Food and Girl

What strikes first is her superstar looks. Toned body, stylish hair let loose, shaped eyebrows, fair and lovely face oozing with confidence, unbuttoned jacket on matching top…. What's the secret, girl? What cream, what spa, what diet?

It’s not about her looks, stupid. She’s talking about the country’s economy; about the world’s crisis. She is a professor.

Yes, yes, I understand. I know this smiling girl. Always pleasant, she sat in her corner, smiling and doing her work. Nobody bothered her about anything. Then one day she became a lecturer. And now she is a management expert; her opinion, golden quote. What do you think Nokia should do about Samsung, smiling girl?

Be serious, man. Forget smiling girls and micro issues. Here you have a macroeconomics expert, teaching in Harvard.

Harvard? Yeah, I know. The Ivy League. Meant for the best in the world. Where champions learn their basics. Which school did you go to, girl? I want to enlist my daughter there. Did you study in Delhi?

Come on, man, don’t be so narrow minded. Listen to her. She is talking about much bigger things than your daughter. Take, for example, the food bill that will impact thousands of children in our country.

Food bill?

The National Food Security Bill. Once it's passed in Parliament and becomes an Act and is implemented, it is supposed to ensure that nobody goes hungry in the country.

Wow. Bravo! That’s noble. Our country needs that. I know we have more hungry people than anywhere else in the world. Some 700 million poor, isn't it? Here's one for the food bill.

Hey, hey, don’t jump the gun. First listen what she says. She says it’s a stupid idea that will cost the country thousands of crores of rupees every year. She says it’s irresponsible for the government to push such a thing and that it's only meant to win votes in the elections.

Well, if people get to eat and they are happy and if they vote for the same party, what’s the harm?

You don’t get it, man. Hear her out before making comments. See, the real poor will not benefit from this Act. All the money will go into some frauds. Haven't you read about the World Bank study that said 60% of food grains released through the public distribution system does not reach those it is meant for? Now the government will use the same distribution model for the food Act. You know very well where it will end up—corrupt officials, politicians and their dear ones.

True, but once the Lokpal bill is passed, then ideally such issues will be sorted out. You too were at the Ramlila Maidan, weren't you? You said it will at least provide a tool to sort out these corruption issues.

Come on, man, but you should know a Lokpal cannot make the public distribution system work. No bill can change the system here, you know that.

Oh! I thought I was the rebel, I was the cynic, and you were the optimists. It's you, white-collared executives, who relentlessly call for reforms and foreign investments and free trade, you're the ones who say the country will rule the world.

It's true that we need Lokpal and we need to fight corruption. It's also true that we are an emerging economic super power destined to control the world within a decade or two. But to achieve that, we have to make the right moves, we have to open up and let in capital to help the cuntry achieve its full potential.

Now you are going over my head. All I know is we are hungry – some 700 million of us – and we need food. You can't infinitely feed us with dreams that the Wal-Marts and the Googles will pull us out of poverty.

There, there! Don't be upset. You don't understand it because you don't know economics. Have you read Adam Smith? John Stuart Mill? Max Weber? John Kenneth Galbraith? Milton Friedman? Paul Krugman and Joseph Stiglitz?

I've heard some of those names. They are all economists, huh?

There you are. See, you don't know a thing about economics. What are you talking about? Listen to this girl here, half your age, she knows her stuff.

You're right. She's Harvard professor; I am BA pass....But I am hungry.

11.11.11

It's 11.11 on 11.11.11!

I remember planning to send a letter or postcard to achachan on this date...just for the heck of it.

I thought it will make him smile..

It will make Appu smile too.

Perhaps I'll send her a mail.

But I don't feel the joy of doing it.

Will I ever feel happiness as I used to so easily all these years?

I don't know.

It looks like I've lost faith in life. Nothing is secure. Nobody is safe. Anything can happen to anybody any time.

Is it a curse? Why? Who?

It's funny, it's crazy that despite all this, despite a series of killer tragedies, despite being repeatedly reminded that our life is not in our hands, I continue to worry about money and job and security and other stupid, clearly meaningless things that the capital world has taught us to respect.

11.11.11. Can it be the freedom day that helps me break free from the money-centred system and live a simpler, free and fair life?

