted. Somehow it seems easier to get a big Indian flag overseas than in India. The ones with initiative also manage to get special matching clothes or headgear. The employed somehow get leave or bunk office for the match-days. Each ground has its own ethos and the spectator behavior is influenced by that. At Lord’s the brochure that comes along with the ticket has a whole list of do’s and don’ts. The spectators in the more expensive seats are dressed formally and politely clap rather than whistle or shout as it happens in the lower stands at the Oval. Regrettably, in both the series I watched in England our team performed rather poorly but still the enthusiasm to pay and watch a losing cause remains, tour after tour.

Unfortunately, thanks to the heightened security, matches in India are no longer like a picnic where home-cooked food is shared and there is general bonhomie and family atmosphere. A friend of mine in Australia, whom I spoke to a couple of days back has already planned the menu for family and friends to take to the India-Australia Boxing Day test match in Melbourne. An eclectic South Indian fare consisting of tamarind rice, curd rice, pappadam and pickles.

This is in contrast to a match I attended at the Oval recently. One of our country men from the North first took out a large tiffin box full of samosa and aloo bonda. Sometime later it was boxes of chicken kalmi kebab. Just when we thought that was the end of the repast, this chap conjured up packets of huge aloo paranthas. He was pretty generous sharing the food with all of us. The other difference between watching an international match in India and in other countries is the liberal consumption of beer. Right around the stands there are the draught beer pumps that are open the whole day. It is not surprising that by the last session of play the shouting gets more raucous but in a humorous vein.

For an Indian enthusiast living at home, the challenge is in watching the television broadcast across continents. Particularly testing are the time zone difference for New Zealand or the West Indies. But the fans are a hardy lot. As some wit has said. “You can take away an Indian from cricket but never cricket from an Indian.”