I wish it did.

rishi

Jobless Morning

A lot of people have said a lot of things about Steve Jobs. Don't think there's anything left to say. At least for someone who has never seen him or used anything that he helped create. Not even an iPod. But most certainly due to an overwhelming overflow of glorious outpourings and information on him, I can't but think about this man. Who was he? Why was he so popular? Was he a Thomas Edison? Or, a Pablo Picasso? Was he an inventor? Was he an artist? No, no, no. He was a consumerist. The greatest, perhaps. One who knew what exactly a consumer needed.

Sure, Jobs had a great sense of design that  matched any artist. But his direction was diagonally opposite to Picasso's. As an artist, Picasso was after the truth, uncovering the secrets and inner selves of objects he painted. Jobs, as a designer, was after ease of use. hid the secrets and brains of his machines behind sleek interfaces.

And, like Edison, Jobs came up with things that changed the way people did things. But Edison redefined life for the entire humanity, Jobs did it for the consumer.

He was the perfect foil for the I-me-myself consumer that the developed world has become. His inventions are basically the high point of this generation of independent, self-centered individuals who, spoilt for choices in entertainment and comforts, shut themselves out from the rest of humanity to live in their own individual worlds. We see iPad, we hear iPod, we speak on iPhone. That's the ultimate power of this generation—to create and live in one's own individual world. And the greatness of Jobs was to read the mind of this consumer who every businessman in every industry is out to woo.

Post script: Another guy, who did exactly that (reading the consumer's mind) and himself a complete individualist, has began changing the world of individual consumerism. His name: Mark Zuckerberg. His contribution to humanity: Facebook revolution.

Death of a Diplomat (A short story)

It’s the sound of the radio that woke Krishan Sharma. Who put it on? He yelled. Apparently, he had dozed off on the sofa. There was nobody else in the palatial living room except for the numerous portraits, paintings and the tiger skin that hung on the wall. Omaar! Lekshmii! Yousef! The house is full of people when you don’t want them. Veena! Vikram! Gautam! Holy shit! Where the heck is everybody? Vikram! Where are the kids? Gautam!

Sharma rubbed his eyes. He had a headache and he was thirsty. He was slumbering towards the radio when its irritating noise turned into meaningful words—excited, edgy words of a newsreader. It’s a war! Indian army is marching towards Lahore. Oh my god! There has been a huge terror attack on Mumbai! They say it was Pakistan-supported terrorist group. It’s a war! Vikram, Gautam! Oh my sons!

He rushed to the window to peek out. There’s a noisy crowd outside the embassy. Some are throwing stones. They are going to kill us! Veena! Vikram! We must escape. Where are these guys? Where is the telephone?

The portraits had descented from the wall and were dancing around him. He heard a stone crash a window behind him. There are cries and yells. Was that Veena? Veena, Veena! We are dead! Gautam! Mahatma Gandhi, Muhammed Ali Jinnah, Pandit Nehru, Indira Gandhi, Zia ul Haq, the tiger…all the faces were going around him. Are they making the noise? Are they laughing? Or chanting? Sanjay Gandhi, Barack Obama, Narendra Modi, Bin Laden, Veena, Antonia…Stop it, STOP IT!

Sharma jumped up. He was on his bed. Out of breath and sweating profusely. Another bad dream! The aircon is working alright. Sharma felt his head. It was hot and wet with his sweat. He sat up. Poured a glass of water from a jar on the bedside table. He sat in the dark. There was enough light coming through the curtains from outside. The moon was out.

He sat on the bed, staring through the transparent curtain, through the balcony, to the night. Deep night. The gaze just goes on and on through the deep blue sky. What a life this is! What a shame!

Sharma was living alone. He had never had any sleepless night during his days as the Indian  ambassador in Pakistan. He was never scared and felt threatened in the not-so-friendly neighbouring country. In fact, he had a good relationship with Zia ul Haq. It was before Kashmir came into a boiling point. It was when Soviet Union was still at large in Afghanistan. And Sharma always considered himself a brave man. Ready to deal with any crisis. He could've had many, being an obsessive philanderer with extremely dangerous liaisons wherever he went. He could still feel the heat deep in his abdomen, itching on his penis. An uncontrollable urge to pee.

He stood up hurriedly and clumsily. His whole body was paining. The knees almost gave in. Fucking arthritis! He didn't want to wet his Panama and bed. He turned on the light. It hit his eyes. He shambled to the bathroom, eyes almost shut, unable to bear the light.

His sons, Vikram and Gautam, were now in their late forties, leading their successful lives in Australia and Dubai. It was more than 20 years since Sharma divorced their mother, Veena. That was in Spain. In the year he retired from the Indian Foreign Service after serving in Zambia, Mauritius, Australia and Spain besides Pakistan. He married his new love, Antonia, then the raunchy wife of royal descendant. She was still his wife. But was staying in Spain these days.

Sharma sat on the toilet seat long after he was through with his pee. He was never sure if he has stopped peeing. That's what sugar does to you: an eternal burning at the edge of your penis. Sharma noticed the trail of urine drops from the door. He got up slowly. He splashed some water on his face. He looked at the mirror. He saw only pain and disgust on his face. He had nothing else left in him. Only hatred.

He was afraid to sleep. He was afraid of dreams. He checked the clock. It was 3.30 in the morning. Another long, boring day is staring at him.

He had not stepped out of the house in a long time. He hated going for a walk. How can anyone stroll into a park without having a cigar to chew on? Or a pipe? And he just couldn't stand the neighbourhood, the sanghis. They seem to live in the park. Doing their circus, bhajans, foolish laughing sessions and, yes, tea and breakfast. Most unbearable is their friendliness. Why can’t they just let an old, retired man be. They will walk along and talk. To share their rightful half-truths. Lies and bores. That's all what life gets, after a certain age.

The last time Sharma went out of his home was more than five months ago, on a stretcher. That was when he had a massive heart attack. Why did he survive?

Perhaps to keep Raju and Nalini employed for some more time. Or, for his sons to get together one last time.

Sharma looked at the clock again. It will take at least an hour before Raju comes in with the bed tea and newspapers. After a while he will serve a toast and a fistful of tablets. He'll turn on the TV and hand over the remote. All for more lies and bores.

Sharma sat on his easy chair by his study table, facing the balcony. The sky had started changing colours. He opened the mini bar at the bottom of the table. He took out a glass and placed it on the table. Then he took out a cognac bottle with great care, trying to control trembling with both hands while pouring a drink. It spilt a bit. He was used to it. He took a sip and then opened the drawer, and  took out his suicide note and gun. He had been doing it almost every day since he wrote the suicide note about a month earlier. It was two days after Antonia had left for Spain, to spend time with her grandchildren who were not his grandchildren.

It was nice when she was around. They would sit in the balcony and talk about old days; the tensions, the uncertainties, of walking out on their families. 

Veena was shocked, but she always knew her husband had an animal-like libido. Vikram was 10 and he told him he didn't want to see him. He did come visiting when he was hospitalised, but eyes clearly said he didn't care. But Antonia cared. All these years. She even came to India with him when old age and frequent nostalgic bouts made him return to his ancestral land and buy a palatial flat in Delhi's suburbs. But ultimately Antonia went back. She visited him for about a month two times a year. She had promised to come back in six months.

But waiting was getting more unbearable every day. Who can endure infinite pain and boredom for, well, a few days with Antonia? Her small talks, her kiss on the cheek, her hugs? Yes, they are lovely, but... 

Sharma put the barrel of the pistol in his mouth. That was one sure way to ensure he didn't miss the target. He had done this several times, several mornings...his eyes tightly shut, his trembling hands struggling to pull the trigger... And then he would hear Raju opening the main door, and would hurriedly put the gun and the suicide note back in the drawer.

It had to change one day. Raju had to be late enough one day. Or Sharma had to be early enough. It was just a matter of time. He had to die. He knew it. He breathed in deeply one last time.

The next morning, newspapers had a small report: Former diplomat shoots himself.

What the PPPuck! (Teach Me Some Economics, Please! – Part II)

 

We are truly a chest-thumping nation. Now they say India is the third largest economy! That is in terms of purchase power parity, which basically means comparing countries in terms of how much you have to spend for certain amount of everyday products in each country. So a dollar in India could be worth 10 dollars in the US.

There is this Big Mac index, which basically compares the cost of McDonald’s McChicken in different countries, in local currencies, and decides a country’s PPP by calculating how much McBurgers a country’s gross domestic product can buy. Strange. And we Indians, at least our media, which works 24x7 to boost stock market sentiments, get excited by such comparisons. We won’t allow the sheer number of people we have in the country to come into the picture.

They say it’s not required because we are comparing countries’ wealth, not that of people.

If that’s the case, then why PPP? Let’s go by real exchange rates. Let’s go by one’s affordability anywhere in the world.

And by the way, what if we calculate this PPP on the basis of the price of petrol?

Indians apparently pay much more for petrol than most countries in the world, in real currency conversion rates, not PPP, mind you.

Now, I drive a petrol car. When I see a newspaper that screams petrol prices are up by more than Rs 3 per litre and an advertisement of Jaguar XF Diesel S, an SUV costing about Rs 50 lakh, next to it, I just lose it. I’ll never understand why somebody driving a jaguar be offered subsidized fuel while users of two-wheelers and small cars, who account for most petrol consumption, pay through their noses.

What the PPPuck!

On the road I start seeing things. All those big SUVs going by were now laughing at me. They looked down sarcastically at the guy carrying all his 5-member family on a scooter. The world seems hostile and I feel a victim of injustice sitting in an air-conditioned car. Beggars and rikshaw pullers go out of the picture. It’s a world of diesel cars and petrol vehicles.

There were some suggestions of dual pricing for diesel, to limit subsidies to farmers, commodity transporters and perhaps public transport vehicles. But the finance minister has denied it and oil marketers have said it’s difficult to implement and anyway it’s not worth the pain because private vehicles account for just about 10-15% of total diesel consumption. Fair enough.

But the problem here is, petrol sales could well be less than diesel sale to private vehicles. And by artificially keeping diesel prices much less than petrol, the government is only encouraging people to shift to diesel vehicles. So petrol consumption falls and diesel sales rise. What’s the point? Why increase petrol prices so very often? After all petrol accounted for just about 3% (Rs 5,300 crore out of Rs 121,571 crore losses from oil sales) of the country’s total oil subsidy.

Also, apparently, it’s not that the government is subsidizing diesel, or jet fuel, which also by the way costs more than Rs 10 less than petrol in India, the only country where it happens. Fuel prices are so high because taxes are so high on them. In the case of petrol about 40% of its prices are taxes and duties.

So next time we talk about GST, or common tax rates for goods and services across the country, let’s talk making petrol and diesel, and perhaps jet fuel too, part of it.

Teach Me Some Economics, Please!

I would love to help realize the editor’s call for making our business newspaper accessible to as many people as possible, with simple and clear writing. But, often I don’t get the economics. (Psst! don't tell the editor.)
Economic theories are like god’s commandments. You can’t question them.
But I’m tired of renegotiating my home loan with the bank. It’s some eight years since I took the home loan. And I think they must have increased rates at least 15 times. They never cut benchmark rates. Instead they offer larger discounts to attract new borrowers. Existing customers can avail better discounts through renegotiation, which mostly involves a five-figure fee. I must have availed this five times. Some new guidelines I believe bar banks from offering higher discounts to new customers. So hopefully I will not have to renegotiate my loan rate again. You never know though.
The problem now is the loan rates are only going up. And prices of food and fuel are going up. The learnt tell us that increasing interest rates is the most effective way to stop increase in commodity prices. So when prices go up, the banking regulator prompts an increase in the interest rate of all kinds of loans. But how?
If you can’t afford a product, you can’t afford a loan to fund it too. This will make several buyers not to buy and then sellers will be sitting on a pile of products—they call it inventory—for which there are no buyers. This will force them to reduce prices.
The idea is simple. But it doesn’t seem to be working these days. Over the last 19 months, the Reserve Bank increased interest rates 12 times, yet the inflation rate—or, increase in prices of commodities in one year—is still high, at about 10%. Why?
My sense is that this theory is meant for things like houses, cars and televisions, not for basic and perishable products like food and vegetables. That’s because man can’t do without food, he can put off car and fridge for later.
So when demand for food is higher than supply of food and this pushes up prices, the only way to deal with it is to increase food availability. If you are reducing the demand, that may be through starvation of the poor!
The government should encourage farmers grow more food crops through incentives and cheaper loans. It has made loans costlier.
This has begun to impact production. This has begun to impact sales of cars, houses and garments, which are growing at a slower rate than before. So, food inflation is staying high, while industrial production is slowing.
Now, our government is trying to keep prices down but it wants to ensure overall economic and industrial growth stays intact. So, while increasing interest rates, it also allows companies to borrow more money from overseas at lower rates. This option is however not available for farmers.
So it seems making loans costlier is an extremely ineffective way to fight rising food prices. But then I don’t know much of economics. Many those who do, including our policy makers, apparently believe it is effective and they give a feeling that it’s a tried and tested method.
But I don’t get it. Can somebody help, please?

This is the darkest hour in my life…

This is the darkest hour in my life
There’s no trace of light anywhere
Nothing moves, not even the air

Where has everyone gone?
Where’s the music, where’s the booze?
Is the party over so very soon?

There were a whole lot of us
My crazy family, our cranky friends
We were celebrating the now of our lives

Now I see nothing, hear no sound
I can’t touch myself, can’t smell my sweat
Now is unbearable. Is this the end?

It was great fun, our party
We sang and we danced,
Children with their great grandparents

We laughed over globalization,
Fought over dumb charades
Everyone equal in the power of now

Then one of us stood up,
Raised a toast and collapsed,
Then another, then another…

Perhaps the heavens were jealous
A killer virus felled our champions
Without warning, without mercy

This is the darkest hour in my life
Now fragile and most uncertain
I’m frightened, I can’t live this moment

Is this the end? Has everyone left?
Am I hearing you footsteps,
My love, my love?

moments by borges

Moments
Jorge Luis Borges

If I were able to live my life anew,

In the next I would try to commit more errors.

I would not try to be so perfect, I would relax more.

I would be more foolish than I've been,

In fact, I would take few things seriously.

I would be less hygienic.

I would run more risks,

take more vacations,

contemplate more sunsets,

climb more mountains, swim more rivers.

I would go to more places where I've never been,

I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans,

I would have more real problems and less imaginary ones.



I was one of those people that lived sensibly

and prolifically each minute of his life;

Of course I had moments of happiness.

If I could go back I would try

to have only good moments.



Because if you didn't know, of that is life made:

only of moments; Don't lose the now.



I was one of those that never

went anywhere without a thermometer,

a hot-water bottle,

an umbrella, and a parachute;

If I could live again, I would travel lighter.



If I could live again,

I would begin to walk barefoot from the beginning of spring

and I would continue barefoot until autumn ends.

I would take more cart rides,

contemplate more dawns,

and play with more children,

If I had another life ahead of me.



But already you see, I am 85,

and I know that I am dying.

How much ado about Anna?

Anna Hazare is an unlikely champion for India’s youth. The 74-year-old social activist and Gandhian from Maharashtra recently started a second hunger strike for new anti-corruption authority in the country. It is certainly not the first proposal for an anti-corruption legislative. But this is the first nationwide mass movement against corruption. And perhaps the first time the country’s youth has hit the streets for a national cause.

That’s a good thing. They say 72% of Indian population is below 40 and 47% is below 20. So it’s important the younger lot take some interest in the way things are done in the country.

What looks not so good is the anti-corruption bill that Anna is starving for. Basically, Anna and his allies demand a super cop with powers to police the police and act against every public servant from an office clerk to the prime minister and chief justice.

Why? Because the existing anti-corruption authorities such as the central vigilance commission and departmental vigilance wings lack powers, resources, transparency and, hence, credibility.

Fair enough. There is a need to have a transparent, efficient ombudsman to take actions against the corrupt across all levels within a limited time frame.

But is Jan Lokpal the solution for this? I doubt.

The Anna team’s proposal says Lokpal members will be selected not by politicians, but by “judges, citizen and constitutional authorities”.

Their contention, rightly, is that the government and the political class have become far too corrupt and have lost all credibility, so they cannot be trusted to put the system back in order, not even finding the right people to do it.

The problem with this line of thinking is that it demands people's trust for a new supreme bunch of credible and responsible people.

Now, the law makers, judges and bureaucrats are all bound by oath to be true and fair in their duties. Most of them are not. How different the new super bureaucracy will be?

If people cannot trust the government—or those they can vote out of power—to ensure the bureaucrats and police do their jobs efficiently, or to even find a right ombudsman to do it, then how can they trust a new bench of “judges, citizen and constitutional authorities” to appoint a super, super authority that can take action against the highest democratically appointed authorities?

Who are these people anyway?

Judges one can relate to and perhaps accept as being more truthful and responsible than politicians—although it will extremely tough to convince a common man that K G Balakrishnan is more trustworthy than Manmohan Singh and AB Vajpayee.

Constitutional authorities? OK, at least something that will be clearly defined somewhere.

Citizen? Free for all? Unlikely. Or, some super citizen, like super cops? Apparently, they will be more responsible than you and me and the local legislative member who promised a hospital in your village to convince you to vote for him and perhaps built it. You may not have heard of them before, but you can always Google search: they will be reasonably well known.

Is that what all those people wearing Gandhi topis and waving tricolors all over the place, shouting “Anna, Anna”, crave for? Really?

I would like to think that it would be better to provide or force what they lack to the authorities responsible to ensure transparency and fair play: namely, autonomy, authority, powers and resources. The chances of success, however minuet they may be, will not be any lesser than having a new undemocratic super body.

What is good about Anna is the impact he had on the crowds. His ability to bring people to the streets in millions. Transparency in the whole system and effective implementation of the right to information Act are crucial and need nation-wide mass movement to have a chance to succeed. Anna has initiated it.

Of course, there are all kinds of people in the streets. There are those who have spent their lives fighting corruption and those who try to drive their agendas. There are hooligans and well-wishers, there are those who have come to capture a piece of history and those who have come to make some money or pickpocket. There are office-goers and the jobless, conservatives and liberals, Rightists and Leftists, social workers and sex workers, lovers and beggars, celebrities and the destitute….

There are also the youth, who caught the Anna fever from Facebook or college campuses, and who are having their first encounter with a national movement.

Hopefully, Anna is only a starting point for this new generation to become proactive and clean up the system.

1964 borges

today is jorge luis borges' 112th birthday. he was born on august 24, 1899 and died on june 14, 1986.

here is one of his poems that somewhat reflects my mood sometimes...

"1964"

I shan't be happy anymore. Maybe it doesn't matter.
There are so many other things in the world.
Any instant is more profound
And diverse than the sea. Life is short
And even if the hours are so long,
An obscure wonder awaits us.
Death, that other sea, that other arrow,
That free us from sun, moon
And love. The happiness you gave me
And took away, must be erased.
What was everything must turn into nothing.
Now I only have the joy of being sad.
That vain custom that takes me
To the south, to a certain street, to a certain corner.

dearest thampychayan...

this occasional sinking of spirit
a pointed pain at the centre of my chest
that grows heavy and beats with my heart

your image like flickering candlelight
when i think about you
my eyelids feel heavy and wet

you have been so light and easy
a true liberalist, rising and stooping
to reach levels with people

you laughed into people's heart

and laughed at their business of life,
earning respect and, yes, disrepute

laughing and browsing, drinking

and texting, you, downager, stuck
to the whims of your young heart

you said you couldn't love anyone
as much as your daughters, but, comrade,

you tried with your innumerable 'mols'

if only i could be as selfless,
if only i could kill my ego,

as effortlessly, as part of life

what would you say if you hear this?
you'll find a spoonerism, perhaps
slip into a nap in your chair

if i say you live in our spirits
you'd burst out to add
"in liquid form, cheers".

xxx---xxx---xxx

ps: but, thambichaaya, how will you resist

sharing the secret of afterlife with all of us, seriously?

you are reading half truths

Journalists have become ruthless news hunters, experts in extracting sensational stuff from almost nothing. There is no reporting. It doesn't matter what happened or what somebody meant, all we need is one name, one word, a slight hint that can make something controversial or sensational.

So when accused former telecom minister A Raja says before the court that the then FM said in front of the PM that equity dilution is not the same as disinvestment, it becomes 'Raja says FM, PM knew it all'!

Not just in India. When a report says Samsung has sold anywhere between 18-21 million smart phones in the second quarter, it becomes 'Samsung beats Apple' which has sold 20.4 million smart phones in the quarter. The chances of which is less than one-fourth as only the top band of the estimation is more than iPhone sales.

Why do they do it?

The idea for any newspaper or news channel is to make people read/watch them.

But if you want to know what has happened around the world, then well it seems there's nowhere to go.

Anyways these things don't matter –what raja says and what samsung does – do they? Except that they caught your attention in the morning. That's all it was meant for.

If you want something meaningful, go back to Mark Twain who said a half truth is the most cowardly of lies.

Girl from Argentina

I met Delfina on the last day of her first trip to India. I liked her.

She was lively and friendly, and she was completely at home in the subway coffee shop where we met.

“I will come back to India, I don't know when, but I will; it's so energetic...” She was loud and almost non-stop. Her brown eyes and wildly gesturing hands wouldn't stop while she paused for the right words.

Words didn't matter, not any more. She could have talked in Spanish, or Portuguese, or whatever they speak in her homeland Argentina. I couldn't have missed the unbound excitement of a traveller.

In two months, this young journalist from the other side of the planet travelled across Kerala, Karnataka, Mumbai, Nepal, Gorakhpur in eastern Uttar Pradesh and Delhi, by train, bus and on foot.

She found Nepal calm and peaceful. But she liked India more for all its noise, chaos and life. “You know what I mean?” I do, I do.

“They sleep on the street, have no drinking water, they don't even wear chappals, but everybody has a mobile phone.”

I can't explain, I resigned.

Delfina smiled and flew home that night.